Before I even reached the doorway, I heard him sliding a drawer open.
I glanced back over my shoulder just as he was turning his chair to the wall so he could lift up his silver flask and tip it to his lips.
10
Before work next morning I took Annie up into the hills. She wanted to collect leaves.
I found some hazel thickets and showed her how to dig into the mice nests surrounding them. You could find near a quart of nuts that the mice had already shelled and put away for bitter winter. But we didn't take any, of course, because the food belonged to them.
Annie made a collection of the prettiest leaves she could find, taking care to pluck some extras for her mother, and then we stood on an old Indian bridge and watched clear creek water splash rocks and slap against a ragged dam some beavers had recently built. Annie counted eight frogs and six fish from up on the bridge.
We took the east trail back, watching sleek fast horses the color of saddle leather run up grassy slopes in the late morning sun.
When we got near the house, she stopped at the abandoned well. Four large ragged rocks formed a circle around the well, inside of which Gillian had placed a piece of metal to cover the hole.
Now, expertly, Annie bent down, lifted the piece of metal up, took one of her leaves and closed her eyes and said, "I have to be quiet now and keep my eyes closed."
"How come?"
"Because I'm making a wish."
"Oh."
"Mommy always says that's what you have to do for God to hear you."
"Be quiet and close your eyes?"
"Uh-huh. And drop something down the well that you really like."
And with that she let the pretty autumn leaf go from her hand. It floated gently down into the darkness.
Gillian had told me about the well, how it was pretty shallow, and how the folks who had the house before her got sick drinking from it.
"You glad you're my pop?" Annie said, opening her eyes. She'd heard a boy at school call his daddy his "pop" and had decided she liked it.
"I sure am."
"Well, I sure am, too." She smiled and put her hand in mine. "I always knew you were my pop."
"You did?"
"In my dreams I always had a pop. I couldn't exactly see him real good but he was always there. And then the day I saw you in front of our house-well, I knew you were my pop."
"Aw, honey," I said, feeling sad for all the years she hadn't had a pop, "honey, you don't have to worry about not having a pop anymore. I'll always be here."
"Always?" she said, squinting up at me in the sunshine.
"Always," I said, then reached down and swung her up in my arms and carried her home just that way, her blond hair flying and her laughter clear and pure. The only thing that spoiled it was the sore throat and aching muscles I had. I was apparently getting sick.
***
Around ten that night, I just happened to be standing half a block from the Whitney Hotel. And Lundgren and Mars just happened to be standing on the porch of that same hotel. They couldn't see me because I was in the shadows of an overhang.
Lundgren smoked a cigar. Mars just looked around. He seemed nervous. I wondered why.
Fifteen minutes after coming out onto the porch, Lundgren flipped his cigar away exactly as he'd done the night before, and then, also as he'd done the night before, led his shorter friend down the street to the livery where the Mex gave them two horses already rubbed down and rested and saddled.
Lundgren and Mars rode out of town, taking the same moonlit road as last night.
I finished my rounds of the block then cut west over by the furrier, where the smell of pelts was sour on the cold night. Moving this fast didn't make me feel any better. The damned head cold I'd been getting was still with me.
The alley behind the
I glanced back over my shoulder just as he was turning his chair to the wall so he could lift up his silver flask and tip it to his lips.
10
Before work next morning I took Annie up into the hills. She wanted to collect leaves.
I found some hazel thickets and showed her how to dig into the mice nests surrounding them. You could find near a quart of nuts that the mice had already shelled and put away for bitter winter. But we didn't take any, of course, because the food belonged to them.
Annie made a collection of the prettiest leaves she could find, taking care to pluck some extras for her mother, and then we stood on an old Indian bridge and watched clear creek water splash rocks and slap against a ragged dam some beavers had recently built. Annie counted eight frogs and six fish from up on the bridge.
We took the east trail back, watching sleek fast horses the color of saddle leather run up grassy slopes in the late morning sun.
When we got near the house, she stopped at the abandoned well. Four large ragged rocks formed a circle around the well, inside of which Gillian had placed a piece of metal to cover the hole.
Now, expertly, Annie bent down, lifted the piece of metal up, took one of her leaves and closed her eyes and said, "I have to be quiet now and keep my eyes closed."
"How come?"
"Because I'm making a wish."
"Oh."
"Mommy always says that's what you have to do for God to hear you."
"Be quiet and close your eyes?"
"Uh-huh. And drop something down the well that you really like."
And with that she let the pretty autumn leaf go from her hand. It floated gently down into the darkness.
Gillian had told me about the well, how it was pretty shallow, and how the folks who had the house before her got sick drinking from it.
"You glad you're my pop?" Annie said, opening her eyes. She'd heard a boy at school call his daddy his "pop" and had decided she liked it.
"I sure am."
"Well, I sure am, too." She smiled and put her hand in mine. "I always knew you were my pop."
"You did?"
"In my dreams I always had a pop. I couldn't exactly see him real good but he was always there. And then the day I saw you in front of our house-well, I knew you were my pop."
"Aw, honey," I said, feeling sad for all the years she hadn't had a pop, "honey, you don't have to worry about not having a pop anymore. I'll always be here."
"Always?" she said, squinting up at me in the sunshine.
"Always," I said, then reached down and swung her up in my arms and carried her home just that way, her blond hair flying and her laughter clear and pure. The only thing that spoiled it was the sore throat and aching muscles I had. I was apparently getting sick.
***
Around ten that night, I just happened to be standing half a block from the Whitney Hotel. And Lundgren and Mars just happened to be standing on the porch of that same hotel. They couldn't see me because I was in the shadows of an overhang.
Lundgren smoked a cigar. Mars just looked around. He seemed nervous. I wondered why.
Fifteen minutes after coming out onto the porch, Lundgren flipped his cigar away exactly as he'd done the night before, and then, also as he'd done the night before, led his shorter friend down the street to the livery where the Mex gave them two horses already rubbed down and rested and saddled.
Lundgren and Mars rode out of town, taking the same moonlit road as last night.
I finished my rounds of the block then cut west over by the furrier, where the smell of pelts was sour on the cold night. Moving this fast didn't make me feel any better. The damned head cold I'd been getting was still with me.
The alley behind the
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