He began to seem more slender now too, and younger. This man I could imagine as the heroic cavalry leader; I thought he must have looked like this when he entered the army, before the tribulations of war had their effect on him. The man I had seen before was gross and he shambled when he walked. This man, I knew, would be graceful in everything he did.

After a while, still in the chair, I went to sleep and dreamed things I will not repeat.

BOOK THREE

Book Three

13

Chapter Thirteen

Father Jackson came to see me the next morning. It was close to eleven, and I was standing in the front room staring out the window when he drove up in an old Ford with rust holes in its panels and fenders.

Franny and Duff had gone to school, or rather I should say that Duff got on the bus with his sister. There was no way of knowing if he was actually going to school after the bus reached Cainesville, but I wasn’t worrying about things like that for the moment.

Jack was fiddling with Franny’s portable radio, trying to get some fresh news about Stephanie’s murder. The hourly newscasts from the Ashland station had been little more than summaries of what the deputies had told us, except that the two twelve-­year-­old boys who had found Stephanie were identified, and on the most recent newscast Jack and I were named as her employers. It was also stated that we had failed to report her disappearance to the authorities.

“Really top-­notch reporting,” I said. “Why don’t they say that we told her family and it was they who failed to tell anyone else?”

“We’re the outsiders,” Jack said. “It’s easier to blame us.”

I saw the rattletrap car then and went to the door. Father Jackson came in hesitantly, wearing a flashy plaid jacket that looked as if it had been selected in the dark from a rack at the Salvation Army. Jack showed his surprise when I introduced our visitor as a priest.

“I thought if you weren’t busy we could take a run over to Ashland and see a man at the college there,” Father Jackson said.

“Why? What man?” Jack wanted to know.

“Father Jackson and I are doing some research on the history of the area,” I said.

“I thought that was Duff’s bag.”

“Well I’m interested too. Do you mind?”

“Not as long as you’re being accompanied by a clergyman.” He winked at Father Jackson. “Of course after what I’ve been told lately about some of you fellas . . .”

Father Jackson reddened and grinned feebly. I took his arm and ushered him out the door. There wasn’t any conversation for a while as we started off for Ashland. For one thing, talk was difficult since the car needed a muffler too.