He had liked the time spent with the deaf-and-dumb man. They had shared a campsite by a stream with a fast flow to it, and there the deaf-and-dumb man had picked the tender leaves from a patch of pokeberry stalks and had cooked them in his deep cook pot—rinsing them and recooking several times to get rid of the poison—and Noah had caught some trout and pan-fried them in a tobacco tin’s worth of lard bought for a dime at a farm house nearby and had made hoecakes from a small amount of the colored man’s cornmeal mixed with water and salt, and the deaf-and-dumb man had made a silent, closed-eye prayer over the food. He had said his thanks to Noah by a slow blink and a head-dip that had its pull from deep in his chest.

He wondered if the man had found his home, and if he was still there. Wondered if he had ever spoken of their time together, and, if so, wondered how the man’s fingers looked when they told the tale. Or maybe the man’s wife was too happy over her cook pot and corn bread and sugar to care what was said in air woods about a white man wandering from place to place, looking for a place to fish.

The owl made a sudden dive from a pine tree, its great wings flapping once; then it disappeared into a pool of night behind the tangled limbs of a mountain laurel.

No reason to think about getting up early, Noah reasoned. It would take time for the store siding to dry enough for painting. He turned his body to look at the lake. Hoke Moore’s fish was there, waiting.

“You got to take your time with him,” Hoke Moore had advised. “Got to aggravate him some. Got to make him want you as much as you want him.”

Soon, Noah thought.

Soon.

SIXTEEN

He stayed late on the cot, watching the sun ease out of the trees—the trees still holding the rinse of rain—and then he went to the spring to wash the sleep from his eyes and to get water for his coffee and oatmeal. He was cleaning his dish in the wash pan when he heard his name being called from the front of the shack. He knew by the voice that it was Eleanor Cunningham.

She was carrying a basket that appeared to be filled with towels or something like towels, and she seemed surprised to find him at the shack, saying, “I thought you’d be gone already.”

“I was waiting a little bit for the sun to dry out the store some,” he told her.

“I can come back later,” she said, and she turned to leave.

“It’s all right,” Noah said. “I’ll be going in a few minutes, anyhow.” It was a small lie, but one that seemed necessary.

She paused, looked back at him. “Are you sure?”

“Soon as I finish my coffee,” he answered.

“You have enough for two cups?” she asked.