The Son

Chapter Sixty-six. Diaries of Peter McCullough

OCTOBER 13, 1917

Received two telegrams from Guadalajara asking me to come down, but neither is the real María. Today a letter arrived. Very short.

“Received your note. Good memories but see no way of continuing.”

I wait until I am certain Sally is out of the house, then call Ab Jefferson and tell him what happened.

“We could bring her up here easy,” he says.

“How would you do that?”

“It has been done, Mr. McCullough.”

Then I understand. “No,” I tell him. “Absolutely not.”

IT IS NOT much of a plan. Composed a letter to Charlie and Glenn explaining as best I could. Do not expect they will forgive me — especially Charlie. He is the Colonel’s son as much as mine. Tomorrow is a Sunday so I will have to wait.

OCTOBER 14, 1917

Woke up this morning with a happiness I have not felt since she left, replaced slowly by the old feeling. Did not know I had so much fear in me.

If she consents to see me it will not be the same, she was a refugee then — we will be like old friends who no longer have anything in common. Our bonds revealed as illusion. Better not to see it. Better to hold on to something I know is good.

OCTOBER 15, 1917

Did not sleep last night. Packed three changes of clothes and my revolver. In a few minutes I will pass through the gates of the McCullough ranch for the last time. One way or the other.

The bank in Carrizo will not have what I need so I am going to San Antonio. Ronald Derry has known me twenty years — he will not question me. Unless he does. Two hundred fifty thousand dollars for oil leases. Oil leases, I will say, you know these farmers, they all want to see cash.

Then I will cross the border. Of course the money is not mine. If they decide to call my father…

I HAVE NO illusion about my chance of reaching Guadalajara alive. I am of sound mind and body. This is my testament.