over in De Witt and ran their truck into the river, and it was a big production to get it out. Yes, it’s a lot of money. But those words went up, and they have to come down. People are mad in Pinville, Claude. They had a fine water tower, and now you drive into town, you think the place is called Armageddon.”
Albert laughed, and this angered Claude. “So help me God,” he said, “I will knock you through the wall of this station.”
“Then I’d be dead,” said Albert. “That’s like saying, ‘So help me God, I’ll cut your throat.’ Or, ‘So help me God, I’ll poison your food.’“
Claude made room on the bench by moving aside a yellow quilt that had come in that day for Quinn. He sat down, removed a cigar from its glass tube, pared the end away with a jackknife, and lit up. “I believe I had you too late in life,” said Claude. “I already had two daughters and three sons, and maybe I should have stopped right there. I know it’s been one sorry situation after another. Maybe I should tell the sheriff about when you decided to run away and live in a tree.”
“Do,” said Albert. “I want you to.”
So then he didn’t. But it was not a long story, and he had told it so many times, to prove so many different points about Albert’s character, that most anyone around Grafton knew the gist of it. When Albert was five or six years old, he got mad at Claude and Marietta and decided to move out to the woods behind the Robeshaw farm. He took a can of beans, a can opener, a fork, and The Five Chinese Brothers. Well, he sat down under an evergreen to read, and he wondered if he hadn’t brought the wrong book, because it always gave him a chill to see the picture of the first brother’s huge face as he held in the sea. But he read the whole thing and then he was hungry, and he managed to open the can and begin eating the beans. But when he came upon the little cube of pork in the beans, he didn’t know what it was, and it scared him, and he ran crying for home.
Dan waited for Earl Kellogg to come on shift, and when he did Dan left the office for the day. But it was cold, raining, and getting dark, and this made Dan think that winter was coming, so he decided to go over to the Children’s Farm with the yellow quilt, which had been brought in that day by Marian Hamilton and wouldn’t do anyone any good folded up there on the bench.
The Children’s Farm was a dark brick castle on a hill. It had narrow windows and lightning rods and stone figures that lined the roof, representing the virtues of Hygiene, Obedience, Courtesy, Restraint, and Silence. The structure was built in 1899, and rebuilt after a fire nine years later, and seemed specially designed to remind the children passing through that their circumstances were tragic. There was a farm—seventy acres and two barns, one big, one small, which were slowly falling down—and it used to be, going way back,that the hands and the children would raise their own food and even make their own shoes. Now the fields were leased to other farmers, the kids wore navy tennis shoes from Kresge’s, and the barns had not held animals for twenty-five, thirty years. Still, cows had been there once, and it was raining, so the place smelled like wet cows as Dan stepped from his cruiser, tucked the quilt under his coat, and headed across the gravel to the front door. There was a white Ford Torino in the driveway with the parking lights on and the motor running, and Dan looked in, as was his habit, and sitting behind the steering wheel was the woman, Joan Gower, who had thrown his trowel off the roof of the trailer.
She rolled down the window. A lime paisley scarf covered her hair. “Is something wrong?” she said. “Oh, Sheriff, how are you?”
“I’m fine,” said Dan. “Do work here?”
“I volunteer,” said Joan. “Well, I’m volunteering to read to Quinn. I know the community has really poured its heart out, but it occurred to me that the one
Albert laughed, and this angered Claude. “So help me God,” he said, “I will knock you through the wall of this station.”
“Then I’d be dead,” said Albert. “That’s like saying, ‘So help me God, I’ll cut your throat.’ Or, ‘So help me God, I’ll poison your food.’“
Claude made room on the bench by moving aside a yellow quilt that had come in that day for Quinn. He sat down, removed a cigar from its glass tube, pared the end away with a jackknife, and lit up. “I believe I had you too late in life,” said Claude. “I already had two daughters and three sons, and maybe I should have stopped right there. I know it’s been one sorry situation after another. Maybe I should tell the sheriff about when you decided to run away and live in a tree.”
“Do,” said Albert. “I want you to.”
So then he didn’t. But it was not a long story, and he had told it so many times, to prove so many different points about Albert’s character, that most anyone around Grafton knew the gist of it. When Albert was five or six years old, he got mad at Claude and Marietta and decided to move out to the woods behind the Robeshaw farm. He took a can of beans, a can opener, a fork, and The Five Chinese Brothers. Well, he sat down under an evergreen to read, and he wondered if he hadn’t brought the wrong book, because it always gave him a chill to see the picture of the first brother’s huge face as he held in the sea. But he read the whole thing and then he was hungry, and he managed to open the can and begin eating the beans. But when he came upon the little cube of pork in the beans, he didn’t know what it was, and it scared him, and he ran crying for home.
Dan waited for Earl Kellogg to come on shift, and when he did Dan left the office for the day. But it was cold, raining, and getting dark, and this made Dan think that winter was coming, so he decided to go over to the Children’s Farm with the yellow quilt, which had been brought in that day by Marian Hamilton and wouldn’t do anyone any good folded up there on the bench.
The Children’s Farm was a dark brick castle on a hill. It had narrow windows and lightning rods and stone figures that lined the roof, representing the virtues of Hygiene, Obedience, Courtesy, Restraint, and Silence. The structure was built in 1899, and rebuilt after a fire nine years later, and seemed specially designed to remind the children passing through that their circumstances were tragic. There was a farm—seventy acres and two barns, one big, one small, which were slowly falling down—and it used to be, going way back,that the hands and the children would raise their own food and even make their own shoes. Now the fields were leased to other farmers, the kids wore navy tennis shoes from Kresge’s, and the barns had not held animals for twenty-five, thirty years. Still, cows had been there once, and it was raining, so the place smelled like wet cows as Dan stepped from his cruiser, tucked the quilt under his coat, and headed across the gravel to the front door. There was a white Ford Torino in the driveway with the parking lights on and the motor running, and Dan looked in, as was his habit, and sitting behind the steering wheel was the woman, Joan Gower, who had thrown his trowel off the roof of the trailer.
She rolled down the window. A lime paisley scarf covered her hair. “Is something wrong?” she said. “Oh, Sheriff, how are you?”
“I’m fine,” said Dan. “Do work here?”
“I volunteer,” said Joan. “Well, I’m volunteering to read to Quinn. I know the community has really poured its heart out, but it occurred to me that the one
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