Page 78 of The River We Remember

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

THERE WERE TWO funerals in Jewel that week. The first was on Thursday, for Ruth Coffee, who’d taught school in the town forever, who’d touched the lives of generations in Black Earth County, and who, in the end, had shared with Jimmy Quinn for a few hours a refrigerated space at Brown’s Funeral Home, something Brody Dern still considered an assault to her dignity. The service was held at eleven o’clock in the morning at the Methodist church, which was crowded with family and other folks gathered to celebrate the life of a woman who’d given them so much. Afterward, a long procession of cars followed the black hearse to the cemetery on the hill, where a brief graveside observance was held.

Brody didn’t participate in the post-service gathering for food and fellowship in the basement of the church. He had duties to see to. Asa Fielding, who’d gone through high school after Ruth Coffee retired and so didn’t have the same level of affection as Brody, had volunteered to stay at the jail that morning, overseeing the one prisoner currently in residence and taking care of neglected paperwork. As for Connie Graff, Brody hadn’t seen or heard from him in nearly a day.

Brody stopped at the jailhouse and checked in with Fielding, who was sorting through some wanted posters recently received and who reported that everything had been quiet. Brody asked if he’d seen Graff. Fielding told him that the deputy had dropped by and mentioned that he was on his way to Bluestone’s place but didn’t say why.

“Probably just checking to make sure she’s safe, like I asked him to,” Brody said.

“Ever since we brought Bluestone in, I’ve been hearing grumbles about Japs and Indians,” Asa said. “I get the feeling we’ve put a pot on the stove and it’s starting to boil. A good thing Connie’s hovering like a mother hen out there.”

Brody glanced at the door to the jail cells. “Probably a good thing Noah’s locked up. Maybe the safest place for him right now. Think I’ll head out and check on the Bluestone place myself. Couple of things I want to talk to Connie about, if he’s still there.”

He changed from his dark suit into his khaki uniform, called to Hector, and headed off in his cruiser.

The day was hot and humid, as summer days often tend to be in southern Minnesota. Through the thick lens of the wet air, the farmland took on a distant and dreamy look. Brody drove with the windows down, and Hector, in the backseat, stuck his head out and opened his mouth to the breeze.

Brody crossed the Alabaster and drove the long dirt lane toward the house and outbuildings. He spotted the small figure of Kyoko Bluestone at work with her hoe in her little garden beside the house. In a distant part of the amaranth field, someone sat astride a tractor, drawing behind it a cultivator. Brody had been worried about the young woman’s ability to meet all of the demands of a farm in the absence of her husband, and he was glad to discover that she’d found some help.

Graff’s truck was parked in the lane near the house. Brody pulled his cruiser up next to it, let Hector free, and walked to the garden. “Afternoon, Mrs. Bluestone.”

“Good afternoon, Sheriff.” She dropped her hands to her sides and bowed slightly at the waist.

It was, Brody recognized, an eshaku bow, a gesture of casual greeting common in Japan. During his time—his hell—in Shwenwa, an unofficial and undocumented Japanese POW camp in Burma, he’d had ample opportunity to observe the customs of his captors. Although Kyoko had not meant it as such, to Brody it felt like a hard slap that awakened old angers, old hate, that ripped open old, deeply painful wounds. Until that moment, he’d been able to separate Kyoko Bluestone from those of her kind who’d nailed the hate to his heart, but that simple, respectful gesture, which he’d seen accompany so many moments of mindless butchery in Shwenwa, shattered his restraint. Under the glare of the sun, he stared down at her coldly, and her face, in the shade of the broad-brimmed straw hat she wore, changed. Fear was stamped there, a terrible fear, a look that said she was prepared for Brody to do something unspeakable.

The sound of the tractor nearing made Brody wrench his eyes away from her. What he saw surprised the hell out of him. At the wheel sat Connie Graff.

WHEN CHARLIE BAUER drove up to the Bluestone farmhouse, she saw Graff sitting alone on the wrought-iron bench in the shade of the big Dutch elm tree, drinking lemonade. She stormed out of her car, angry because she was certain he’d come there against her express wishes, come to question her client’s wife without counsel present.

“Relax, Charlie,” Graff said when she flung the accusation at him. “I don’t work for the sheriff anymore.”

“What?”

“I tendered my resignation half an hour ago. See all that horsepower by the barn?” He nodded toward Bluestone’s old tractor. “I jockey that now.”

“I don’t understand,” Charlie said. “Where’s Kyoko?”

“Inside,” Graff said. “Getting herself cleaned up, and then I’ll take her into town to visit Noah.”

“You’re really not a deputy anymore?”

“Not at the moment. We’ll see what happens after all this Jimmy Quinn mess is settled.”

“You quit to help out here?”

“The quitting part Brody pretty much insisted on,” Graff said. “The day we arrested Bluestone, we had some men show up here with rifles. Brody assigned me to keeping an eye on the farmstead in case someone got it in their head to make another visit. It became obvious to me pretty quick that she needed a hand with the place.” He shrugged. “Seemed like the least I could do.”

“And Brody didn’t like it,” Charlie concluded.

“Told me it wouldn’t look right, me fraternizing with the Bluestones while wearing a badge. He’s right, you know.” He looked toward the house. “She’s hardly more than a kid. Can’t help thinking that if I had a daughter, I’d want someone looking out for her.” He swung his eyes back to Charlie. “You out here on a social visit? Or are you on the legal clock?”

“I just came from talking with Sissy Barrows.”

The name meant nothing to him.

“She worked for the Quinns briefly last winter, Connie. Briefly, for good reason.”

Graff patted the empty area beside him on the bench. “Have a seat and fill me in.”