voice.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “If I knew where to start... anything . . .”
She nodded.
I felt like a complete heel and guiltier by the minute. I wasn’t really reluctant to help—hell, I wanted to find out who killed Willie even if Edna hadn’t asked me. I wanted to do something, I just didn’t know what to do.
By the time we reached the Chapman home between Leland and Lawrence, frustration had supplanted guilt as the primary emotion running through me. It didn’t feel any better.
Two small gatherings of people were clustered by the front steps of the Chapman’s small two-story white clapboard house. The dogs perked up and pulled Edna and me along to join the crowd. Despite their near exhaustion, they weren’t going to miss out on the possibility of some petting.
Rube went for the crowd of women gathered to the left of the steps. There were four of them, all generally in middle age. None of them was wearing black, so I assumed they were neighbors rather than relatives.
One of the women held a covered blue enamel dish that exuded a tempting smell of sausage. She was telling the others, “He was such a good boy. He used to play ball with my Johnny, you know. One time, must have been four, maybe five years ago, the two of them were playing and broke my bedroom window. Willie worked two weeks delivering ice to pay for it. Wasn’t till a month later that Johnny admitted he was the one who threw the ball through the window. Ah, he was a good boy, Willie Kaiser was.” She spotted Edna. “Oh, you poor dear.” Holding out the dish, she said, “I brought a little dinner. You shouldn’t have to worry about cooking at a time like this.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Schafer,” Edna said. She handed me her leashes and took the dish.
We moved to the other side of the steps where Hans Fohl and half a dozen other men were jawing heatedly with each other. Fohl acknowledged our presence with a solemn nod while the others continued arguing. A strapping blond young man said loudly, “Lucky shot for somebody. Celebrating the Fourth of July, shoots off a gun, and the bullet comes down in a German.”
“Lucky my ass,” Fohl growled. “He was—”
Edna blushed, and Fohl caught himself. Then he went on, “There was nothing ‘lucky’ about it. He was killed by the Knights because he was German.”
I had some idea of what the Knights were: the Patriotic Knights of Liberty, one of a number of quasi-legal deputy forces around the country that were supposed to enforce patriotism. I had no idea how you could enforce something like that, but I’d heard that they had their ways.
“You can be damn sure,” Fohl said with a defiant glance at Edna—he was going to cuss whether she liked it or not—“the cops won’t do nothing about it.”
If my experience with Mike the Cop was any example, Fohl was probably right about that.
“We’re gonna take care of it ourselves,” Fohl went on with a wag of his finger. “We’ll get revenge for Willie Kaiser.” Idle boasting? I couldn’t tell.
The “we” again. That German group? The one Willie wouldn’t meet with? The meeting Weeghman said he did go to?
I did have a starting point: was Willie really at that meeting, and if so, what was he doing there?
“We better bring them in,” Edna said to me with a nod at the dogs.
“Yeah, okay.”
She carried the food and I pulled the drooping dachshunds into the house. The air was no fresher than it was before, and I gagged on my first breath.
Two women were talking to Mrs. Chapman. She still had the uniform on her lap.
“Let me check on Mama,” Edna said.
I touched her elbow and gestured to the back of the house. We were both somewhat startled by the contact. We’d never really touched before, never even held hands.
With puzzlement in her eyes, Edna followed me through the parlor and into the kitchen. She put the dish on top of the stove, then joined me in the dogs’ room.
I dropped the leashes on the floor.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “If I knew where to start... anything . . .”
She nodded.
I felt like a complete heel and guiltier by the minute. I wasn’t really reluctant to help—hell, I wanted to find out who killed Willie even if Edna hadn’t asked me. I wanted to do something, I just didn’t know what to do.
By the time we reached the Chapman home between Leland and Lawrence, frustration had supplanted guilt as the primary emotion running through me. It didn’t feel any better.
Two small gatherings of people were clustered by the front steps of the Chapman’s small two-story white clapboard house. The dogs perked up and pulled Edna and me along to join the crowd. Despite their near exhaustion, they weren’t going to miss out on the possibility of some petting.
Rube went for the crowd of women gathered to the left of the steps. There were four of them, all generally in middle age. None of them was wearing black, so I assumed they were neighbors rather than relatives.
One of the women held a covered blue enamel dish that exuded a tempting smell of sausage. She was telling the others, “He was such a good boy. He used to play ball with my Johnny, you know. One time, must have been four, maybe five years ago, the two of them were playing and broke my bedroom window. Willie worked two weeks delivering ice to pay for it. Wasn’t till a month later that Johnny admitted he was the one who threw the ball through the window. Ah, he was a good boy, Willie Kaiser was.” She spotted Edna. “Oh, you poor dear.” Holding out the dish, she said, “I brought a little dinner. You shouldn’t have to worry about cooking at a time like this.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Schafer,” Edna said. She handed me her leashes and took the dish.
We moved to the other side of the steps where Hans Fohl and half a dozen other men were jawing heatedly with each other. Fohl acknowledged our presence with a solemn nod while the others continued arguing. A strapping blond young man said loudly, “Lucky shot for somebody. Celebrating the Fourth of July, shoots off a gun, and the bullet comes down in a German.”
“Lucky my ass,” Fohl growled. “He was—”
Edna blushed, and Fohl caught himself. Then he went on, “There was nothing ‘lucky’ about it. He was killed by the Knights because he was German.”
I had some idea of what the Knights were: the Patriotic Knights of Liberty, one of a number of quasi-legal deputy forces around the country that were supposed to enforce patriotism. I had no idea how you could enforce something like that, but I’d heard that they had their ways.
“You can be damn sure,” Fohl said with a defiant glance at Edna—he was going to cuss whether she liked it or not—“the cops won’t do nothing about it.”
If my experience with Mike the Cop was any example, Fohl was probably right about that.
“We’re gonna take care of it ourselves,” Fohl went on with a wag of his finger. “We’ll get revenge for Willie Kaiser.” Idle boasting? I couldn’t tell.
The “we” again. That German group? The one Willie wouldn’t meet with? The meeting Weeghman said he did go to?
I did have a starting point: was Willie really at that meeting, and if so, what was he doing there?
“We better bring them in,” Edna said to me with a nod at the dogs.
“Yeah, okay.”
She carried the food and I pulled the drooping dachshunds into the house. The air was no fresher than it was before, and I gagged on my first breath.
Two women were talking to Mrs. Chapman. She still had the uniform on her lap.
“Let me check on Mama,” Edna said.
I touched her elbow and gestured to the back of the house. We were both somewhat startled by the contact. We’d never really touched before, never even held hands.
With puzzlement in her eyes, Edna followed me through the parlor and into the kitchen. She put the dish on top of the stove, then joined me in the dogs’ room.
I dropped the leashes on the floor.
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