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Thought shed come back once she sobered up, did you?

I did. Its over four miles out to the tarvy. I thought for sure shed come back. Someone must have come along and given her a ride before her head cleared. A trucker on the Lincoln-Omaha run would be my guess.

Yep, yep, thatd be mine, too. Youll hear from her when she contacts Mr. Lester, Im sure. If she means to stay out on her own, if shes got that in her head, shell need money to do it.

So he knew that, too.

His eyes sharpened. Did she have any money at all, Mr. James?

Well

Dont be shy. Confessions good for the soul. The Catholics have got hold of something there, dont they?

I kept a box in my dresser. There was 200 dollars put by in it, to help pay the pickers when they start next month.

And Mr. Cotterie, Henry reminded. To Sheriff Jones, he said: Mr. Cotterie has a corn harvester. A Harris Giant. Almost new. Its a pip.

Yep, yep, saw it in his dooryard. Big bastid, isnt it? Pardon my Polish. Money all gone outn that box, was it?

I smiled sourly-only it wasnt really me making that smile; the Conniving Man had been in charge ever since Sheriff Jones pulled up by the chopping block. She left twenty. Very generous of her. But twentys all Harlan Cotterie will ever take for the use of his harvester, so thats all right. And when it comes to the pickers, I guess Stoppenhauser at the bankll advance me a shortie loan. Unless he owes favors to the Farrington Company, that is. Either way, Ive got my best farmhand right here.

I tried to ruffle Henrys hair. He ducked away, embarrassed.

Well, Ive got a good budget of news to tell Mr. Lester, dont I? He wont like any of it, but if hes as smart as he thinks he is, I guess hell know enough to expect her in his office, and sooner rather than later. People have a way of turning up when theyre short on folding green, dont they?

Thats been my experience, I said. If were done here, Sheriff, my boy and I better get back to work. That useless well should have been filled in three years ago. An old cow of mine-

Elphis. Henry spoke like a boy in a dream. Her name was Elphis.

Elphis, I agreed. She got out of the barn and decided to take a stroll on the cap, and it gave way. Didnt have the good grace to die on her own, either. I had to shoot her. Come around the back of the barn Ill show you the wages of laziness with its damn feet sticking up. Were going to bury her right where she lies, and from now on Im going to call that old well Wilfreds Folly.

Well, I would, wouldnt I? Itd be somethin to see. But Ive got that bad-tempered old judge to contend with. Another time. He hoisted himself into the car, grunting as he did so. Thank you for the lemonade, and for bein so gracious. You could have been a lot less so, considering who sent me out here.

Its all right, I said. We all have our jobs.

And our crosses to bear. His sharp eyes fastened on Henry again. Son, Mr. Lester told me you were hidin something. He was sure of it. And you were, werent you?

Yes, sir, Henry said in his colorless and somehow awful voice. As if all his emotions had flown away, like those things in Pandoras jar when she opened it. But there was no Elphis for Henry and me; our Elphis was dead in the well.

If he asks me, Ill tell him he was wrong, Sheriff Jones said. A company lawyer dont need to know that a boys mother put her hand to him while she was in drink. He groped under his seat, came up with a long S-shaped tool I knew well, and held it out to Henry. Would you save an old mans back and shoulder, son?

Yes, sir, happy to. Henry took the crank and went around to the front of the Maxwell.

Mind your wrist! Jones hollered. She kicks like a bull! Then he turned to me. The inquisitive glitter had gone out of his eyes. So had the green. They looked dull and gray and hard, like lakewater on a cloudy day. It was the face of a man who could beat a railroad bum within an inch of his life and never lose a minutes sleep over it. Mr. James, he said. I need to ask you something. Man to man.

All right, I said. I tried to brace myself for what I felt sure was coming next: Is there another cow in yonder well? One named Arlette? But I was wrong.

I can put her name and description out on the telegraph wire, if you want. She wont have gone no further than Omaha, will she? Not on just a hundred and eighty smackers. And a woman whos spent most of her life keepin house has no idea of how to hide out. Shell like as not be in a rooming house over on the east side, where they run cheap. I could have her brought back. Dragged back by the hair of the head, if you want.

Thats a generous offer, but-

The dull gray eyes surveyed me. Think it over before you say yea or nay. Sometimes a fee-male needs talking to by hand, if you take my meaning, and after that theyre all right. A good whacking has a way of sweetening some gals up. Think it over.

I will.

The Maxwells engine exploded into life. I stuck out my hand-the one that had cut her throat-but Sheriff Jones didnt notice. He was busy retarding the Maxwells spark and adjusting her throttle.

Two minutes later he was no more than a diminishing boil of dust on the farm road.

He never even wanted to look, Henry marveled.

No.

And that turned out to be a very good thing.

We had shoveled hard and fast when we saw him coming, and nothing stuck up now but one of Elphiss lower legs. The hoof was about four feet below the lip of the well. Flies circled it in a cloud. The Sheriff would have marveled, all right, and he would have marveled even more when the dirt in front of that protruding hoof began to pulse up and down.

Henry dropped his shovel and grabbed my arm. The afternoon was hot, but his hand was ice-cold. Its her! he whispered. His face seemed to be nothing but eyes. Shes trying to get out!

Stop being such a God damned ninny, I said, but I couldnt take my eyes off that circle of heaving dirt. It was as if the well were alive, and we were seeing the beating of its hidden heart.

Then dirt and pebbles sprayed to either side and a rat surfaced. The eyes, black as beads of oil, blinked in the sunshine. It was almost as big as a full-grown cat. Caught in its whiskers was a shred of bloodstained brown burlap.

Oh you fuck! Henry screamed.

Something whistled inches past my ear and then the edge of Henrys shovel split the rats head in two as it looked up into the dazzle.

She sent it, Henry said. He was grinning. The rats are hers, now.

No such thing. Youre just upset.

He dropped his shovel and went to the pile of rocks with which we meant to finish the job once the well was mostly filled in. There he sat down and stared at me raptly. Are you sure? Are you positive she aint haunting us? People say someone whos murdered will come back to haunt whoever-

People say lots of things. Lightning never strikes twice in the same place, a broken mirror brings seven years bad luck, a whippoorwill calling at midnight means someone in the familys going to die. I sounded reasonable, but I kept looking at the dead rat. And that shred of bloodstained burlap. From her snood. She was still wearing it down there in the dark, only now there was a hole in it with her hair sticking up. That look is all the rage among dead women this summer, I thought.

When I was a kid, I really believed that if I stepped on a crack, Id break my mothers back, Henry said musingly.

There-you see?

He brushed rock-dust from the seat of his pants, and stood beside me. I got him, though-I got that fucker, didnt I?

You did! And because I didnt like how he sounded-no, not at all-I clapped him on the back.

Henry was still grinning. If the Sheriff had come back here to look, like you invited him, and seen that rat come tunneling to the top, he might have had a few more questions, dont you think?

Something about this idea set Henry to laughing hysterically. It took him four or five minutes to laugh himself out, and he scared a murder of crows up from the fence that kept the cows out of the corn, but eventually he got past it. By the time we finished our work it was past sundown, and we could hear owls comparing notes as they launched their pre-moonrise hunts from the barn loft. The rocks on top of the vanished well were tight together, and I didnt think any more rats would be squirming to the surface. We didnt bother replacing the broken cap; there was no need. Henry seemed almost like his normal self again, and I thought we both might get a decent nights sleep.

What do you say to sausage, beans, and cornbread? I asked him.

Can I start the generator and play Hayride Party on the radio?

Yessir, you can.

He smiled at that, his old good smile. Thanks, Poppa.

I cooked enough for four farmhands, and we ate it all.

Two hours later, while I was deep in my sitting room chair and nodding over a copy of Silas Marner, Henry came in from his room, dressed in just his summer underdrawers. He regarded me soberly. Mama always insisted on me saying my prayers, did you know that?

I blinked at him, surprised. Still? No. I didnt.

Yes. Even after she wouldnt look at me unless I had my pants on, because she said I was too old and it wouldnt be right. But I cant pray now, or ever again. If I got down on my knees, I think God would strike me dead.

If there is one, I said.

I hope there isnt. Its lonely, but I hope there isnt. I imagine all murderers hope there isnt. Because if theres no Heaven, theres no Hell.

Son, I was the one who killed her.

No-we did it together.

It wasnt true-he was no more than a child, and I had cozened him-but it was true to him, and I thought it always would be.

But you dont have to worry about me, Poppa. I know you think Ill slip-probably to Shannon. Or I might get feeling guilty enough to just go into Hemingford and confess to that Sheriff.

Of course these thoughts had crossed my mind.

Henry shook his head, slowly and emphatically. That Sheriff-did you see the way he looked at everything? Did you see his eyes?

Yes.

Hed try to put us both in the lectric chair, thats what I think, and never mind me not fifteen until August. Hed be there, too, lookin at us with those hard eyes of his when they strapped us in and-

Stop it, Hank. Thats enough.

It wasnt, though; not for him. -and pulled the switch. I aint never letting that happen, if I can help it. Those eyes arent never going to be the last thing I see. He thought over what hed just said. Ever, I mean. Arent ever.

Go to bed, Henry.

Hank.

Hank. Go to bed. I love you.

He smiled. I know, but I dont much deserve it. He shuffled off before I could reply.

And so to bed, as Mr. Pepys says. We slept while the owls hunted and Arlette sat in her deeper darkness with the lower part of her hoof-kicked face swung off to one side. The next day the sun came up, it was a good day for corn, and we did chores.

When I came in hot and tired to fix us a noon meal, there was a covered casserole dish sitting on the porch. There was a note fluttering beneath one edge. It said: Wilf-We are so sorry for your trouble and will help any way we can. Harlan says dont worry about paying for the harvister this summer. Please if you hear from your wife let us know. Love, Sallie Cotterie. PS: If Henry comes calling on Shan, I will send back a blueberry cake.

I stuck the note in the front pocket of my overalls with a smile. Our life after Arlette had begun.

If God rewards us on earth for good deeds-the Old Testament suggests its so, and the Puritans certainly believed it-then maybe Satan rewards us for evil ones. I cant say for sure, but I can say that was a good summer, with plenty of heat and sun for the corn and just enough rain to keep our acre of vegetable garden refreshed. There was thunder and lightning some afternoons, but never one of those crop-crippling winds Midwestern farmers fear. Harlan Cotterie came with his Harris Giant and it never broke down a single time. I had worried that the Farrington Company might meddle in my business, but it didnt. I got my loan from the bank with no trouble, and paid back the note in full by October, because that year corn prices were sky-high and the Great Westerns freight fees were at rock bottom. If you know your history, you know that those two things-the price of produce and the price of shippage-had changed places by 23, and have stayed changed ever since. For farmers out in the middle, the Great Depression started when the Chicago Agricultural Exchange crashed the following summer. But the summer of 1922 was as perfect as any farmer could hope for. Only one incident marred it, having to do with another of our bovine goddesses, and that I will tell you about soon.

Mr. Lester came out twice. He tried to badger us, but he had nothing to badger with, and he must have known it, because he was looking pretty harried that July. I imagine his bosses were badgering him, and he was only passing it along. Or trying to. The first time, he asked a lot of questions that really werent questions at all, but insinuations. Did I think my wife had had an accident? She must have, didnt I think, or she would either have contacted him in order to make a cash settlement on those 100 acres or just crept back to the farm with her (metaphorical) tail between her legs. Or did I think she had fallen afoul of some bad actor while on the road? Such things did happen, didnt they, from time to time? And it would certainly be convenient for me, wouldnt it?

The second time he showed up, he looked desperate as well as harried, and came right out with it: had my wife had an accident right there on the farm? Was that what had happened? Was it why she hadnt turned up either alive or dead?

Mr. Lester, if youre asking me if I murdered my wife, the answer is no.

Well of course youd say so, wouldnt you?

Thats your last question to me, sir. Get in yonder truck, drive away, and dont come back here. If you do, Ill take an axe-handle to you.