And the voice answered, on a fading sigh, “Remember the night of the preaching. You may not always be saved.”
10
Two weeks later, the frame of the new warehouse had taken shape and men were starting to work on the roof. Len worked where he was told to, now on the construction gang and now in the office when the papers got stacked too high. He did this in a state of tense excitement, going through a lot of the motions automatically while his mind was on other things. He was like a man waiting for an explosion to happen.
He had moved his sleeping quarters to a hut in the traders’ section, leaving Esau in full possession of Dulinsky’s loft. He spent every spare minute there, quite forgetting Amity, forgetting everything but the hope that now, any minute, after all these years, things would break for him the way he wanted them to. He went over and over in his mind every word the voice had said. He heard them in his light uneasy sleep. And he would not have left Refuge and Dulinsky now for any reason under the sun.
He knew there was danger. He was beginning to feel it in the air and see it in the faces of some of the men who dropped by to watch as the timbers of the warehouse went up. There were too many strangers among them. The countryside around Refuge was populous and prosperous farm land, and only partly New Mennonite. On market days there were always farmers in town, and the country preachers and the storekeepers and the traders came and went, and it was obvious that the word was spreading around. Len knew he was taking a chance, and he knew that it was perhaps not fair to Hostetter or whoever it was that had risked giving him that warning. But he was fiercely determined not to go.
He was angry with Hostetter and the men of Bartorstown.
It was perfectly apparent now that they must have known where he and Esau were ever since they left Piper’s Run. He could think of half a dozen times when a trader had happened along providentially to help them out of a bad spot, and he was sure now that these were not accidents. He was sure that the reason he had never met Hostetter was not accidental either. Hostetter had avoided them, and probably the men of Bartorstown had avoided using the facilities of whatever town the Colter boys happened to be in. That was why there had never been a clue. Hostetter knew perfectly well these years the men of Bartorstown had been deliberately keeping them from all hope of finding what they were after. And at the same time, the men of Bartorstown could easily, at any moment, have simply picked them up and taken them where they wanted to go. Len felt like a child deceived by its elders. He wanted to get his hands on Hostetter.
He had not said anything about this to Esau. He did not like Esau very well any more, and he was not sure of him. He figured there was plenty of time for talking later on, and in the meantime everybody, including Esau, was safer if he didn’t know.
Len hung around the traders, not asking any questions or saying anything, just there with his eyes and his ears wide open. But he did not see anybody he knew, and no secret voice spoke to him again. If it was Hostetter, he was still keeping out of sight.
He would hardly be able to do that in Refuge. Len decided that if it was Hostetter, he was staying across the river in Shadwell. And immediately Len felt a compulsion to go there. Perhaps, away from people who knew him too well, another contact might be made.
He didn’t have any excuse to go to Shadwell, but it did not take him long to think one up. One evening as he was helping Dulinsky close the office he said, “I’ve just been thinking it wouldn’t be a bad idea if I was to go over to Shadwell and see what they think about what you’re doing. After all, if you’re successful, it’ll mean the bread out of their mouths.”
“I know what they think,” said Dulinsky. He slammed a desk drawer shut and looked out the window at the dark framework of the building rising against the blue west. After a minute he said, “I saw Judge Taylor today.”
Len waited. He was fidgety and nervous all the time these days. It seemed hours before Dulinsky spoke again.
“He told me if I didn’t stop building that he and the town authorities would arrest me and everyone connected with me.”
“Do you think they will?”
“I reminded him that I hadn’t violated any local law. The Thirtieth Amendment is a federal law, and he has no jurisdiction over that.”
“What did he say?”
Dulinsky shrugged. “Just what I expected. He’ll send immediately to the federal court in Maryland, asking for authority or a federal officer.”
“Oh well,” said Len, “that’ll take a while. And public opinion—”
“Yes,” said Dulinsky. “Public opinion is the only hope I have. Taylor knows it. The elders know it. Old man Shadwell knows it. This thing isn’t going to wait for any federal judge to jog trot all the way from Maryland.”
“You’ll carry the rally tomorrow night,” said Len confidently. “Refuge is pretty sore about Shadwell taking business away from them. The people are behind you, most of them.”
Dulinsky grunted. “Maybe it wouldn’t be amiss if you did go to Shadwell. This rally is important. I’ll stand or fall by the way it goes, and if old man Shadwell is fixing to come over and make me some trouble, I want to know it. I’ll give you some business to do, so it won’t look too much as though you’re spying. Don’t ask any questions, just see what you can pick up. Oh, and don’t take Esau.”
Len hadn’t been intending to, but he asked, “Why not?”
“You’ve got wit enough to stay out of trouble. He hasn’t. Do you know where he spends his nights?”
“Why,” said Len, surprised, “right here, I suppose.”
“Maybe. I hope so. You take the morning ferry, Len, and come back on the afternoon. I want you here for the rally. I need every voice I can get shouting Hooray for Mike.”
“All right,” said Len. “Good night.”
He walked past the new warehouse on his way. It smelled fragrantly of new wood and had a satisfying hugeness. Len felt that it was good to build. For the moment he agreed passionately with Dulinsky.
A voice challenged him from the shadow of a pile of planks, and he said, “Hello, Harry, it’s me.” He walked on. There were four men on guard now. They carried big billets of wood in their hands, and fires burned all night to light the area. He understood that Mike Dulinsky came down there every so often to look around, as though he was too uneasy to sleep.
Len did not sleep well himself. He sat around talking for a while after supper and then rolled in, but he was thinking about tomorrow, thinking how he would walk through Shadwell to the traders’ compound and Hostetter would be there, and he would say something to him, something quiet but significant, and Hostetter would nod and say, “All right, it’s no use fighting you any longer, I’ll take you where you want to go.” He played that scene over and over in his mind, and all the time he knew it was only one of those things you dream up when you’re a child and haven’t learned yet about reality. Then he got to thinking about Dulinsky asking where Esau spent his nights, and sleep was out of the question. Len wanted to know too.
He thought he did know. And it was amazing, considering that he didn’t care at all about Amity, how much the idea upset him.
He rose and went out into the warm night. The compound was dark and silent, except for an occasional thump from the stables where the big horses moved in their stalls. He crossed it and went up through the sleeping streets of the town, deliberately taking the long way round so as not to pass the new warehouse. He didn’t want to talk to the guards.
The long way round was long enough to take him past Judge Taylor’s house. Nothing was stirring there, and no light showed. He picked out Amity’s window, and then he felt ashamed and moved on, down to the docks.
The door of Dulinsky’s office was locked, but Esau had a key now, so that didn’t mean anything. Len hesitated. The wet smell of the river was strong in the air, a presage of rain, and the sky was clouded. The watch fires burned, farther down the bank. It was quiet, and somehow the office shed had the feel of an empty building.
