Page 92 of The River We Remember

“You said you had a question to ask me.”

“Sam wants to talk to you. Are you willing?”

“About Quinn?”

“About growing up Sioux in Black Earth County.”

That made him think. His face didn’t change, but there was a long pause before he spoke again. “What’s his interest?”

“He wants to write a book.”

“About growing up Sioux? He must not want to sell many copies.”

“I think he’s after the truth.”

“Of what?”

“The history of this place. The whole history. The true history.”

“What do you think?”

“I think whenever you begin by believing it’s the truth you’re after, the journey’s already hopeless. I also think there’s no reason you shouldn’t talk to him. Considering what he’s put in that editorial, maybe you owe it to him. But I want to be there when you do, just to make sure he doesn’t slip in any questions about Jimmy Quinn’s death.”

“All right,” he said.

“Also, there’s something you ought to know. I spoke with a young woman who worked for the Quinns before you and Kyoko were hired. She quit because Jimmy assaulted her. I have a sense it might not have been the only time Jimmy did something like that.”

She watched him closely, but he gave no sign that this was important in his own thinking, nothing to indicate that it might have happened to Kyoko when she was working for the Quinns.

“I have just one more question for you,” Charlie said. “What was it about Jimmy Quinn that you find so worthy of respect?”

“Respect?” That got him. He reacted as if Charlie had jabbed him with a pitchfork. “What the hell ever gave you that impression?”

“Scott Madison told me that you said a good man died on Inkpaduta Bend, a man worthy of respect.”

“Oh.” He nodded and settled back. “Bring Wicklow to me, and I’ll tell you both what that’s about. And one other thing, Charlie.”

In the moment of quiet between them, a bird settled on the sill of the east window, a cardinal. It caught Bluestone’s eye, and it was as if he drank in the beauty of that little creature. Or maybe he simply savored the sense of its freedom. The bird took wing, and Bluestone turned his attention back to Charlie.

“Thank you” was all he said.

ON HIS WAY back to the Wagon Wheel, Scott Madison stopped at the Western Auto store and stood before the big display window eyeing the Columbia three-speed that was his faulty heart’s desire. He believed the bike would be his ticket to riding all over Black Earth County, up and down the hills, and maybe even beyond. He’d saved nearly enough to purchase it now. The question was, considering her fear about his heart, would his mother allow it?

Del Wolfe came out of Gowen’s Book and Stationery, two doors down. He saw Scott, hurried to him, and gave his friend a playful shoulder punch. “Hey, Madman, how’s the hero?”

“Good,” Scott said, though in truth he still felt tired.

“Got something for you.” Del slid a small envelope from between the pages of the book he held, which Scott saw was The Naked and the Dead, Del’s all-time favorite read.

The envelope was pinkish, and the flap was sealed with red wax, into which an imprint of a rose had been stamped. The envelope was also scented, something floral.

“Well, what’re you waiting for?” Del said.

Scott tore open the envelope and slipped out the folded stationery inside.

Dear Scottie,

I write this by moonlight. The memory of what you did is still with me, and always will be. I’m alive because of you. Can one person ever be more deeply indebted to another? You breathed life back into me, and I don’t mean just the air that you filled my lungs with. I don’t know how it will happen, but I want to see you again. I have to see you again.