The Serpent's Bite (33 page)

Lifting himself on his elbow, Scott watched the oncoming clouds clotted with rain and accompanied by bolts of lightning, together with the frightening sound of rolling thunder. A sharp breeze shook the branches of the trees, and the temperature had dropped precipitously. A few yards away Tomas squatted. His head had dropped to his chest but rose now as he watched Scott move. Courtney was sitting on the ground, her back against a tree, watching him.

Scott noted that the horses had been tethered to nearby aspens. Occasionally they would lower their heads to graze. He looked toward his father and gently shook him. The old man grunted and opened his eyes, showing some confusion.

“Jeez,” he said. “Went out like a light.”

“All the excitement, Dad. How do you feel?”

With some effort, his father got himself into a sitting position. He held out his hand. Scott rose and helped him up. He was shaky and not too sure of his footing. His nostrils quivered as he sucked in a deep breath. Courtney stood up and came over to them.

“Big storm coming.”

“We go now,” Tomas said, standing.

Courtney rose and came over to her father.

“Think you can make it, Dad?” she said.

“I have to,” he said, cutting a quick glance at Scott, who nodded then looked at his sister, certain that she was merely paying lip service. He saw her with new eyes now.

Scott looked toward Tomas, who had already donned a poncho, then at the sky.

“Won't it be dangerous? In this weather?”

“In cantle is poncho. It will pass.”

Scott pulled the ponchos from his father's cantle and his own while Courtney donned hers. The rain was beginning in earnest now, putting a glistening shine on the horses.

Oddly, he saw the rain as a cleansing force. His deep conversation with his father had helped unburden his spirit. While not a full confession, it had soothed his conscience.

He felt suddenly like a fly that had managed to break out of the sticky web that had trapped him for years. Feeling the strange sense of freedom, he felt an inner exultation, enjoying the delicious irony of knowing what his father had imparted.

He would tell his sister at a moment of his own choosing. His father, out of his own perceived guilt, had assigned him the task.

Tomas observed them and came over, studying Temple, obviously assessing his prospects to continue. He, too, had an investment to protect.

“We go now,” Tomas said, looking up at the sky.

“The rain?” their father muttered. “On Eagle Pass. With all those narrow switchbacks, won't the ground get soft?”

“We be fine,” Tomas said.

“Like Harry,” his father mumbled.

Temple seemed somewhat worse. The rest hadn't done him much good.

Scott whispered to Courtney, who had come towards them. “Tell him he looks better,” he commanded. She looked at him, wide-eyed and confused, then nodded.

“Oh yes, much better.”

Her father leaned against Scott as they moved toward his horse. Then he and Tomas helped their father to remount. Mounted, he looked precarious.

“We go now,” Tomas said, mounting his horse and moving forward. Courtney followed and then Temple, hunched over his horse's neck. As before, Scott held up the rear. The rain grew in intensity, but the horses moved forward, stoic and seemingly oblivious to the elements.

Once mounted and watching his father with consternation, Scott recalled their conversation.

What his father had imparted was a startling revelation, a secret uncovered from deep inside his memory. Why now? Scott wondered. Was his father being prescient?

“Please, Scott,” his father had pleaded. “Get me through this. I have to fix things. A father's duty is to protect his progeny. I was wrong. Forgive me.”

Temple had reached out and squeezed his son's arm. “You may think I'm a foolish dodo, but I have not got the strength of conscience to let the matter rest. A father's love and responsibility comes with the territory. I'm scared son. I'm failing. My strength is ebbing. I need to get home, make the correction, and fulfill the promise I made to you here. If I don't make it, things stay as they are. Do you understand what I'm saying? Don't let me die out here.”

The effort had winded the old man. He was clearly panicked, and despite his ebbing strength, his words had tumbled out in a burst of hysteria.

“You're being morbid, Dad. You're going to make it home and to your new life. You've got to stop worrying about us.”

“But I promised to help in your and your sister's new ventures. If I don't make it, that would be another promise unfulfilled.”

“Why are you so worried, Dad? So what?”

Despite the promise that his new venture would be funded, his own response was a revelation to himself. Suddenly it didn't matter, and he said so.

“It matters to me,” his father said. “It's unfinished business.”

“Unfinished business? That's ridiculous. We're undeserving. We've done nothing except put our hands out. Besides, you've done enough. We're losers, Dad. That's the long and short of it. Getting you back in one piece is all that matters. You still have a life to live. A new chapter is beginning. But yes, I would be grateful for your help, and this time I won't let you down.”

He felt exalted by the opportunity to tell his father what he really felt. He meant what he said, deeply, sincerely, ardently. From out of the corner of his eye, he had seen his sister studying
them. She seemed puzzled. A lump formed in his throat. Without any signs of contrition, she would gladly see her father dead and gone, to get possession of her inheritance.

He wondered whether his father had sensed this. Or was he so blinded by fatherly love? Suddenly Scott felt emotionally overwhelmed. He felt the urge to tell his father the truth, the total truth, but held back, fearing that the revelation would kill him.

“I love you, Dad,” he whispered. “Please, Dad, hang in there. You'll be fine.”

He saw his father's face through a veil of tears.

“Please, son. I owe this to myself. I am the father. It is not a question of your and Courtney's being undeserving. That is not the issue, not anymore. I'm talking here of responsibility. As your father, I need to do this. It is necessary to validate that I am your father and protector. Do you understand?”

“I'm not sure.”

Scott paused, unable to get the words out. He wanted to say that whether or not they received this largesse, it would change nothing. Love, he was certain, could never be purchased. Your daughter wants you dead, he was tempted to say.

“I need this for myself,” his father continued. “I owe this to myself. You are my children. That is the point of it all. I gave you life.”

Was he being overly sentimental, Scott wondered? If he knew what they had done, would he still feel the same sense of responsibility? Or would he be insulted and disgusted? He had the urge to argue, to confront him, to point out the error of his judgment, but he feared weakening him further.

“You're overwrought, Dad,” he said, holding back what he really wanted to say. We are undeserving of your protection. We have crossed over the line of sibling propriety. We have betrayed your honor. We are not who you think we are. We are liars, secretive voluptuaries. We have disgraced you. We have cheated your aspirations, wasted your money. Worse, we have stolen from you. We are thieves. Your guilt is misplaced.

He looked toward his sister, no longer feeling any sense of attachment, either as sibling or lover. The idea of endless love that had dominated his brotherly passion and had very nearly destroyed his life was over, dead and gone. A weight had been lifted from his psyche.

“Just promise that you'll do all in your power to get me back,” his father had reiterated.

“That's a given, Dad. Why would you think otherwise?”

His father nodded but did not offer an answer. A long silence ensued. Temple had closed his eyes and seemed on the verge of sleep, then opened them again.

“Son,” he said. “I have lived with another burden. I know what you and your sister did.”

Scott had felt his heart thump in his chest. He swallowed hard and tried to respond, but his voice would not come. His father's hand reached out, held his arm as he raised himself on his elbow, and whispered into his son's ear.

“I know about the diamonds. Your mother and I knew that they could only be taken by you and your sister.”

Scott made every effort to respond but could not find words. The revelation stunned him.

“And you know why?” his father continued. “Just hear me out. We knew what you did with it. No need to respond,
Scottie. We found out. Don't ask how. It began with a call from a customer in New Jersey. Then your mother and I hired an investigator. We learned about the abortion, and we found out where you sold the diamonds, which we bought back. We knew, too, what a heroic effort it was on your part to help your sister! Obviously Courtney was in trouble. Believe me, we agonized about revealing what we knew, but we promised each other never to tell. Your mother went to her grave with this secret. But I feel compelled to confess it, to clear the slate. Now is the perfect moment. No one else knows. I did not tell Muriel.”

“You knew?” Scott felt himself on the verge of blacking out.

“No need to explain, son. In the end, we felt you had done something to help your sister out of her dilemma. We did not know how she had gotten herself into that situation. We could never find out who had impregnated her, but when the matter was closed, we just let it go. It was pointless to pursue it further. We knew it had to be an act of desperation. We were parents after all and did not want you to submit to our judgment. We were hopeful that it was the end of it, and thankfully it was. You never stole from us again, and your sister went on with her life.”

“Why now?” Scott had whispered, wondering if knowing it earlier would have changed his mind about going into the business. No, he thought. There were two parts to that guilt. He wondered what his parents would have done if they had known who had impregnated his sister. A wave of nausea had gripped him. “Does Courtney know?”

His father shook his head.

“No need,” his father sighed. “Leave it be. Not now. Why bring back a memory like that? She has other things on her mind. Maybe some day after I'm gone.”

“You'll be around for a long time, Dad. Just rest now.”

Despite his concern for his father, the irony was telling. After a while, his father opened his eyes again.

“I'm losing it, Scottie,” he mumbled.

“That's crazy, Dad.”

“No. I misplaced my camera, and this morning …” He paused and swallowed. “My damned blood pressure pills. I can't find them. I think I left them back in the camp. The altitude. I think I'm paying the price.”

Scott felt himself on the verge of confession, but he held back. There was no way he could tell him about Tomas and the camera. Dismissing the idea, he focused instead on the blood pressure pills.

“Where did you keep the pills, Dad?”

Beyond the question was a small tingle of suspicion.

“Usual place, my toiletry kit, where I always kept them. I guess I must have forgotten to put them back when I took them yesterday morning.”

“Maybe they dropped out.”

“I can't understand it. I'm usually so careful about them.”

“Just get some rest. It's been a rough day.”

His father closed his eyes again, and soon he had fallen asleep.

Suspicion grew in Scott's mind. Courtney had made no secret of her desire. Had she become so fiendish and diabolical, that she had chosen to steal their father's pills as if it were an obvious weapon of choice? A sudden chill made him tremble.

Peripherally, he had noted that she was deep in discussion with Tomas. Why? They had seemed conspiratorial.

His father was a good man, and his revelation had moved Scott profoundly. His children had disappointed him, but the bond had not been broken. He had been set adrift by the loss of their mother and was finding a new life. They should be supportive and respectful.

Of course at this moment, his own guilt pummeled him: the stealing of the diamonds years ago, the incestuous relations with his sister. Studying his father's face, he had contemplated that this might be the moment of his own confession. He felt himself on the verge, in need of this final expiation. But just as he sensed himself ready, his father had closed his eyes and drifted into deep sleep. He allowed the moment to pass.

Another issue intervened as well. His father had begged, cajoled, nudged but not demanded that he enter the business. Scott had demurred for reasons that suddenly, in the light of reality, seemed ludicrous. Here was his father agonizing over family, fairness, and continuity, and he had eschewed the legacy of taking over his business because of what he had done decades ago. Yes, in fact, he was ashamed.

Wasn't it equally as honorable to embellish what his father and his father before him had created? Business was, after all, business. Trading in gemstones was no different than trading in food. Why had he been so adamant? He sensed in himself a life-changing moment. Had he made a turn on the wrong path? He suddenly felt a growing sense of obligation.

Again and again, his father's words echoed in his thoughts. Soon, he seemed to have tranced out, lost in his ruminations, as they moved closer and closer to Eagle Pass. The rain continued steady and relentless, softening the ground.

The pain in his knees awoke him to reality. He had already popped four ibuprofen tablets, and he found he needed more. He took the vial from his shirt pocket and took two more. As he did so, he noted that again his father, who was riding ahead of him, was beginning to list in his saddle.

“You okay, Dad?” he called out.

His father lifted his hand and nodded his head, clearly suggesting that he was hanging on. He looked at his watch, noting that they had been riding for nearly two hours.