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his drinking got too bad and now they only let him sweep up. Sometimes he takes odd jobs, picking stones or spreading lime in farmers’ fields. When he’s sober, he’s a pious old bastard, quoting the Bible at you like he was St. Paul. But when he’s drunk, he’s a holy terror.”
    Tyler rubbed his top lip with his fingertips. “Does he mistreat the girl? Abuse her?”
    “I don’t think so. I asked her that myself, and she said no.”
    Relieved, he got up to stir the coals in the stove. Behind him, he heard Stoneman pour more gin into his glass. “That stuff will kill you as fast as those germs in your chest you don’t believe in,” he observed mildly.
    The old doctor took a deep swallow and smacked his lips with exaggerated relish. “You’re the one who says alcohol kills germs. Can’t have it both ways, Dr. Wilkes. If it works on the outside, it must work on the inside, too.”
    “That’s rubbish and you know it.”
    “Why? If alcohol’s a germicide against bacteria, then it—” He broke off with a sudden choking wheeze and grabbed for his handkerchief.
    Pained, Tyler listened to the phthisical coughing until it finally subsided. Stoneman sank back in his chair, gray-faced and exhausted. “Is the hemoptysis worse?” he asked in a neutral voice. Stoneman shook his head. But Ty noticed he put his handkerchief back in his pocket fast—to hide the blood?
    “How did Carrie lose her voice?” he asked after a minute.
    “I expect she was born that way. Congenital.”
    “Any history of scarlet fever or diphtheria?”
    Stoneman looked down. “Well now, I never asked her that.”
    “Have you ever examined her?”
    “No. Tried to once, but she wouldn’t let me touch her.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because that’s what she’s like. That’s just how she is. I’ve known her for about four years, and I’d say she’s as fond of me as just about anybody else around here. But she keeps to herself. Not that she’s cold, mind you—there’s a family up on Dreamy, the Haights, that probably wouldn’t survive without her. The father is so worthless and no-account, they’d starve to death if Carrie didn’t sneak food and firewood and who knows what else to them whenever Artemis’s back is turned.”
    He hesitated. Slanting Tyler a gauging look, he reached into his copious inside coat pocket and took out a leather purse. From it he withdrew a yellowed piece of paper and unfolded it. He held it at arm’s length, squinting at it farsightedly, then gave up and handed it to Tyler. “Carrie left that in my mailbox the day after my daughter died.”
    Tyler hid his surprise. He knew that Stoneman’s only daughter had died of a cancer of the breast two years ago. He’d heard it from others, though; until tonight Stoneman had never mentioned his family, or indeed, anything at all about his personal life.
    Ty spread the paper out on his knee. The big, looping pencil scrawl had spread and faded, but he could still make out the words.
Dear Dr. Stoneman,
    I’ve been crying all day for Sophie, even though I know it doesn’t make any sense. I guess it’s you I’m really crying for, because I know Sophie’s in heaven right now and she is smiling down on us, you especially, and wishing you wouldn’t grieve so. Once you told me that dying is harder on the living who are left behind. I believe it’s true, for when my father passed, and then my mother, I wept for days and days, and yet I know in my heart they went to heaven too. What I mean to say is, do not grieve so hard, please, for Sophie was good and kind, like you, and she is happy now and waiting for you. I hope you like this seed cake I made you. Please don’t work so hard now as if nothing had happened, even if it helps you to forget, because you’re not so young anymore and you need your rest. I’ll come and see you soon if you like. Your devoted friend,
    Carrie Wiggins.
    Tyler handed the letter back. Stoneman took it without comment, averting his