Griffin W.E.B. - Honor Bound 01 - Honor Bound

"That's not necessary," Clete protested.

"Nonsense. Enrico will be pleased. He admires fine automobiles. Marianna, would you be good enough to have someone take care of Se?or Cletus's luggage, and have someone send for Enrico, and then ask if they can prepare a little snack for Se?or Cletus and myself?"

"S?, mi Coronel."

"Come sit on the porch with me," Frade said. "I do not normally take spirits before seven, but your visit is a special occasion for me. And perhaps you would like a little something... what is it they say, 'to cut the dust of the trail'?"

"Yes," Clete said, restraining a smile. "Thank you, I would." Se?ora Pellano walked into the house. Thirty seconds later, a procession of three servants marched onto the porch, one of them heading for the car, the other two pushing wheeled tables. On the first of these was arrayed an enormous plate of hors d'oeuvres. And on the second Clete saw enough whiskey of various sorts for a party of eight.

He had that set up, too. It took half an hour to make that tray of food. How did he know exactly when I would arrive? Ah hah, those guys galloping over the fields on those beautiful horses with the funny-looking, hornless saddles. He had people out there waiting.

"We will have a drink, or perhaps two, and then you will decide when we should have our dinner. It will be simple, just you and I. It will take no more than an hour to prepare." "Thank you," Clete said.

"I did not know when you would arrive, of course, so I was about to take a ride," Frade said.

Sure you were. Where's the horse, Dad?"I saw some beautiful animals a couple of miles back," Clete said.

"We take pride in our animals," Frade said. "I am sure that your uncle James taught you to ride?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Perhaps we will have time to ride tomorrow."

"I'd like that," Clete said.

"I don't know about riding clothes ..." Frade said, almost in alarm.

"I'm wearing all I need," Clete said, hoisting his trousers to reveal his boots. "Anyway, Uncle Jim always said that a man who couldn't ride bareback really couldn't ride."

"Yes, I recall, James was a fine horseman. And your mother rode extremely well for a woman. So it is in your blood from both sides."

Enrico appeared. There was no look of recognition on his face.

"¿,Mi Coronel?"

"Enrico, this is my son, Se?or Cletus, former Teniente of the U.S. Marine Corps. Cletus, Enrico is former Suboficial Mayor"— Sergeant Major—"of the Husares de Pueyrred?n. We were together there for many years, weren't we, Enrico?"

My father doesn't know how he got home from the Guest House the night he passed out. Or he knows, and we are pretending we don't.

"S?, mi Coronel. A sus ?rdenes, mi Teniente."

Enrico smiled at him warmly as Clete shook his hand.

Whaddayasay, Gunny? How they hanging? Still one below the other?

"Be so good, Enrico, to prepare Se?or Cletus's automobile. Have it washed and waxed, and you—personally—check all the mechanicals."

"S?, mi Coronel."

The drink prepared by the maid was at least a triple. Clete sipped a small swallow, put it down, and then stood up.

"I need the gentlemen's," he said.

"Emilia, show Se?or Cletus to his apartment," Frade ordered the maid who was passing the hors d'oeuvres and mixing the drinks.

He was distracted by other things before he reached the apartment. When he entered the house, he found himself in an enormous foyer. Off of this opened three corridors. The maid led him down one of those, and then Se?ora Pellano intercepted them.

"I wish to show you something, Se?or Cletus," she said, and opened the door of one of the rooms.

Whatever I'm about to be shown, the maid doesn't like it a goddamned bit, to judge by that horrified look on her face.

Se?ora Pellano entered the room ahead of Clete, snapped on the lights, then stood to one side.

It was something like a small library. There was a leather armchair, with a footstool and a chair side table on which sat a cigar humidor and a large ashtray. There was a library table, on which rested a stack of leather-bound albums. And hanging over the fireplace there was a large oil portrait of Elizabeth-Ann Howell de Frade with her infant son Cletus in her arms.

Cletus Marcus Howell smiled rather artificially in a photograph taken before the altar of the Cathedral of St. Louis on Jackson Square in New Orleans. The Old Man was in morning clothes, standing beside His Eminence, the Archbishop of New Orleans, Uncle Jim, and the bridal couple.

There was a wall covered with framed photographs: Clete Frade, aged nine, taking first place in the Midland FFA Sub-Junior Rodeo Calf-Roping Contest; Cadet Corporal Cletus Frade in the boots and breeches of the Corps of Cadets of the Texas Agricultural and Mechanical Institute; Clete Frade, looking as if he had already been at the post-tournament refreshments, with the rest of the Tulane Tennis Team ...

"Marianna! How dare you bring him in here!" el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade said, almost shouted, from the door.

Se?ora Pellano was unrepentant.

"No, Se?ora Carzino-Cormano is right, and you are wrong, mi Coronel," she said. "It is wrong for you to let him think he was not in your mind and heart all these years."

It was a moment before the Colonel spoke. "If it meets with your approval, Cletus, we will dine in an hour," he said. Before Clete could reply, he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

"I will leave you, Se?or Cletus," Se?ora Pellano said, and left the room.

What did she say? "Se?ora Carzino-Cormano is right"? Who's she?

Clete walked to the wall of pictures and examined all of them.

It's a scrapbook on the wall. I wonder what's in the scrap-books?

He went to them. They were full of photographs and newspaper clippings. In a town like Midland, with a thrice-weekly newspaper, one tends to find one's name in one's local newspaper far more frequently than, say, if one lives in New York City and subscribes to the Times.

Whoever did this clipping job worked hard at it. Every time Clete's name was mentioned in the Midland Advertiser —as a guest at some six-year-old's birthday party, for example—the item was clipped out and somehow sent down here.

He was deeply touched. His eyes teared, and his throat was tight.

Well, the Old Man is obviously wrong. My father did not simply put me out of his mind as if I never happened. A lot of effort went into collecting all this stuff. And he displays it, protects it, with. . . what? reverence? Maybe not reverence but something damned close.

Then why the hell did he never try to get in touch with me ? The Old Man could have stopped him from doing that when 1 was a kid— and he's certainly capable of that. But not when I went to AandM or Tulane. And my father damned sure knew that I was there, and when I was.

Fascinated with the idea that his father had actually gone to such trouble, as well as with the clippings themselves, Clete went through each of the seven albums he found, one page at a time.

Finally, desperately wishing he'd brought the triple scotch with him, he left the room.

And now where the hell is my bedroom?Se?ora Pellano was in the corridor outside. "Your father, Se?or Cletus, spent many hours in there."

"Thank you, Se?ora Pellano, for showing it to me."

"I felt I should," she said. "I will show you to your room."

The room turned out to be a three-room suite; and he was not surprised to find that his clothing had been unpacked and put away. On the desk in the sitting room sat a package decorated with a red ribbon and bow. Inside a small envelope was a card, embossed with what must have been the Frade coat of arms. The card read:

This belonged to your grandfather, el Coronel Guillermo Alejandro Frade, who carried it while commanding the Husares de Pueyrred?n. I thought it would be an appropriate gift from one soldier to another. Your father, Jorge Guillermo Frade.