can’t guess at the pattern and there is then no danger.’
A truck went by in the street outside and its rumble was loud in the
quietness of the tavern. And after it went past, there was a fly buzzing on
the ceiling. The people up in front apparently had left – at least, they
weren’t talking any more. I looked around for Stiffy Grant and he wasn’t
there. I recalled now that I had not seen him and that was funny, for I’d
just given him the dollar.
‘Where is this place?’ I asked.
‘Mississippi. Greenbriar, Mississippi. It’s just a little place. Come
to think of it, it’s a lot like Millville. Just a little village, quiet and
dusty and hot. My God, how hot it is. But the project centre is air
conditioned. It isn’t bad in there.’
‘A little town,’ I said. ‘Funny that there’d be a place like that in a
little town.’
‘Camouflage,’ said All. ‘They want to keep it quiet. We’re asked not to
talk about it. And how could you hide it better than in a little place like
that? No one would ever think there’d be a project of that sort in a
stuck-off village.’
‘But you were a stranger…’
‘Sure, and that’s how I got the job. They didn’t want too many local
people. All of them would have a tendency to think pretty much alike. They
were glad to get someone from out of town. There are quite a lot of
out-of-towners in the project.’
‘And before that?’
‘Before that? Oh, yes, I see. Before that there was everything. I
floated, bummed around. Never stayed too long in any spot. A job for a few
weeks here, then a job for a few weeks a little farther on. I guess you
could say I drifted. Worked on a concrete gang for a while, washed dishes
for a while when the cash ran out and there was nothing else to do. Was a
gardener on a big estate down in Louisville for a month or two. Picked
tomatoes for a while, but you can starve at that sort of work, so I moved
on. Did a lot of things. But I’ve been down in Greenbriar for eleven
months.’
‘The job can’t last forever. After a while they’ll have all the data
they need.’
He nodded. ‘I know. I’ll hate to have it end. It’s the best work I ever
found. How about it, Brad? Will you go back with me?’
‘I’ll have to think about it,’ I told him. ‘Can’t you stay a little
longer than that day or two?’
‘I suppose I could,’ said All. ‘I’ve got two weeks’ vacation.’
‘Like to do some fishing?’
‘Nothing I’d like better.’
‘What do you say we leave tomorrow morning? Go up north for a week or
so? It should be cool up there. I have a tent and a camping outfit. We’ll
try to find a place where we can get some wall-eyes.’
‘That sounds fine to me.’
‘We can use my car,’ I said.
‘I’ll buy the gas,’ said All.
‘The shape I’m in,’ I said, ‘I’ll let you.’
3
If it had not been for its pillared front and the gleaming white rail
of the widow walk atop its roof, the house would have been plain and stark.
There had been a time, I recalled, when I had thought of it as the most
beautiful house in the entire world. But it had been six or seven years
since I had been at the Sherwood house.
I parked the car and got out and stood for a moment, looking at the
house. It was not fully dark as yet and the four great pillars gleamed
softly in the fading light of day. There were no lights in the front part of
the house, but I could see that they had been turned on somewhere in the
back.
I went up the shallow steps and across the porch. I found the bell and
rang.
Footsteps came down the hall, a hurrying woman’s footsteps. More than
likely, I thought, it was Mrs Flaherty. She had been housekeeper for the
family since that time Mrs Sherwood had left the house, never to return.
But it wasn’t Mrs Flaherty.
The door came open and she stood there, more mature than I remembered
her, more poised, more beautiful than ever.
‘Nancy!’ I exclaimed. ‘Why, you must be Nancy!’
It was not what I would have said if I’d had time to think about it.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I’m Nancy. Why be so surprised?’
‘Because I thought you weren’t here. When did you get home?’
‘Just yesterday,’ she said.
And, I thought, she doesn’t know me. She knows that she should know me.
She’s trying to remember.
‘Brad,’ she said, proving I was wrong, ‘it’s silly just to stand there.
Why don’t you come in.’
I stepped inside and she dosed the door and we were facing one another
in the dimness of the hail.
She reached out and laid her fingers on the lapel of my coat.
‘It’s been a long time, Brad,’ she said. ‘How is everything with you?
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Just fine.’
‘There are not many left, I hear. Not many of the gang.’
I shook my head. ‘You sound as if you’re glad to be back home.’
She laughed, just a flutter of a laugh. ‘Why, of course I am,’ she
said. And the laugh was the same as ever, that little burst of spontaneous
merriment that bad been a part of her.
Someone stepped out into the hall.
‘Nancy,’ a voice called, ‘is that the Carter boy?
Why,’ Nancy said to me, ‘I didn’t know that you wanted to see Father.’
‘It won’t take long,’ I told her. ‘Will I see you later?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘We have a lot to talk about.’
‘Nancy!’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘I’m coming,’ I said.
I strode down the hall toward the figure there. He opened a door and
turned on the lights in the room beyond.
I stepped in and he closed the door.
He was a big man with great broad shoulders and an aristocratic head,
with a smart trim moustache.
‘Mr Sherwood,’ I told him, angrily, ‘I am not the Carter boy. I am
Bradshaw Carter. To my friends, I’m Brad.’
It was an unreasonable anger, and probably uncalled for. But he had
burned me up, out there in the hall.
‘I’m sorry, Brad,’ he said. ‘It’s so hard to remember that you all are
grown up – the kids that Nancy used to run around with.’
He stepped from the door and went across the room to a desk that stood
against one wall. He opened a drawer and took out a bulky envelope and laid
it on the desk top.
‘That’s for you,’ he said.
‘For me?’
‘Yes, I thought you knew.’
I shook my head and there was something in the room that was very close
to fear. It was a sombre room, two walls filled with books, and on the third
heavily draped windows flanking a marble fireplace.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘it’s yours. Why don’t you take it?’
I walked to the desk and picked up the envelope. It was unsealed and I
flipped up the flap. Inside was a thick sheaf of currency.
‘Fifteen hundred dollars,’ said Gerald Sherwood. ‘I presume that is the
right amount.’
‘I don’t know anything,’ I told him, ‘about fifteen hundred dollars. I
was simply told by phone that I should talk with you.’
He puckered up his face, and looked at me intently, almost as if he
might not believe me.
‘On a phone like that,’ I told him, pointing to the second phone that
stood on the desk.
He nodded tiredly. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and how long have you had the
phone?’
‘Just this afternoon. Ed Adler came and took out my other phone, the
regular phone, because I couldn’t pay for it. I went for a walk, to sort of
think things over, and when I came back this other phone was ringing.’
He waved a hand. ‘Take the envelope,’ he said. ‘Put it in your pocket.
It is not my money. It belongs to you.’
I laid the envelope back on top the desk. I needed fifteen hundred
dollars. I needed any kind of money, no matter where it came from. But I
couldn’t take that envelope. I don’t know why I couldn’t.
‘All right,’ he said, ‘sit down.’
A chair stood angled in front of the desk and I sat down in it.
He lifted the lid of a box on the desk. ‘A cigar?’ he asked.
‘I don’t smoke,’ I told him.
‘A drink, perhaps?’
‘Yes. I would like a drink.’
‘Bourbon?’
‘Bourbon would be fine.’
He went to a cellaret that stood in a corner and put ice into two
glasses.
‘How do you drink it, Brad?’
‘Just ice, if you don’t mind.’
He chuckled. ‘It’s the only civilized way to drink the stuff’ he said.