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sprang up, put one hand on the back of the sofa, and stared down at Henri. Then he looked over at the priest, who reached nervously into his pocket, bringing up a pipe.
    â€œ Henri! Are you crazy? ”
    â€œNo. If you do not want to raise our child, that’s one thing. But he will not be born without a father.”
    â€œOf course. Of course.” Reuben nodded, distracted, turning his head, as if for relief, to look at the bookshelf.
    Father Lully rose. “I will leave you here and go to my study. Call for me when you want me. If you want me. Anything else you want, Elise is here.” They could hear the door shut, and then Reuben’s arms were around her. Both of them wept.
    â€œThis is what you want, darling?”
    â€œIt’s what I want, and to be with you for the rest of my life.”
    â€œYou know that will be so—we’ve talked about that often, our life together. But that was to be life after we graduated from college, no?”
    â€œYes. But—But, Reuben, I cannot stay on at Grand Forksafter the pregnancy becomes visible. I have decided. I will go to Paris for the spring semester. We will be married now, but that will be our secret.”
    They kissed again. Reuben walked to the end of the room and knocked on the door of the priest’s study.

CHAPTER 6
    Grand Forks, December 1969
    To get a written note from Eric Monsanto was itself something of a rebuke. Why mail a note to a classmate and close collaborator instead of just calling him on the telephone? Besides, Reuben’s dorm was exactly five minutes’ drive from the house where Rico lived with his family. There had to be a reason for posting a letter. Reuben opened it sensing that it would not be a routine communication.
    â€œI know you have other concerns in life,” the letter was typed single-spaced, “like, the welfare of the whole fucking college. But you were elected editor of the Dakota Student on the understanding that you’d give the office the time it needs. You were absent from the meeting on Thursday to plan the Friday issue, and absent on Monday from the meeting to plan the Tuesday issue. Maybe you should have been elected business manager instead of editor. Forget that. The business manager couldn’t get away with neglecting the paper.” It was signed, simply, “Eric.”
    Reuben showed the note to Henri when he picked her up at the library, where they regularly met at noon, going on to the Memorial Union for lunch. “Hardly the kind of letter one expects from one’s best friend.”
    â€œHoney, does it occur to you that maybe Rico has a legitimate complaint?”
    â€œWell, sure. But you know why I couldn’t be at the Student on Thursday, don’t you?”
    â€œNo.”
    The reproachful tone of her reply warranted reprisal. “Oh, you didn’t know? I was busy fixing up a duck blind.”
    She swatted him lightly on the head with her book. “Eric can fix his own duck blind.”
    â€œHmm. Yes. Anyway , dear Henri, the duck blinds are off-limits. Duck-hunting season is still on. No, listen, it wasn’t the duck blinds. I’ve got about the best excuse possible. Thursday was the university trustees’ meeting, and I am required to stand by, in case a student-body question comes up. It’s a duty of the chairman of the Student Council—that’s me, your—”
    â€œMy what?”
    Reuben’s pause was freighted. But then quickly, “Your servant and lover. Who shares a big secret with you.”
    â€œPass the mustard.”
    â€œOkay, if you ask me in French.”
    Henrietta broke into one of her radiant smiles. “Don’t make fun of the French language, honey. You’ll get onto it.”
    Reuben had taken a Living French record album from the library, promising to practice a half hour every morning before breakfast. That promise was made a month ago, on the solemn drive back from