In a day or so, she would try to leave Beatrice with Ada Reynolds long enough to go to the shack and to clean it while Noah was away painting, she decided. She owed him that much.

FOURTEEN

He was at the store not long after sunrise, having spent a night of light sleep and flickering dreams that caused an ache behind his eyes. His breakfast had been coffee and more oatmeal, which he had eaten at the table while forcing his mind to think of the letter he would write to his brother, and of the trip back to Elbert County, and of the gift he would take to Travis.

In the war, at Dachau, he had found a small carving of a cow near the body of a young man who had died on the night before he would have been freed. The carving was no larger than his thumb, but perfectly done. Ears and horns and tail and udders. Its head was bent over, as though grazing from pasture grass. Its back and sides had been made smooth from rubbing. He had given the carving to Travis, keeping secret the story of where it came from, but he did not know if Travis still had it. Maybe not. Maybe he had traded it for cigarettes.

Maybe he would take a work coat to Travis, he had reasoned. Something for cold weather. A work coat with a pocket large enough to hold the carved cow—if Travis still had it.

At the store, he took the hard-bristle brush Taylor had provided and began to scrape off old paint peeling on the clapboard. If he worked hard at it, and if the weather held clear, he could finish the painting in another day or so, he believed. He would use some of the money for a bus ticket back to Elbert County, and he would put away the same amount for a return trip to the valley, if he had a notion to return. That way, he would not spend it foolishly, as he had done often with the money he kept hidden in the bottom of his knapsack. Nothing confused him as much as money. It seemed to fly out of his hand, zooming away on invisible wings. There was never enough of it. He guessed there never would be.

Taylor’s surprise at finding him working so early made Noah smile from the ladder.

“If you think I’m going to get here when the rooster crows, you’ve got another think coming,” Taylor called up to him cheerfully. “Nobody stopped by, did they?”

“Not yet,” Noah told him.

“Thank the Lord,” Taylor said. “They’d put a warrant out for my arrest if they saw you out this early. It’s one thing to show some spirit, my friend, but it’s something else entirely to make the rest of the world seem lazy.” He laughed. “I’ll put the coffee on,” he added.

The morning and early afternoon were spent in work and talk—Noah working, Taylor talking. Shoppers drifted in and out of the store, some stopping outside to speak to Noah and to comment on the good work of his painting. Made the store look fresh, they said in praise. A few of the men who had been present the day before talked to him about fishing, some saying they had spent the afternoon at the river, trying their luck. Their catches had been small, even fishing from the same spot Noah had fished with Taylor, they admitted, and they clucked their tongues over how Noah could catch fish when they couldn’t.