“Did you ever steal anything while you were over there?” she asked.

“No,” he said. He thought of the carving of the cow found in Dachau—the cow he had given to Travis—and considered telling her about it, but knew it would sound foolish. The kind of stealing she was talking about would not include a carving no larger than his thumb.

In the war, soldiers he knew had taken many things from the towns and villages of their battles—jewelry and silverware and paintings and money. Many things. Spoils of war, they had called it, saying if they didn’t take it some officer would and it would be an even bet that the officer was someone who had not been within shouting distance of the battle. The taking had bothered Noah, knowing it was much the same as stealing at gunpoint, the crime that had sent Travis to jail for twenty years. In Elbert County, it had caused people to snort about evil being on the loose. In war, no one seemed to care.

“I sometimes think Boyd did,” she said calmly. “I don’t know where else all the money could have come from. He said it was from some rich family in New York, paying him for saving their son’s life. I didn’t believe him. He never gave me a name and he never told me what happened. I think he just made it up.” She paused, tilted her head. “He gave me a necklace when he got back. It had diamonds in it. Lots of diamonds. But he didn’t want me to wear it. He said it would cause talk, and there was enough of that already. He told me he found it. He said he was in one of the towns that had been bombed and he saw it on the ground and he just picked it up and put it in his pocket.”

“Could have,” Noah said. “Some of those places were pretty much blown up by bombers. You could see things everywhere.”

She pulled her hand back from the cup. “Maybe he was right, then.” She looked at Noah, forced a smile. The dim, peach-colored light from the lamp flickered over her face. “I’ve been packing the things that belonged to him—his clothes, that sort of thing. I’m going to give it all away, or throw it away. It’s time to put all of that behind me.” She touched her throat with her fingers. “I’ll probably sell the necklace. I sure could use the money. I just hope it’s worth something.”

Noah moved his head in acknowledgement, but he did not speak.

“See? Jabbermouth at work,” she said in a suddenly light voice. “I’m sorry. Boyd said I should never talk about the war—but I already said that, didn’t I?”

“I don’t mind,” he told her.

She sat looking at him for a moment, her eyes locked on his face, and he thought she wanted to say something, but could not decide if she should. Then she stood in a movement that seemed sudden to Noah. “You’re kind to listen,” she said. She moved from the table to the door and looked out at the porch. “Do you like sleeping out here?” she asked.