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dropped back into her chair. “What about Laura?” she asked. “She’s here to do the same research that Charlotte Allen was doing. She could be in danger.”
    Father John leaned over and laid a hand lightly on her arm a moment. He could feel the tenseness in her muscles beneath the silky fabric of her blouse. “Look, Vicky, let’s not jump to conclusions. We don’t even know that Charlotte Allen was buried in that grave.” He heard his own voice, calm, logical. “Even if it turns out to be her, there’s no reason to suppose that whatever happened twenty years ago had anything to do with the research.”
    â€œYou don’t understand, John,” Vicky said. “Indian people believe the real Sacajawea is buried here, but historians have argued the matter for decades. Some of them have probably staked their professional reputations on the theory that Sacajawea died years earlier. What if someone killed Charlotte Allen to stop her from publishing the truth?”
    â€œA lot of what-ifs, Vicky.” An image of the slight, pale woman in the museum flashed in his mind: the joy in her expression at the possibility of finding something no one else knew, like the joy of an explorer coming into a place no one else had ever seen. “Gianelli will follow up on this,” he said. “As soon as I hear anything, I’ll call you. There’s no sense in alarming Laura.”
    â€œYou’re probably right.” Vicky shifted in her chair. “I’m worried about Alva Running Bull,” she said after a moment. “I’d already drawn up the divorce papers when she and Lester started coming to you for counseling. Now she’s told me to tear up the papers.”
    This was what she’d wanted to talk to him about. Father John picked up his mug, walked around the desk, and sat down, aware of a distance opening between them. Usually they were on the same team. He didn’t like playing on opposing teams. “Alva and Lester want to make their marriage work,” he began. “Divorce court isn’t exactly the place where that can happen.”
    â€œHe beats her. She has to leave him. Even Sacajawea left.”
    â€œAlva and Lester are both in counseling, and Lester’s agreed to go to an anger management group. There’s a good program in Riverton. People can change, Vicky. The grace of God can work in all of us, if we give it a chance.”
    â€œCan you imagine what it’s like?” Vicky went on, as if she hadn’t heard. “The man you live with every day, sleep with every night? The man you love? Can you imagine what it’s like?”
    â€œYou took Ben back.” It startled him, the way he’d flung the words at her, like an accusation erupting out of his own uncertainty.
    Immediately he regretted stepping across the invisible line drawn around her personal life. He waited for her to rise from the chair, take her coat, and walk out of the office. If she did, he knew he would never see her again.
    She remained seated, sipping thoughtfully at the coffee, her gaze somewhere on the bookshelves behind him. Silence filled the space between them. He had the feeling that often came to him in a counseling session, in the confessional, when someone was about to reveal something they had never revealed before. The moment passed. She gave him a familiar, determined look. “We’re not talking about Ben and me. We’re talking about Alva. Lester will kill her one day.”
    Father John squeezed the bridge of his nose. Dear God. Don’t let it be.
    â€œI’ve given Alva the telephone number of the Eagle Shelter,” Vicky said. “If Lester goes on another rampage, she could be too scared or too ashamed to call. Will you encourage her to call the shelter if anything happens?”
    â€œOf course.”
    Vicky set her mug on the desk and pulled her coat around her shoulders as she got to her feet, a