Page 90 of The River We Remember

“Robbed a dozen banks. I finally cornered him in an alley. Shot it out with him. Got me a medal from the mayor for that one.”

Scott wanted to tell him about the medal he’d received but was afraid it might be bragging, so he held his tongue.

“Probably ought to get that food in to Bluestone before it gets too cold.” Evans rose and opened the door to the cellblock. He stood aside and watched as Scott delivered the tray.

“Smells good,” Noah Bluestone said.

The phone on the sheriff’s desk rang.

Evans said, “You stay back from the cell, son, hear?”

Scott said, “Yes, sir.”

Evans went to answer the call.

Bluestone set the tray on the cot beside him and lifted the cloth that covered the food. “At least they feed you good in here.” He picked up the spoon Scott’s mother had sent along and began to eat. “I heard about what you did yesterday. A good piece of work.”

“Thank you.”

“Mind if I ask you something?”

“Okay.”

“Were you afraid?”

Scott looked toward the little window of morning sky at the end of the cellblock. He thought over his answer to the question.

“It all happened so fast, I didn’t have much time to be afraid. But…” He glanced into the calm eyes of Noah Bluestone, and he wanted to tell this man the truth. “I was afraid I couldn’t save her. I was afraid that if she died, it would be my fault.”

“You felt responsibility and you acted. A lot of men freeze up in a desperate situation like that, Scott. I’ve seen them paralyzed with fear. I’ve seen them run. I’ve seen them break down and cry. You learned something important about yourself. In a way, it’s a gift, and you’ll always have it with you.”

“It doesn’t feel like a gift. It feels kind of heavy. I keep thinking, What if? And every time I do that, it scares me more.”

“Will you do something for me?”

“I guess so, if I can.”

“Next time you come, break off a small stick from a cottonwood tree and bring it with you.”

“Why?”

“Bring it and I’ll show you why.”

Evans returned. “How’s that breakfast coming?” he asked Bluestone.

“Almost done.”

Bluestone ate the last few bites and slid the tray through the opening in the bars into Scott’s waiting hands. “The cottonwood,” he said. “Don’t forget.”

As Scott was leaving the jailhouse, he asked Evans, “Where is everybody?”

“Brody and Asa are out on duty. Deputy Graff turned in his badge.”

“He quit? Why?”

“He decided to help Bluestone’s wife take care of the farm. Sticking his neck out, seems to me. I can understand why Brody asked for his badge. This whole situation, Quinn’s murder, it’s got folks upset. Sentiments are running high. Jimmy Quinn was a son of a—” Evans caught himself and quickly shifted direction. “He was a man who made lots of folks around here angry, but he was one of us. Bluestone?” He looked back toward the closed door of the cellblock “Indian,” he finished, as if that one word spoke volumes.

SCOTT MADISON WAS leaving the jailhouse as Charlie arrived. He carried a tray in his hands, and Charlie figured he’d just delivered breakfast to her client.