Chapter 9 – It Runs in the Family

The trip back home was made mostly in silence. It was obvious to Beauregard that something had changed in his oldest son; something besides the results of his encounter with Erlene.

Bret's head was spinning. Too much had happened in the last few weeks for a grown man to handle, much less an almost sixteen-year-old. And the truth weighing most heavily on his mind was the realization that everything his father had done to prevent his marriage at age fifteen to Mary Alice Tompkins the previous summer was the right thing to do.

He hadn't come to that conclusion easily. He and Mary Alice had fought tooth and nail to be together, including running away to get married and attempting to consummate their relationship in the hopes of forcing a wedding. Pappy had sent Mary Alice to live with her aunt in Louisiana and Bret had stopped talking to him; months passed before the silent treatment became old and normal conversation resumed. And this year alone had presented a whole new set of reasons that drove the point home to Bret like nothing else.

Mary Alice's letters were full of stories about a boy named Zeke Holloway. A new girl had moved to town, Sawyer Bedford, and Bret was more than interested in her. He'd been introduced to an old friend of his father's who'd forsaken the free and easy life that he wanted for a ranch, a wife, and eight children, tying him down in one spot. Then there was the trip to Houston, with the new clothes he'd gotten and the taste of manhood he'd experienced with Erlene.

Pappy was right all along; Bret and Mary Alice were too young to get married. Bret had faced that fact, but now there were two things he needed to do that were even more difficult. He had to write to Mary Alice and try to explain his change of heart, and he had to admit the truth to Pappy.

The letter would be the easier of the two tasks. He would rather take a beating than explain what he'd realized to his father, but he knew it had to be done before they reached home. Thus the spinning head. And the silence.

They'd travelled more than halfway when Beauregard could stand it no longer. "Boy, you got somethin' botherin' you?"

Bret looked up, startled. "Haven't we already had this conversation?" he asked his father.

Beau nodded. "I thought we had, but there's somethin' still eatin' away at you. What is it?"

"Nothin'."

"You sure?"

"Yes, sir."

They rode on in silence for another mile or so. Beauregard was willing to wait for his son, his carbon copy, to decide it was time to unburden himself. And they hadn't gone much further when exactly that happened.

"Pappy?"

"Yes, Breton?"

"I . . . I got somethin' to tell you."

"I'm listenin,' son."

"You were . . . you were right."

"I was right about what?"

"About . . . about . . . "

Beauregard suspected he knew what Bret was trying to tell him, but part of the process of assuming the mantle of manhood was dealing with issues that were difficult to discuss. So Beau waited patiently for his oldest to find a way to explain himself.

"About . . . me and Mary Alice."

"Oh? Anything in particular?" Beauregard loved his boys fiercely, and he'd do anything in the world for them. But Bret had to do this for himself, no matter how difficult it might prove to be.

"Uh . . . about us . . . bein' too young . . . to get . . . to get . . . "

"Too young for what?"

The words all came out in a rush. "Togetmarried."

"Uh huh."

Bret waited for whatever else Pappy had to say, but he was met with silence. Several minutes passed before he asked, "Ain't you got nothin' else to say?"

"Like what, son?"

"Like I told you so."

"Nope." His boy had learned a valuable lesson; Beau saw no sense in rubbing it in. He breathed a slow sigh of relief and smiled at his eldest son. "What'er you gonna do now? About Mary Alice, I mean?"

"I gotta . . . tell her."

"You still want her to come back to Little Bend?"

Bret shook his head. "Ain't much sense in it, is there? We ain't gettin' married. Besides . . . "

Beau waited. Something was still bothering Bret, that much was certain.

"I think she's found another boy."

XXXXXXXX

By the time they arrived back at the ranch it was too late to retrieve Bart from his uncle's house, so it was decided to go into town for a late supper. Father and son talked about all number of things as they rode into Little Bend, but Mary Alice was not one of the subjects discussed. They went to Willa's for the meal; Sawyer wasn't working and Bret was disappointed but thought it best considering what he'd experienced the last few days. An evening without a girl in his head, any girl, would provide a welcome respite.

When they were almost finished and contemplating dessert, Bret had a question for his father. "How'd you know, Pappy?"

"Know what, son?"

"That we shouldn't get married?"

Beauregard cleared his throat. "Experience."

"Experience?" his son questioned.

"Experience," Beau asserted.

"Uh . . . Pappy . . . whose experience?"

Beauregard put his fork down and stared off into space for a minute before answering. "My own, son. My own." Another minute passed. "I suppose you wanna know about it?"

Bret nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, sir. It might help."

"I . . . I was the same age as you, fifteen. Strong willed and bull headed, and there was a girl. A girl named Emma Slade. To tell you the truth, Bret, I can't even remember what she looked like." The waitress came by and both Maverick's ordered apple pie and coffee. After their dessert was in front of them, Beau restarted his story. "We ran away together, and my Pa came after us. He took us both home and I swore I'd never give him another moment's peace. And that was before he whaled the tar outta me."

"What happened to her?"

Beauregard shook his head. "She found somebody else to marry, and when I was old enough I left home. I never saw her after that. Many years later I met your momma, and I was right glad that Pa stopped me from gettin' hitched."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I was hopin' my oldest son was smarter than me. And I didn't figure you'd listen to me anyway."

Another silence of five or six minutes as they ate their pie. "Thanks, Pappy."

"For what, Breton?"

"For stoppin' me from makin' that same mistake. And for lettin' me figure it all out by myself. Makes a lotta sense now."

"Do me a favor, son?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Make sure your brother don't try the same thing."

"I don't think . . . yes, sir, I will."