The Wingthorn Rose. Melvyn Chase

Cascades?”

      “It’s a preserve that belongs to the town. There’s a stream running through it and a waterfall—the Cascades—at the eastern end. We can follow a path that winds around through the woods. Lots of hills. It’s a good workout.”

      They continued to walk uphill for a few more minutes and then came to a second “T.” Beyond was a broad stretch of forest. Tucked into the western end of the woods, just across the street to the left, was “Smythe’s Garden Center.”

      Fay led Lucas to the right of the center, onto a well-worn dirt path leading into the preserve.

      Under the trees, it was almost cold. Lucas shivered.

      She picked up the pace.

      “If Schuyler started this town, why isn’t it named after him?” he asked.

      “He was Dutch, and the English weren’t about to let him give the place a Dutch name. Schuyler didn’t care. The Dutch are very good businessmen. And very tight with their money.”

      “Murdoch is a Scottish name. I understand perfectly.”

      She smiled.

      “Pennington was an English settler with a small farm, and he took great pride in his name. Hans Schuyler is supposed to have said, ‘Never mind about pride. I’d rather have property.’ He got what he wanted. Eventually, Schuyler bought the whole town. Even the Pennington farm. This was always his town. Most of it still belongs to his family.”

      “Is that their house on the hill?”

      “Yes. The Grange. But there’s not much left of the Schuylers. An old woman and her granddaughter.”

      They walked silently through the shaded woods, into a clearing now and then, and back into the cool shadows.

      At first, the sound of flowing water was distant and vague. Then it began to gain volume and clarity, until it became a steady rumble. Then, through a stand of trees, he saw a narrow, twenty-foot-high waterfall cascading over rough boulders, scattering the morning light.

      The path led up a hill, across a stone bridge over a stream, down to the other side of the waterfall and back toward the entrance to the preserve.

      “Have you settled in?” she asked.

      “Yes. I’ve opened a checking account at People’s Bank. I guess I’lI need a new driver’s license and registration, but there’s no hurry. I found Appleby’s and bought all the basics. I’ve already cooked a few meals. And I’ve bought an electric coffee maker. And an electric frying pan, which I use for practically everything.”

      A long pause.

      “My drums were in storage, but they should be here by Tuesday,” Lucas said.

      “I can hardly wait.”

      “The only thing I need now is a library card.”

      “Stop in tomorrow and I’ll take care of it,” she said as they reached the edge of the preserve.

      When they arrived at the house, she asked, “Would you like a cup of coffee? It’s already brewed.”

      “Yes, thank you.”

      She led him through the living room into the dining room. Motioning to the table, she asked him if he wanted cream or sugar.

      “Black.”

      She went into the kitchen.

      He sat at the table and examined the dining room furniture. It was antique, but graceless. Family hand-me-downs, no doubt. An enormous breakfront dominated one wall, displaying a delicate set of china dinnerware. The chair he was sitting in was cushionless and uncomfortable. The table was a dark, clumsy slab of wood, fringed with carved chains of flowers and supported by bulbous floral columns.

      Fay returned with two cups of black coffee, gave him one and sat down opposite him. She sipped hers, looking down into the cup, then glanced up at him.

      “I guess Joey won’t be joining us?”

      She shook her head. Frown lines appeared at the corners of her mouth.

      “You’re not likely to see my brother on Sunday morning. Not around here, anyway.”

      “I hope you didn’t mind me tagging along this morning.”

      “No.”

      “I’ve been thinking about getting a job. Any suggestions?”

      She shrugged. “What can you do?”

      “I’ve been a salesman most of my life. But I’m adaptable. And I don’t need to be challenged. I wouldn’t mind putting stuff on shelves or unloading trucks. I have my pension to keep me warm. I just want to make a few extra dollars. Pocket money.”

      She watched him over the rim of her cup.

      “That’s all you want?”

      “That’s all I want.”

      “I’ll ask around.”

      He had finished his coffee.

      “Would you like another cup?”

      “No, thanks.”

      He stood up and added, “Do you walk every morning?”

      She nodded.

      “Would it be okay if I came along once in a while?”

      She nodded.

      “Just don’t bring your drums.”

      He smiled.

      On Tuesday afternoon, Lucas sat in the sun out on the patio, reading a library book. It was a warm, comfortable day.

      Joey Geneen came out of the house through a sliding door that connected Fay’s kitchen to the patio. Lucas watched him over the rims of his reading glasses.

      Joey was wearing threadbare jeans, a wrinkled tee-shirt and sandals. His hair was combed but he hadn’t shaved. A cigarette drooped between his lips.

      Lucas read the cigarette’s smoke signal, echoed by Joey’s eyes: “Don’t make too much noise. I’m hung over.”

      He was carrying a coffee pot and two cups, which he carefully set down on the table.

      He sat down opposite Lucas and asked, “Y’ want a cup?”

      Lucas closed the book and put it on the table.

      “Yes. Thanks,” Lucas said softly. “Black is fine.”

      Joey laughed. “Black is mandatory.”

      “Day off?”

      “Yeah. I worked this weekend.”

      Lucas sipped his coffee and waited.

      Joey stared at the sky as if he was trying to remember something. He looked down at Lucas’s book.

      “What’re you reading?”

      “It’s about Eisenhower and Montgomery during the Second World War.”

      Joey looked at the sky again.

      “Military shit. You been in the service?”

      “The Army.” He added, casually, “Vietnam.”

      “Like I told you, I was in the Navy over there. But the war was almost over by then.”

      “You didn’t miss anything.”

      “It must have been pretty bad.”

      “It could have been worse. I could have been killed.”

      “I was in the Gulf War, too. Just ferrying troops in.”

      “When did you retire?”

      “Five years ago. Maybe I should