Read The High Divide for Free Online Page B

Another dunking might just be enough to do me in.”
    The parson rubbed a palm over his bald skull. “I have to say that’s an odd complaint. Afterwards, one normally feels purged. Lighter on the feet.”
    â€œIt had the opposite effect on me, no offense intended. Sent me searching for a remedy, is what it did.”
    The old man drummed his fingers on the side table. He frowned. “Remedy? Forgiveness is free, of course. You know that, surely. God is no merchant selling his wares.”
    â€œI understand. Tell me, though—are the sins we commit against God alone?”
    The parson shook his head. “No, but it’s to God that we answer for our mortal souls.”
    â€œWith respect, sir,” Ulysses said, “I believe we have more to answer for than just our mortal souls.”
    Frowning, the parson leaned back and stared off into the corner. He lifted a hand as the other took his leave.

5
    Goodwill
    I n town she asked first at the depot, trying hard to look unconcerned, as if she meant only to round up her sons for some chore they’d ducked out of. She put on a smile and cocked her head and set her hands on her hips.
    â€œThey ain’t been around here,” Wheatfield said. “And if they was, I would of put them right to work.”
    â€œSend them straight home if they show up,” Gretta told him, then turned away to avoid his eyes. It was a temptation to give in, to go back to the house and cry until she couldn’t cry any longer, and then go to sleep, only to wake in a few hours to find her boys returned, home from some adventure—like their expedition upriver last summer in a neighbor’s leaky rowboat. Instead she walked to the mercantile, where she hovered in one of the side aisles, telling herself that Eli may in fact have gone off to Fargo with Mr. Goldman this morning. And who was to say Danny hadn’t chased after him and ended up going along? That wasn’t such a stretch, was it? As she feigned interest in a display of serving bowls, leaning close to inspect them, she felt herself being watched. Sure enough, when she glanced up at the counter Mrs. Goldman was there, watching her, lips pursed. A tiny woman with stingy, birdlike features.
    â€œYou tell your son that Anton left without him, that he waited fifteen minutes past leaving time. It’s a long drive, you know, and he got a late start.”
    Gretta nodded. “I’ll tell him.”
    â€œWas there something else?”
    â€œNo, no. I was only looking at this bowl.”
    â€œThat’s from England, of course. Real bronze, hand-hammered. And the price you see is firm.”
    â€œThank you,” Gretta said.
    She stopped next at the barber shop, then at the pharmacy, and finally on a whim at Two Blood’s gun store, where he opened the door and stepped aside to let her in. She knew how much her sons liked this place—the guns, of course, and the tobacco smell, and the old, dusty buffalo head presiding from the wall above the counter. He offered her a chair next to his worktable, but she said no, she had to be getting home.
    â€œI only stopped to ask if you’d seen the boys,” she told him.
    His face was so furrowed she couldn’t imagine he’d ever been young. He said, “I don’t sleep so good anymore. I was sitting here this morning, early. Smoking. Saw your boys walking past on the street.” He pointed out the window.
    Gretta’s hands went cold. Her throat tightened. “What time?”
    â€œEli came first, and then the small one a minute later. This was before the first light. They carried blanket rolls, both of them.”
    â€œThey didn’t say anything?”
    â€œThey didn’t see me. I had no lamp burning.”
    â€œYou must have wondered what they were doing.”
    Two Blood smiled. “Boys have their reasons.”
    â€œDo you think they were heading for the depot?” Gretta