one,” he said.
Mason eyed Henry. “Doesn’t have what?”
“A name. Not a Christian one, at least.”
Charlie frowned. “A man with no name? That’s bull. Every man has a name.”
“Apparently not,” Hugh said.
“Well, how’d he get the one he got?”
“What do you think that scar on his neck come from?” Mason said. “Figure he did that himself?”
“Pa told us he was hung twice,” Hugh said. “And he come back from the gallows both times.”
“Pa said he was rescued,” Charlie added.
“No, Charlie, what he said was ‘resurrected,’ but I wouldn’t put much stock in that, ’less you think the dead can rise from the grave.”
“I don’t, which is why I said ‘rescued.’”
Hugh gave his brother a stern look, but Charlie didn’t notice. He was waiting for Henry to jump back into the conversation. He planned to trip him up when he did.
“It was supposed to scare folks,” Henry said. “He invented it himself to make people believe he could cheat death.”
The sureness in his voice gave Charlie pause. Mason noticed it, as well.
“You don’t think the scar on his neck is proof enough he fell off the hanging tree?” Mason asked.
A memory that was not his own opened into Henry’s mind, that of a man—the Hanged Man—strung up and swaying from a gallows pole in the center of an unknown mountain town. A dozen men stood by, some holding torches that threw just enough light to illuminate the scene. A stiff wind cut through the gathering, scattering the light momentarily. When it returned, the noose was empty.
And then he was on them.
Henry removed his hand from his pocket and the sharpness of the memory faded.
“It’s proof of something,” he said. “Maybe that some folks don’t know a noose from a necktie.”
Mason laughed. Charlie saw Hugh crack a smile and felt his place in the gang slip a little further beyond his grip.
7
Joseph’s daily journey from the heights to the family bookstore on Alder Street included walking and streetcar riding, the amount of each dependent on the route and how well he timed his hop-ons. On a good day, the trip might take twenty minutes. Because the floods had grounded so many of the streetcars, today’s excursion would require walking, wading, jumping, precarious sidewalk balancing, and, if he was lucky, a ride up Third Avenue on the fire brigade’s floating water-cannon apparatus. His best time since the big melt: forty-eight minutes. Since he had the twins with him, Joseph figured it would take an hour to navigate Portland’s downtown waterworks.
Thus far, they’d made good time. Montgomery was clear all the way to Fifth Avenue, and the sidewalks were mostly dry from there to Third. The fire barge had already passed, however, which meant a twelve-block hike up Third Avenue, navigating two to three feet of water, semisubmerged sidewalks, and increased local congestion.
Thanks to Joseph’s unique sense of place, he was better able to navigate unpredictable downtown conditions than most locals were. In ten years of living in the city, he’d walked every street, avenue, and road on both sides of the river and knew which had the best drainage and the highest sidewalks. Half the foot traffic in his store at this time of year consisted of people looking for directions, which Joseph gave away for free.
Half a block from Third, the trio came upon an alley where the scaffolding bridging the gap between sidewalks had collapsed. Rather than search for a way around, Joseph grabbed Maddie and ferried her across the knee-deep water. Kick didn’t wait for a ride.
“I would have carried you,” Joseph said, lifting his son onto the sidewalk.
“I got my waders on,” Kick said, and proceeded to dump the liquid contents of each boot back into the flooded street. He then slipped the not-quite-knee-high waders back on without further explanation.
The twins were due to spend the day organizing a shipment of new books that had arrived earlier
Mason eyed Henry. “Doesn’t have what?”
“A name. Not a Christian one, at least.”
Charlie frowned. “A man with no name? That’s bull. Every man has a name.”
“Apparently not,” Hugh said.
“Well, how’d he get the one he got?”
“What do you think that scar on his neck come from?” Mason said. “Figure he did that himself?”
“Pa told us he was hung twice,” Hugh said. “And he come back from the gallows both times.”
“Pa said he was rescued,” Charlie added.
“No, Charlie, what he said was ‘resurrected,’ but I wouldn’t put much stock in that, ’less you think the dead can rise from the grave.”
“I don’t, which is why I said ‘rescued.’”
Hugh gave his brother a stern look, but Charlie didn’t notice. He was waiting for Henry to jump back into the conversation. He planned to trip him up when he did.
“It was supposed to scare folks,” Henry said. “He invented it himself to make people believe he could cheat death.”
The sureness in his voice gave Charlie pause. Mason noticed it, as well.
“You don’t think the scar on his neck is proof enough he fell off the hanging tree?” Mason asked.
A memory that was not his own opened into Henry’s mind, that of a man—the Hanged Man—strung up and swaying from a gallows pole in the center of an unknown mountain town. A dozen men stood by, some holding torches that threw just enough light to illuminate the scene. A stiff wind cut through the gathering, scattering the light momentarily. When it returned, the noose was empty.
And then he was on them.
Henry removed his hand from his pocket and the sharpness of the memory faded.
“It’s proof of something,” he said. “Maybe that some folks don’t know a noose from a necktie.”
Mason laughed. Charlie saw Hugh crack a smile and felt his place in the gang slip a little further beyond his grip.
7
Joseph’s daily journey from the heights to the family bookstore on Alder Street included walking and streetcar riding, the amount of each dependent on the route and how well he timed his hop-ons. On a good day, the trip might take twenty minutes. Because the floods had grounded so many of the streetcars, today’s excursion would require walking, wading, jumping, precarious sidewalk balancing, and, if he was lucky, a ride up Third Avenue on the fire brigade’s floating water-cannon apparatus. His best time since the big melt: forty-eight minutes. Since he had the twins with him, Joseph figured it would take an hour to navigate Portland’s downtown waterworks.
Thus far, they’d made good time. Montgomery was clear all the way to Fifth Avenue, and the sidewalks were mostly dry from there to Third. The fire barge had already passed, however, which meant a twelve-block hike up Third Avenue, navigating two to three feet of water, semisubmerged sidewalks, and increased local congestion.
Thanks to Joseph’s unique sense of place, he was better able to navigate unpredictable downtown conditions than most locals were. In ten years of living in the city, he’d walked every street, avenue, and road on both sides of the river and knew which had the best drainage and the highest sidewalks. Half the foot traffic in his store at this time of year consisted of people looking for directions, which Joseph gave away for free.
Half a block from Third, the trio came upon an alley where the scaffolding bridging the gap between sidewalks had collapsed. Rather than search for a way around, Joseph grabbed Maddie and ferried her across the knee-deep water. Kick didn’t wait for a ride.
“I would have carried you,” Joseph said, lifting his son onto the sidewalk.
“I got my waders on,” Kick said, and proceeded to dump the liquid contents of each boot back into the flooded street. He then slipped the not-quite-knee-high waders back on without further explanation.
The twins were due to spend the day organizing a shipment of new books that had arrived earlier
Similar Books
