Luke lifted a pair of wire-rimmed glasses from his shirt pocket. The glasses struck me as quite a concession for a man who prided himself on seeing things so clearly. The girl with the ponytail handed him some photocopied pages. I wondered if she and Luke lived together.

“ ‘It is hereby declared to be the policy of the United States that certain selected rivers of the Nation which, with their immediate environments, possess outstandingly remarkable scenic, recreational, geologic, fish and wildlife, historic, cultural, or other similar values, shall be preserved in free-flowing condition, and that they and their immediate environments shall be protected for the benefit and enjoyment of present and future generations.’ ”

Luke turned to another page. “To be even more specific,” he said, “ ‘alteration or modification of the streambed will not be permitted.’ ”

He took off the glasses and looked not at Brennon but at Phillips.

“There it is in black and white. That’s the law, and it’s up to the Forest Service to enforce it.”

Kowalsky came back to the podium to stand beside Brennon.

“That law is more ambiguous than you’re making it appear,” Kowalsky said. “That law didn’t envision what’s happened to my daughter.”

“Let’s take it to court then,” Luke said. “That suits me fine.”

“You’d like that, Miller, wouldn’t you?” Kowalsky said, heat in his voice now. “Take a year or two to fight it out in court.”

Brennon looked bewildered. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t want me to build this dam if it were your daughter?” he asked.

Luke handed the photocopies back to the girl. He took off his glasses and placed them back in his shirt pocket.

“I don’t have a daughter,” Luke said, his voice no longer confrontational, almost gentle. “But if I did and she was dead and I knew there was nothing I could do to make her alive again, I can’t think of a place I’d rather her body be than in the Tamassee. I’d want her where she’d be part of something pure and good and unchanging, the closest thing to Eden we’ve got left. You tell me where there’s a more serene and beautiful place on this planet. You tell me a more holy place, Mr. Brennon, because I don’t know one.”

Brennon hadn’t expected that answer. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. For a few moments no one else said anything either. It seemed as though we were all in abeyance, that Luke had taken us into that quiet, beautiful place where Ruth Kowalsky lay suspended. Luke sat down. The girl put her hand over his and kept it there.