Kennet’s head whipped around to scan the cabin. Minor laughed heartily, for of course, Nalle was sitting apart and alone, communing with the river.

“Made you look,” Minor said.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Don’t talk about our mother that way.”

“Who’s your new girlfriend?” Kennet asked, thinking he could startle an answer out of his brother.

No such luck. Minor only smiled and drew pinched fingers across his lips. His reticence was admirable, considering he’d started out as a boy who talked first and considered the consequences later.

Major’s story about Ingrid calling Doc Jensen a quack was a delicious thing. Kennet could go for months on a tale like that, sucking on it like a piece of penny candy, drawing out the flavor around the edges and making it last. He didn’t need verification that it was true. Keeping it tucked in his jaw during the times when Ingrid was particularly stern or humorless was enough for him.

Minor, though, was a cat murdered by curiosity. He was hopeless at savoring things in the silence of his heart. The tale was irresistible. He couldn’t stand it. He had to know. And on a morning when Major had joined the family for breakfast, Minor blurted: “Ma, did you really call Doc Jensen a quack and say he could kiss your ass?”

Emil spewed half his cup of coffee over Nalle in the high chair. Major went pale and stood up so fast, his chair went over backward. Fork in hand, a napkin still tucked into his collar, he ran for the kitchen door, narrowly missing the swat of Ingrid’s hand as he passed her chair.

“You big-mouth fool,” she cried after him. Then she collected herself and washed Minor’s mouth out with soap. The whole while, Emil hid behind a newspaper, lips pressed together tight and little choked, wheezing noises sneaking out his nose, like stifled sneezes.

Over the racket at the kitchen sink, Kennet leaned close to his father and whispered, “Did she?”

Emil’s red face went redder and he nodded, not meeting Kennet’s gaze. “You make me laugh and I’ll use you for bait.”

Kennet thought the whole thing hilarious. Minor, not so much. A mouthful of Lifebuoy was the least of his problems.

“Major’s really mad at me,” he said to Kennet, kicking stones along the river.

“He’ll come around,” Kennet said comfortingly. “He always does.”

“I don’t know. I think I really stepped in it.”

“Did you apologize?”

“I tried.” Minor was a portrait in misery. “I brought him my whole box of candy. He didn’t even look at it. Just yelled at me. I mean he really hollered. Said there was an art to keeping your mouth shut and I was probably too stupid to ever learn it. Then he slammed the door.”