Mohawk

ran through her veins,” a line picked up again and again.
    “Shall I set these swine straight?” said Dan Wood one Sunday afternoon in October, a gray day very much like the one six years earlier when they had skimmed leaves from the pool. This year the pool was drained in September and a sheet of plastic stretched across to catch leaves. The golf course was crowded, and each time Anne heard the crack of a driver on the nearby seventh tee, she flinched, half expecting the ball to come slicing over the wall.
    “I don’t care what they say,” she told him.
    “Of course you do. Anybody would.”
    “You’re wrong. Saying is just saying. It’s only the doing that scares me.”
    “They’ll never get a conviction,” Dan said. “Any place but Mohawk, they wouldn’t even try.”
    “The men from selective service called again yesterday, frightening Mother half to death. I’m beginning to worry about her, and I never thought I would.”
    “The afternoon with Milly will buck her up.”
    “I’m not so sure. She’s never been this scared before. She’s just stayed inside and closed the door. Now she’s talking about selling the house.”
    “Why’s that such a bad idea?”
    “I don’t know. It’s Dad’s house.”
    Dan frowned at her.
    “I know what you think,” she said, “so there’s no reason to say it. I just can’t help wondering what he’d have made of all this. He never was particularly optimistic, but I doubt even he suspected things could come unglued so goddamned fast.… I feel like I should keep the house, even if I can’t keep it in order.”
    “And in this fashion are the sins of the fathers bequeathed to generations yet un-bow-ern,” Dan drawled.His evangelical prattle usually made Anne laugh. “Actually, I’m just jealous, since it turns out I’m not going to be able to keep my own house.”
    “Can I help? At least to forestall things?” There was still a sizable chunk of money left from what she called the Untemeyer Bequest. The old man had put Mather Grouse’s winnings in an interest-earning account and let it sit there for six years. Mrs. Grouse wouldn’t take it, naturally, but she had no objection to her daughter doing so, especially since Anne had replaced the roof. She had also repaid the money Dallas had borrowed from the Woods. Dan wouldn’t have accepted it, and was angry with his wife when he learned that she had, but in truth they needed the money badly. Randall’s bail had been set at eighty thousand, far beyond Dallas and Anne’s reach, though they tried. Anne had even located Price on the off chance that he’d suddenly struck it rich. He hadn’t, but was glad to hear from her just the same and very sorry about Randall, whom he “would’ve liked to square-up with.” He offered money, which Anne refused when he confessed that he was married and had two small boys. “I’ll bet they throw overhand,” she said.
    “Not yet.” Price had laughed. “We’ll wait and see.”
    “You better hang onto it,” Dan said. “When was the last time you ever had a lawyer do anything for you.”
    “I’m not involved,” she said, which was true so far. “Dallas says he’s taking care of it.”
    “And when do his French lessons start?”

62
    Randall didn’t mind jail that much, or so he told his mother. Anne almost believed him. She made sure he had what he needed and paid him awkward visits whenever she could. They didn’t talk about what had happened. He simply told her he hadn’t killed anybody, and she knew this was true. Neither said another word on the subject. They did, however, discuss Billy Gaffney. “For a while, every time I looked up, there he’d be,” she said after explaining the afternoon outside the tannery. “I had started seeing your father then.”
    “He loved you,” Randall said.
    “Billy? I know. But we were young and he got over it. Before long he stopped standing on the corner. Then we heard about the accident—”
    “He was standing in the rain outside the house that night,” Randall said. “He always looked at me like he was seeing somebody else.”
    “Your grandfather … I never knew what he had against Billy, besides the obvious, I mean. He was a Mohawk boy, and to your grandfather that was enough. I don’t believe Billy could have stayed in love all those years. People don’t. At least not most.”
    She was thinking of exceptions, Randall could tell. “Your grandfather was a good man. Under