Doomed Dynasty Pt. 01

The combined farewell was a party that the community would talk about for years to come.

Lukas suffered a black eye at the hands of three farmhands who decided to crash the party. They were drunk, and he'd asked them to leave. Lukas been decked for the second time when Matt walked up. Managing three drunks was not a problem for him. They were loaded on to the back of a pick-up and taken to Arrowhead when they were left to recover in the custody of under-sheriff Cody Schmidt.

Again it was all kisses for Matt, with Martha whispering to him, "You kiss even better than I remember your father did, and I'd thought he was simply the best."

Many of the women wanted to dance with Matt and that made Milly, his dance tutor, very pleased.

Maria, the caterer, began dancing with Ponto after supper and then wouldn't let him go. Milly said later it was the happiest she'd ever seen him, apart from the day many years ago when she had taken him on as a ranch hand. She suggested Maria might like to cook and clean house at the Bar2X.

Just after midnight Cody Schmidt called in to advise that the three farmhands had sobered up enough to be taken to their homes. Milly invited him to stay and they danced before retiring to the porch where they talked and talked. They had known each other years earlier until Cody had enlisted into the Marines. They now found they had so much to talk about.

Finally, around 2:00 it was time for some speeches. Milly returned the room and those with sharp eyes had seen she had been hand-in-hand with Cody until she walked into the room ahead of him. The Arrowhead district grapevine would run hot the next morning.

Milly said of Matt, "He came to me as a lost teenager and now I am sending him back home as a fine, accomplished young man. He'll be back one day, I know he will."

She presented Matt with a small oil painting of a colourful scene in the Wind River Mountains as "Something to remember us by." People who inspected it gasped when the saw the name of the artist, a legendary landscape painter of the Midwest.

Other people gave him gifts and finally it was time for the Bridger's to speak.

Martha tried to say something, but stopped, incoherent. Caitlin managed to get out what a wonderful companion he had been and that she would always remember him and started sobbing. Mother and daughter cuddled each other.

"There been too much liquor drunk here tonight, but never mind," said Lukas. "I reckon it's been a memorable evening. I am sorry to see Matt go, but he's got another life to live back in New Zealand. Matt, as you all know, saved my life, and I have got some black toes to remember what could have been had he not risked everything to save me. And even earlier tonight he handled another problem for me when I was knocked to the ground. I cannot reward him; one doesn't reward heroes as it demeans their feats. However, I want to give Matt something to remember me by, something that has been my greatest material possession. Ponto!"

Ponto came into the room carrying a heavy, ornate Western saddle, studded with silver trimmings.

"Matt, this was my father's. As a young immigrant with a wife and a child he worked as a cook on cattle drives and then became a cowhand. He won this saddle by taking out the Midwest rodeo saddle bronco championships a great many years ago. We the Bridgers give it to you to treasure and perhaps to pass on to your son that you may have one day. It has been an honour for the Bridger family to have been associated with two generations of the Curtis family living on the other side of the world. I pray that we all will meet again."

There was wild cheering, and Matt took the saddle from Ponto and raised it high into the air.

"Speech, speech," called the people.

Matt raised his hand, and the din subsided.

"Milly is right. I did come here as a teenager thinking that I was a misfit in any society. But the people and the horses and the good times and the wild times I have experienced in Wyoming have changed me, I'm sure for the better. I can only say thank you, thank you everyone. Now, at my football club when we had downed a few beers after the game, we used to group and turn to confront the visiting team with a challenge which is part of the culture of our native people called the Maori. It is best done by a large group of powerful men who look fearsome and rattle the windows with their chanting. But here goes..."

"More, more," called the delighted gathering, when Matt had finished the haka. He did two encores before slumping down on to a chair and downing a beer followed by a whisky chaser.

* * *

Matt headed out of Wyoming and spent two weeks touring before ending up in San Francisco to board the SS Mariposa on October 27, 1956. The newly converted passenger liner was making its maiden voyage to Sydney, via Honolulu and Auckland and Matt enjoyed watching the crowded and extremely colourful farewell on the wharf below.

On the second night at sea a ship's officer appeared beside Matt, leant down and whispered, "Compliments from a gentleman up yonder, sir. He would appreciate it if you would kindly join him for dinner."

"Excuse me, gentlemen," said Matt, to the three men he had been playing poker with earlier that evening. "It appears I am wanted by some toff."

"Please follow me sir," said the officer, and Matt obliged.

"Well, what's he been up to?" asked the oldest of the card-playing group as Matt's three companions watched the officer lead him away.

"Jeepers look at that," commented another in the trio, red-headed Lee Lewis, who was on his way to Australia to do a post-graduate study on vineyard soil types. "The captain is shaking Matt's hand and so is that distinguished looking character standing next to him."

Matt sat down and the silver-haired man, dressed in a tuxedo, as where all other men at the table except Matt, said to him: "I thought I recognised you from a photo I saw in the Evening Post almost a year ago. I enquired and the chief purser found out your name for me, confirming my suspicion. That was a very brave thing that you did and brought credit to New..."

He was interrupted. All the men at the table stood up, so Matt got to his feet. A fragrant of what he would come to know as sandalwood drifted to him.

"Good evening my dear," said Charles Sterling, the man who had been speaking to Matt.

"Good evening, Miss Sterling, said the captain, half bowing.

"Matt may I present my daughter Courtney. Courtney, this is Matt Curtis that man we read about months ago who tackled a runaway wheel somewhere in America and possible saved the lives of some children. Remember?"

Everyone at the table seemed to be interested in her response.

"No, should I?"

Matt looked at the somewhat haughty young teenager, who was about to sit at empty place beside him. Their eyes met, and he stared. He thought, what colour were they? Violet. But nobody had violet coloured eyes.

"Why are you staring so Mr Curtis?"

Her rather curt tone angered Matt. To think that he'd left good company for this lot. He had to act.

"Excuse me, Madam. Captain. Mr Sterling. I must return to my companions. Good dining."

Matt walked slowly back to his card-playing friends, wondering if the tingling in his back was the knives being thrown by that stuck-up bitch. He wondered which of the women at that table was her mother. Perhaps she motherless?

After dining and a short detour to the bar for brandies, the four men played poker until just after midnight. Empty beer bottles and an empty whisky bottle lay about the cabin.

"Well, I think I had better go back down to my proper area," Matt said to his new shipboard friends, all of whom were first-class passengers. "It was good of you to let me see how the bigwigs enjoy their luxury."

"Come on, mate," said the Australian grazier's son. Let's pop into the night club for a quick one."

"He means a drink," chuckled the graduate scientist from Iowa.

They entered the large, dimly lit bar rather noisily. They quietened when several people hissed at them.

A very thin man in a white tuxedo was playing a grand piano and singing a slow jazz number was a very large Negro woman. They were brilliant.

At the end of the number the lights brightened, and people clapped warmly. Matt's mates cheered and Matt impulsively stuck two fingers into his mouth and whistled shrilly. The singer threw back her head and laughed, then waved to Matt and said, "Thanks honey."

One of his companions thumped Matt on the back and called, "You'll be right tonight, mate."

Matt then found himself looking into a pair of unblinking eyes, violet eyes, right in front of him. Miss Sterling did not look amused and neither did her father and the rather nice looking woman, presumably his wife, who was sitting on the other side of the teenager.

The orchestra came back on stage and began playing a fox trot. A thin smile passed over Matt's face. Why not he thought.

"Madam," he said, gravely, to the woman he presumed to be Mrs Sterling. "May I have the honour?"

"Look here..." began Mr Sterling. But his wife, bored by the quiet time she was having, was already on her feet, reaching for Matt's outstretched hand.

"Let them go, daddy. You know how New Zealand men turn into clowns as soon as they are out of their country."

Matt flashed a dazzling smile at her, and Courtney flushed. She began watching lazily, her chiselled facial features expressionless until noting that Matt really could dance. Soon she was feeling envious of her mother.

Courtney was sipping her champagne cocktail when she heard the stranger say, smoothly, "Sir, I return your good lady to your safe hands. Why don't you dance with her?"

"Now look here..."

"Stop being so stuffy Charlie. I want you to dance with me. I insist."

Charles, looking at Matt darkly, walked on to the dance floor trailed by his appreciative wife.

"Exactly who are you Mr Curtis?"

"Oh, simply a homesick fellow returning home to his mum; all young men miss their mothers."

She smiled at the thought, and decided to amuse herself by talking with him. "Would you like a drink Mr Curtis?" she said, beckoning to a waiter.

"Sure, don't mind if I do." He lifted her cocktail to his nose, sniffed it, sipped it and grimaced. "Bloody lolly water".

She was outraged. Not only had he swilled from her glass but used disgusting language.

The waiter had arrived. "Please take this poor imitation of a cocktail away," ordered Matt, pointing to the half emptied glass. "Bring us two Blood & Sand mixes."

"Very good, sir."

"Your behaviour is terrible," said Courtney. "I think..."

Matt cut in. "I was looking at your eyes. Never in my life have I looked into violet eyes."

"What are you talking about?"

"In the dinning room this evening. You asked why was I staring at you."

"Oh really," Courtney replied. "I'm not used to being stared at."

"What a pretty girl like you? Can't say I believe that. I...oh, here come our cocktails."

"Blood and Sand; how interesting. Sounds of Middle East origin, don't you think?"

"Don't think, just take a sip and then you will have two choices. Take some more sips or just throw the stuff over me and tell me to bugger off."

"Have you been living in a man's world, with no ladies around, Mr Curtis? You act as if you have."

Matt took his wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket, pulled out a photo, and handed it to Courtney, who had just taken her first sip.

"Goodness, that really is nice, and packs some punch. What's in it?"

"Glad you like it... it's blended scotch, cherry liquor, sweet vermouth and fresh orange juice."

"Hmmm. Now who's this, what a lovely looking young woman? Is she a film star you met?"

"No, just one of the local girls I had living around me. She rides like the wind and drinks her whisky straight, though not much of it. And she can cuss."

"Does cuss mean what I think it means?"

"Yes."

"Well you seem very sure of yourself."

"Is that so. Do you ride?"

"Yes."

"What rocking horses."

Courtney's face softened and then came a peel of laughter. "You seem to swing from being rather rude to being rather funny Mr Curtis, quite unpredictably actually. I thought by now you would have asked me to stop calling you Mr Curtis. As mother would say, you appear to be quite entertaining. Would you care to dance?"

"Well, well. It's taken you sometime to thaw out but don't take offence. I guess you get blokes trying to work you along all the time?"

"That equestrian reference, if indeed it is, seems inappropriate in the context of our conversation."

"What on earth are you two talking about," inquired Mrs Sterling, returning from the dance floor and puffing a little. Is Mr Curtis into animal sciences?"

"I don't think so, mummy," said Courtney, taking a quick look at Matt. "I am not sure what Mr Curtis is or what he does."

The three of them waited for Curtis to respond, but he simply picked up his glass and drank deeply.

"Oh, what's this you're drinking dear," said Mrs Sterling, picking up Courtney's glass and taking a hearty sip, before putting a hand to her throat and spluttering. "My god, it tastes like raw alcohol. But then again it seems quite smooth."

"Matt calls it a Blood and Sand," replied Courtney, allowing Matt to make eye contract when he'd just heard her use his first name.

"Good heavens, that type of liquor ought not to be served to ladies," said Charles, stiffly. "Are you out of your mind, sir, serving a whisky-based concoction to my daughter?"

"Oh, don't be so stuffy Charlie," said his wife for the second time that evening. "Now, please order a round of them and let's hear Mr Curtis's story. I am sure it is going to be really fascinating."

When the drinks arrived Matt started talking. After an hour they moved to the late-night restaurant for supper. Matt continued, telling it why he'd been banished by his father to Wyoming and the colourful life he'd experienced there.

Mrs Sterling, who after the second cocktail insisted he call her Eva, periodically interjected with "how thrilling", "how wonderful", "how amazing."

Courtney listened, entranced, while Charles, stifling yawns, wondered how much of it was fiction.

Two evenings later the young couple consummated a budding shipboard romance.

Aware that something was up, Eva said to her daughter who had yet to turn nineteen, "You are spending a lot of time with Matt. Is there something going on?"

Courtney just smiled at her and wondered what her parents would say if she were to tell them that Matt was not a first-class passenger. Her father would turn scarlet and probably call for Matt "to be put in irons."

She giggled at the thought.

The ship reached Honolulu where the weather was fine and pleasantly warm, Matt now being far from the bleak farming landscape of Wyoming where winter was beginning to set in.

Most of the passengers went ashore and Eva invited Matt to accompany them, much to her daughter's delight.

Courtney regarded this as acceptance by her mother of her daughter's wicked ways, while Matt had already sensed in Eva's eyes in recent days that their secret liaison was known to her.

The air was warm, the atmosphere very tropical in mood, colour and surroundings. The youngsters had fallen behind when the Charles and Eva stopped at a stall displaying rather attractive trinkets. They selected two items and were negotiating price when two men moved in, jostled Charles and rushed off with his wallet which one of them had grabbed from Charles' hand.

Matt charged up and ran after the fleeing men. But they separated. Matt hesitated, not knowing which man to follow as both had disappeared into the crowd.

Charles's uncharitable comment to his wife was, "Some quick acting hero he's turned out to be, and now I've got to reboard the ship to get more money."

They began the return, walking through an area of bars and eating-places.

Eva was walking ahead of Charles and noticed two men sitting at a table, drinking. She recognised the shirt of one of the men as being similar to one of the robbers. Then she saw Charles' wallet on the table.

Bravely walking up to the men she demanded they hand the wallet back. They looked at each other and roared with laughter.

Eva reached to pick up the wallet. The smaller of the two men pulled out a knife from inside his shirt and plunged it into the table straight between two of Eva's fingers. She froze.

"What are you doing to my wife," demanded Charles, striding up to the table. The men calmly remained seated.

"Go home foreigner," sneered one of the men. But then he had a better thought. He picked up the wallet, and waved it at Charles. "How much you give me for this, foreigner?"

Charles realised that he and Eva were in a bit of a spot. Where was their White Knight? He felt someone come beside him, half-turned, and saw it was Matt.

Matt moved slowly forward and said to the petrified Eva. "Keep calm, Eva. Don't move."

A crowd had gathered surrounding them.

Matt had inched alongside Eva. The two men were watching him closely.

In a quick, easy movement Matt pushed Eva sideways with his right hip, pulling the knife free just as her fingers started to move. He spun the knife, catching it by the point of the blade and threw it hard at the man seated three feet away.

The weighted handle of the knife struck the man between the eyes and he fell back into his chair, clutching his face and groaning loudly.

His big scarred-faced companion lunged at Matt, shouting abuse.

Matt handled the charge like a bullfighter. He swivelled out of the way, and then just as quickly stepped forward again as the charging man was flying past him and plunged his elbow hard into the lower back of his attacker, who fell to the ground screaming.

Matt retrieved the wallet pointing to the downed men shouted, "Robbers, robbers." People began to clap him.

Totally in command he ushered Charles, Eva and Courtney away, saying "Hurry, if we get away now I don't think there were be any consequences. The police will find they have a big crowd of well-informed witnesses."

Shaking slightly, Charles felt admiration for their young companion. Matt's despatch of the second robber was executed brilliantly. "One would think this chap works in Special Ops," Charles whispered to Eva, who hadn't a clue what he was on about. She was probably busily thinking that Matt would be perfect as a son-in-law.

Back aboard the ship, Courtney spoke privately with her father, and came away from him smiling. Her father hadn't reacted at all when told that Matt wasn't a first-class passenger and agreed to upgrade him in status.

Courtney set up her easel and began painting a new shipboard scene in watercolours. She'd been drawing and painting since early childhood. From the age of eleven, when her last nanny departed and her mother spent even more time on the diplomatic social circuit in countries where they had lived, it became a useful time-filler. Her parents noting her emerging talent arranged for some private tuition, Courtney supplemented that formal coaching by meticulously copying birthday and Xmas card illustrations and taking scenes from books, experimenting with styles she'd studied in art books and also examining carefully the works of painters that were favoured by her tutors.

Coming face to face with her work for the first time, Matt thought her paintings were good, very good in fact. His knowledge of art was confined to oil paintings dotted around his family home. His personal favourite at home was of the head of a Maori warrior. The fact that Charles Goldie painted it was of no significance to the young man. Now, had it been a horse his eyes would have swept over it and returning slowly to soak in the detail in a professional-like appraisal.