“Let he who is without sin cast the first stone?”
“Exactly! So you can see how we can’t tolerate this business with Craver.”
“Not sure I follow, Bobby.”
“That man is … what was Phyllis’s charming phrase? Nuttier than a jar of peanut butter. Wacky. All these years obsessed with the dead. He doesn’t like the wheels of progress so he tries to gum the works with his power over the boy? Dad calls it escalation.”
“Well, I can forgive a man for feeling desperate when his town threatens to dig up his parents’ bones.”
The Junior waves his left hand, on which his Dartmouth college ring is prominently settled, despite his never having officially graduated. Mayor Bell had connections enough to remove that particular failure from the scholastic record, but not enough to stop the gossip back in town.
“Craver’s always been like that, as you ought to know. It was strange enough when he took you in—now, don’t take offense, Davey, you’ve turned out fine, but it raised plenty of eyebrows back then. Do you remember how he told the town you had a power straight from that constipated god of his?” He starts to laugh, but then falls silent. I can well imagine what crossed his thoughts, and my hands go clammy with memory. He gives me a brief, funny look, and turns to the river. “More fools we, eh, Davey? More fools we for not listening. But this business with the Spalding boy, it’s a step beyond. It … it’s not right!”
“And I’m sure remembering those times Alvin’s hands might have brushed yours have nothing to do with it.”
“Damn it, Davey, who doesn’t have skeletons?”
“Craver, apparently.”
“Craver is playing a game. He wants that dead church, no matter that it’s prime real estate that hasn’t been used in decades. This town stands to make millions with the new hotel.”
“Probably not the Spaldings.”
“They’re lucky they get to keep their orchard. And if we’re lucky that boy will get drafted on his birthday.”
I shake my head. “You volunteering, Bobby? Since you and your dad support the war.”
“Medical exemption from service. Trick knee. Besides, I’m more useful on the home front. And don’t tell me you’ll find yourself over there, what with your New York connections … Speaking of which, I don’t need to tell you it spooked me a bit to see your lady in town. I expect you know she and I go back? We passed a few hours at the inn the other day? Of course you do, the way gossip goes around here. I hope you weren’t jealous?”
He pauses, hopeful. I glance at him and kneel to pick a late dandelion with most of its pollen. I blow the seeds away from his face, but I can’t help the direction of the wind.
“I’m afraid there’s nothing much about you to provoke jealousy.”
Bobby sneezes. “She doesn’t, I mean, her business here…”
This fucking country wheat, this absolute twit—was he really asking—
“Strictly personal, Junior. As I’m sure she told you, we’re both through with the New York racket. Victor’s dead, and we’re here for peace and quiet.”
His hands tremble in his pockets. He sweats, despite the breeze from the river.
“Sorry if I offended you, buddy.”
“We’re not buddies, Junior. Or don’t you remember Thomas?”
He jerks. But we were both thinking it; I only chose, at last, to name the ghost between us. For many years, watching Thomas die had been the closest I’d come to killing a man. Now, I could almost laugh.
“I—Davey—I mean, that’s water under the bridge—” He grimaces. Back up the hill, in the River House, a bell starts to ring. “Poor choice of words. Look, I apologize, but I have to go. Dad must want me for something. What I said—don’t take it to heart. I have nothing but respect for you and your lady. All right?”
To his credit, he holds out his hand. I regard it for a calculated moment and then clasp it with my own. He could be planning to kill Alvin, but he’s sincere about being no threat to me. And yet, there’s something else—I’m trying to trace that ominous whiff of smoke that blows between our connected hands when he pulls away and hurries up the hill. He says something to Mae by the back door, then disappears inside. I turn my back to the house, but only because I know she’s coming.
She has to make sure she’s alone, first.
“My boy,” she says, no introductions needed. “He spoke to you.”
“Yes.”
“What did he say? I love that boy more than my life, but he doesn’t always have the closest relationship with the truth, you understand. He makes up stories, he exaggerates. Sure, we got problems, but I don’t want him going around making it worse ’cause he thinks he got to protect me.”
She seems out of breath, tired. I think of the mayor’s hand on her back, so sure of its right to be there.
“He says that the Bells want to kill him.”
“Now, I’m sure that isn’t true,” she says, but she looks away as she says it. Her nostrils flare, ever so slightly.
“If you need help, I can try—”
She holds up her hand, straightens her shoulders. “Now, that’s the one thing I’m damn sure we don’t need. Any more help.”
We hold each other’s eyes for a moment.
“Look,” she says, the word soft as a sigh, “I raised that boy right. He’s got a core of iron. He knows why the Lord gave him that burden, he knows it’s his holy duty to use them for good. So don’t go on misunderstanding him. We got plenty of white folks around here for that.”
I nod, and she seems to take this for agreement. Or maybe she doesn’t have any more time. The bell starts to ring again and she races back up the hill like the kitchen’s on fire.
And that’s when I place the scent that I had pulled from
