Page 27 of Bitter Heat
“Kerry,” he began as soon as Kerry finished with his berries and cheese, “I know you’ve had a difficult time of it, and I understand why.”
“I just—”
“Shh. Don’t give me excuses that I don’t wanna hear. I do understand your pain. That’s why it grieves me to tell you this…”
Kerry bowed his head low, waiting for the excoriation to begin.
“Son, you’ve had a message.”
Kerry’s blood ran cold. He jerked his head up to meet his pater’s eyes. A message for him meant only one thing.
Pater nodded, his jowls wobbling a bit. “Yes. I know.”
“Fuck.”
Pater didn’t scold him for cursing. “Rodes brought it up from the bottom of the mountain as soon as the sun came up. I met him at the door on Janus’s way out.”
“A message. For me.” Kerry repeated the words, trying to accept what they meant.
“Yes.”
Kerry cursed softly again and covered his face with his hands.
“They’re at the hotel in Blumzound.” His pater’s voice had gone all raspy.
Kerry knotted his hands together in his lap. “I see.”
“And they’re waitin’ to see ya, son.”
Kerry let out a shaky breath and met his Pater’s eye pleadingly. How had they known? There was no sign of his pregnancy yet, no reason for any word to get back to them about his state, even if they’d hired spies around these parts—which Kerry wouldn’t put past them—no one knew what he’d done. But, of course, they didn’t need any word, did they? Kerry’s heat had been a month ago. If a babe had caught in his womb, now would be the time to ascertain that.
In the past, though, they hadn’t bothered to come in person. But that was because Kerry had sent a forestalling letter telling them there’d been no luck. He hadn’t done that this time. Like with the attempt to rid himself of the child, he’d waited too long, letting uncertainty keep him from acting, and thus sealed his fate.
Pater went on, “They expect you there by noon. The note made it clear. They want ya to join them for lunch. You know how they are. Impatient.” He pushed the folded notecard on fine stationery, embossed with a bright, red M, across the table to Kerry.
Kerry took the note with shaking hands and read his pater-in-law’s loopy, concisely worded script. Monte, Wilbet’s pater, had taken on the surname Monhundy after he’d contracted with Lukas, Wilbet’s father. When he asked Wilbet about this curious choice, he informed Kerry that Monte’s father and pater had been so embarrassingly poor that Monte had been more than eager to escape any association with them. Despite wanting to escape Hud’s Basin back then, Kerry had never felt the same kind of loathing for his mountain heritage, so he’d kept his last name and his pride. That difference alone had been enough to make Monte Monhundy harbor a poorly hidden dislike of him right from the start. Kerry, despite being awestruck and eager, had failed in this one important way to be the easy-to-mold son-in-law Monte had wanted.
“I don’t think I can do this,” Kerry said, his voice a whisper.
“Fine by me,” his pater said, breathing a sigh of relief. “We’ll send a return note, tell them that, yes, you’re pregnant, but might miscarry. It’s true enough. Janus said a few days ago there was a goodly risk, given the beating the baby took from the contractions. And, even though he thinks you’re past all that now, it’s a good excuse. They’ll never know the difference.”
Kerry shook his head, rubbing his fingers over his sweaty top lip. “If we tell them that, they’ll send a city doctor to examine me, and when they find me sound, they’ll insist I come back with them for the duration.” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think. “No, I have to make them believe I’m fine to gestate and deliver here.” Aside from not being certain if he planned to rid himself of the child, another reason he hadn’t wanted to alert his in-laws to his expectant state was his fear they’d summon him back to the city and away from Hud’s Basin. Another horror to layer on top of all the others.
Pater winced. Neither of them wanted to be separated during Kerry’s pregnancy and delivery, and while Kerry was “always welcome” at the Monhundy home in the city, Pater was decidedly not. They had even written it into his contract with Wilbet that Zeke was never to visit the Monhundys’ residences, and all family visitations would require Kerry to come up the mountain tohim.
At the time, it’d seemed like an offensive but understandable request. His pater was appallingly countrified and didn’t have any desire to come to the city anyway. Wilbet was generous and had given so many gifts and made so many improvements to Monk’s House that Kerry hadn’t thought twice about it or considered it more than just generally insulting. But at that juncture, he’d been desperate to improve himself and had wanted the Monhundys and their ilk to accept him so badly, he’d been intentionally oblivious to the true nastiness of it. Even now, he liked to blame simple greed, and claim that it alone had blinded him so thoroughly that he’d signed such an abusive contract, but the truth was, he’d been naïve and blinkered by unearned veneration for the fancy folk in the city, too. It disgusted him to look back on it now. Such a stupid child he’d been.
Pater asked, “Is there another way out of this meeting?”
They both stewed in silence, turning over and rejecting options with heavy sighs between them. Finally, Pater leaned forward and said, “There must be some way to refuse them. Just say ya won’t come down. What will they do? Come up here? You know they’d rather die than step foot on my property, and I have a gun that’ll teach ’em.”
“No.” Kerry chewed his lower lip, feeling sick. “That’s no solution. They have the law on their side, and we have…” He glanced toward the clock. He’d slept in late, but not that late. His father must have come up to his room almost immediately after Janus had left and once he’d read the note. “But we do have time, perhaps. If I’m lucky.”
Speaking of time, they couldn’t afford to wait any longer if he was going to make it down the mountain by noon. He rose and lifted his chin, putting on a brave face. “There’s nothing we can do right now, Pater. I have to go meet with them.”
“We’ll need to take the car,” Pater said, not fighting him anymore.
The car had been another gift from Wilbet. At the time, Kerry remembered Pater had considered the car a useless waste of money and fuel. But in the end, he’d had to admit that he found it easier than hiring a wagon to go up and down the mountainside for supplies. The closest town of any size being Blumzound, a good hour and a half drive away; a car was faster and more reliable than a wagon. Plus, he could go whenever he wanted without having to owe favors or spend money—fuel being less expensive than a waggoneer, once he took the driver’s tip and time into account. Kerry had once glowed to be the reason his father had such a coveted extravagance as a car. Now it too was a reminder of what they’d sacrificed for it.
