House of the Rising Sun (Hackberry Holland 4)

The line went dead.

THE PITY THAT flowed in the veins and the cup of mercy that could fill the heart in a second had always remained mysteries to Hackberry. Their power was so great and disarming that he often feared them.

Of all people to cause these emotions in him, it had to be Cod Bishop. As Hackberry was trying to find somebody to take him to San Antonio, he looked out the window and saw Bishop walking through the pasture along the riverbank, toward Hackberry’s house, without a hat or coat, staring furtively at the bluffs and the sky as though they contained either an omen or a threat. Even his gait seemed out of sync with the world; he walked as though his feet were sinking in snow or ice.

Hackberry went out on the back porch, hoping Bishop had finally decided to tell the truth about his relationship with Arnold Beckman. More important, maybe he knew where Ishmael was being held. Maybe Cod Bishop was on the verge of starting a new life.

Vanity, vanity. If ever Hackberry had seen a man in the midst of a nervous breakdown, it was Cod.

“What’s going on, partner?” Hackberry said.

“I was digging in the ash, cleaning and stacking the bricks,” Bishop said. “I’m not bad with a trowel and cement. I’ve worked right alongside many a tradesman.”

“I’m not quite following you.”

“Where the darkies used to live. There was a fire years ago, and they moved away. I’m rebuilding their houses.” Bishop’s white shirt was streaked with charcoal, the armpits ringed with sweat, a manic shine in his eyes. “I aim to find them and bring them back. What with modern communications, you can always find people.”

Hackberry nodded. “Why don’t you come in?”

Bishop looked over his shoulder. “I should be getting back. I need to order lumber and nails and shingling. Where do you think the elderly woman went to? I can’t remember her name.”

“That was probably Aint Ginny.”

“Know where she might be?”

“She’d be pretty old.”

“Yes, I guess we’re all getting along in our years. You must take care, Mr. Holland. There’s evil abroad in the world. All of us must be on the lookout.”

“I’ll make some tea. Come inside and rest a bit.”

“That’s very kind of you. I was speaking to the minister at the church. I told him how neighborly you’ve been.”

Hackberry opened the screen door and waited for Bishop to walk ahead of him. Instead, Bishop stared across the river at the bluffs, as though trying to remember something that lay just beyond the edges of his memory.

“Is something troubling you?” Hackberry said.

“Why, no, not at all. As Little Pippa says, ‘God’s in his heaven and all’s right with the world.’ See the bluffs? In its way, they’re our tombstone. We go into their shade and then rise again. It’s all part of a plan.”

“I never thought of it that way.” Hackberry slipped his hand under Bishop’s arm and helped him up the steps and into the kitchen. “I’m going to fix us a sandwich and some warm milk instead of tea. Then I’ll drive you home in my carriage. I think you might have caught a chill.”

Bishop sat down at the breakfast table and continued to stare across the river. He pinched his temples, his brow furrowing, as though someone had tapped a nail between his eyes. “I think I’ve done something terribly wrong, Mr. Holland. But I don’t know what it is.”

“Does it have to do with me or my son?”

“No, I gave up a secret, I think. I’m trying to remember what it is. I feel very bad about it. I can’t bring it to mind. You think it’s about the darkies?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t fret on it right now.”

“I look around me and all I see is darkness.”

Hackberry looked into Bishop’s eyes. They were as mindless as water in an empty fish bowl. “We’ll have our snack, and then we’ll give Dr. Benbow a call.”

“The secret is about that cave, isn’t it?”

“It could be.”

“Thank you, Mr. Holland. It’ll be good to have Aint Ginny and the other colored people back. It’s funny how they get to be family. Then one day they’re gone.”