Page 67 of The River We Remember

But Scott was only a boy, and a boy with an imperfect heart that would keep him out of whatever war might erupt in his future. So what he said, he said only to please the man. “I see, sir.”

Wicklow smiled, but it was a sad thing, as if he knew he’d failed in what he’d tried desperately and sincerely to pass down to the boy. “Come on then, son. Bluestone’s supper must be getting cold.”

WHEN SCOTT AND Sam Wicklow arrived at the jailhouse, the sheriff checked the tray and unlocked the cellblock door.

“Go on,” the sheriff said to Scott. “I want a word with Mr. Wicklow.”

Noah Bluestone was sitting on his cot with his back against the wall, staring at the little window at the end of the cellblock. The smell of the meal Angie Madison had prepared brought his attention quickly to where Scott stood outside the cell door.

“Supper, Mr. Bluestone,” Scott said.

“Smells like fried chicken.”

“Yes, sir. And mashed potatoes and gravy, and some corn with red peppers. There’s a slice of apple pie, too.”

Bluestone got off the cot and came to the door, where there was a narrow rectangular opening down low designed to allow the tray to slide through. Scott passed the food to the prisoner. Bluestone took the tray, set it on the cot, and turned back to the boy.

“You and your friend, you made it home okay the other night?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I was hard on you out there.”

“It’s all right.”

“I heard you laughing is all. It’s not a place for laughter.”

“I know. A man died there.”

“Not just a man. A good man, a man worthy of respect.”

Which surprised Scott Madison, because that was the first time he could recall hearing anyone speak highly of Mr. Quinn. The first time, and it had come from the mouth of the man who’d murdered him.

“So how does this work?” Bluestone asked. “Do you wait until I’m finished eating and take the tray back?”

“Usually, yes, sir.”

“Then I better get about my business.”

Bluestone sat on the cot, uncovered the tray, and began to eat. Scott felt uncomfortable simply standing there, watching, so he said, “I’ll be back when you’re finished.”

Mr. Wicklow was just leaving, and the sheriff looked lost in thought. He stared at the floor and didn’t seem to notice Scott.

“He’s eating,” Scott said.

Brody looked up. “Good. Thanks.”

“He said something that I don’t understand.”

“What was that?”

“He said Mr. Quinn was a good man. He said he was a man worthy of respect.”

“Noah Bluestone said that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I’ll be.”