Hal drank, half the bottle in one sip. He wore a simple watch on a thick wrist, tan from years working beneath the open sky. “I haven’t seen them, Duchess … she was a baby, when I last saw my daughter. And then Robin …” He trailed away.
“They’re both good kids.” The words sounded trite, empty when they were not, like there was another kind of child in the world.
“I wanted to come, for the burial. But I made a promise.” Hal offered no further explanation.
“It happened fast. As soon as they released the … as soon as they released Star. Small service at Little Brook. Beside her sister.” Duchess had held her brother’s hand. She did not cry, just watched the coffin like the great equalizer it was.
They watched as Duchess came out of the barn, a chicken trailed her. She glanced back, as if it were following her.
“She looks like her mother.”
“Yes.”
“I made up a room. They’ll share. The boy, he like baseball?”
Walk smiled but did not know.
“I bought a ball and glove.”
They saw Duchess peer into the cruiser, check on Robin and then head back toward the barn, still eyeing the chicken.
Hal cleared his throat. “Vincent King. I haven’t said that name in a long time. I hoped I’d never have to again.”
“He hasn’t spoken a word yet. I found him there, in the kitchen, he was the one that called it in. I have my doubts.” Walk said it with a conviction he wondered if Hal could see through, that he was so far out of his depth that the state cops would barely keep him in the loop.
“They’re holding him.”
“No official charge yet. They’ve got him on a bail condition. Broken curfew.”
“But, Vincent King.”
“I don’t know. What Vincent did, and what this is.”
“I go to church but I don’t believe in God. He goes to prison but is not a criminal.”
Hal’s face, etched lines so deep they told a story that began thirty years before.
Hal cracked his knuckles again. “The minister said we begin at the end. It would have made for easier years, if I thought for one second Sissy was somewhere better than a small wooden box. I try though, every Sunday I try.”
“Sorry.”
“It wasn’t your—”
“Not just Sissy. Your wife. I never got to say it, after.”
It made the local news. The first time any of them saw Star’s mother was the first day of the trial. Maggie Day rolled into the courtroom. She had the hair and the eyes and drew looks, but an air of fallen glamour chased the beauty from her.
“She was sad for Vincent. Said watching a child draw a man’s sentence just about broke her all over again.” Hal drained the last of his beer. “When Star found her, that night. We had a painting, a print, Temeraire, you know it?”
“The boat.”
“She was sitting beneath it, head tipped back. All that haunted sky, like she was part of it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She wanted to be with Sissy.” He said it simply, like there could be anything simple about the suicide of a wife and mother. “Vincent King is the cancer of my family.”
Walk held the cold bottle to his forehead. “Listen, Hal. There was a man, Dickie Darke. He was … him and Star. He was rough with her.” He watched the old man, his mouth tight. “And, I don’t know what happened with Duchess, someone burned his place down. Strip joint.”
Hal looked out at his granddaughter, standing small on the endless acres.
“I don’t think he’ll try and find you, not after all that’s happened.”
“He might come here?”
“I don’t think so, but Duchess thinks he will.”
“She said that?”
“She doesn’t really say anything. She just asked, if Darke could find them up here. She won’t say exactly why. I can’t rule it out, that he had something to do with Star.”
“And if he did?”
Walk took a breath as he watched the car, where the boy slept. Maybe the only witness.
“He won’t find us here. I’m not listed, and the land … there’s a lien. I had some bad years. I can keep her safe. And the boy. That’s the one thing I’m sure I can do.”
Walk followed the line of the house, then down to the picket. There was water, too big for a pond and too small for a lake. He saw mirrors, sky and trees and the ripples of his own drawn face.
“I don’t want to stay here.”
He turned to Duchess.
“That man is old. I don’t even know who the fuck he is.”
“There’s nowhere else. It’s here or Social, that’s … can you do it for Robin?”
He wanted to reach out and take her hand and tell her soft lies.
“Don’t call here, Walk. You can write, maybe. Robin, that shrink said he needs to forget. Maybe just for a while. It’s too bad for him. Too much for a child.”
He wanted to tell her she was a child too.
After, he knelt in the dirt, ruffled Robin’s hair and met his frightened eyes. Robin looked past, at Hal and the old house. And then Walk stood, faced Duchess and searched for words.
“I’m an outlaw,” she said.
He took a breath, sadness washed over him.
“And you’re a lawman.”
He nodded. “I am.”
“So fuck off now.”
He climbed into the cruiser and edged from them.
The sun died, he slowed by the water, beneath the gum trees, he watched her, a hand on her brother’s shoulder as they walked toward the old man, slowly, cautiously.
12
DUCHESS DID NOT EAT THAT first night on the farm.
Instead she watched Robin and made sure he finished his bowl. It was some kind of stew and he looked at her with those eyes that told her he wanted to cry. She fed him the last mouthfuls herself.
Hal stood awkward, watched a while then moved to the sink and looked out over the land. He was big to Duchess, broad and powerful and imposing.
