William Krueger - Ordinary Grace

“Can I help them, too?”

“Hmmmm?” She frowned at something on the sheets.

Ariel sat on the organ bench and smiled at me in a conspiratorial way. “You should let Frankie help,” she said. “The search will go faster.”

“All right, all right,” my mother said waving me away. “Go.”

I looked to Ariel and asked, “Where’d they head?”

“Danny’s house,” she said. “Fifteen minutes ago.”

And I was gone before my mother could change her mind.

I ran to Danny O’Keefe’s house which stood at the western edge of the Flats and was in sight of the river. His mother was hanging laundry on the line in the backyard. She was a small woman not much taller than I with black hair and almond eyes and the shading and bone structure of the Sioux. Although Danny never talked about his lineage I’d heard that his mother came from the Upper Sioux community, which was along the Minnesota River well to the west. She wore tan Capris and a sleeveless green top and white sneakers. She was a teacher. I’d been in her fifth-grade classroom and I liked her. As I came into the yard she was bending to her laundry basket.

“Hi, Mrs. O’Keefe,” I said cheerfully. “I’m looking for Danny.”

She lifted a blue towel and pinned it to the line. She said, “I sent him to find his great-uncle.”

“I know. I came to help.”

“That’s very nice of you, Frank, but I think Danny can handle it.”

“My brother’s with him.”

I could tell that surprised her and for some reason didn’t seem to please her.

I said, “Do you know which way they went?”

She frowned and said, “His uncle likes to fish. I sent him to look along the river.”

“Thank you. We’ll find him.”

She didn’t look particularly encouraged.

I ran off and in a couple of minutes I was walking the river’s edge.

I didn’t much like fishing but I knew a lot of guys who did and I knew where they fished. There were a couple of favorite places depending on what you were after. If it was catfish there was a long deep channel that ran behind an old lumberyard. If it was northern pike there was a sandbar a quarter mile farther on that half dammed the river and created a pool favored by those big fleshy fish. And of course there was the trestle half a mile outside of town. The north side of the river opposite the Flats was all cultivated fields with farmhouses hunkered in the shade of cottonwoods and poplars. At a distance ran the highway that connected the valley towns with the city of Mankato forty miles to the east. Beyond the highway rose the hills and bluffs that marked the extremes of the ancient Glacial River Warren.

I rounded a bend and heard voices and laughter and on the other side of a stand of tall bulrushes I found Jake and Danny skipping rocks. The stones as they touched the brown water left rings on the surface like a series of copper plates. When they saw me Danny and Jake stopped what they were doing and stood with their backs to the sun and squinted at me from the shadows of their faces.

“Find your uncle?” I asked.

“Naw,” Danny said. “Not yet.”

“Won’t find him standing here throwing rocks.”

“You’re not our b-b-b-boss,” Jake said. He picked up a flat stone and flung it angrily. It bit the water at an angle and slid beneath without skipping once.

“Why are you so mad at me?”

“B-b-b-b. .” His face twisted painfully. “B-b-b. .” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Cuz you’re a liar.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know.” He eyed Danny who stood fingering a stone that he did not throw.

“Okay, I’m a big fat liar. Happy? We should find your uncle, Danny.” I pushed past them and kept walking downriver.

Danny caught up and sauntered beside me and when I looked back I saw Jake still standing where we’d left him, sullenly considering his options. Finally he followed but he stayed behind us at a distance. As much as possible we kept to the sand beaches and to the bare clay flats that had baked and cracked in the heat. Sometimes we had to break our way through stands of tall reeds and brush that grew right to the edge of the river. Danny told me about a book he’d just read in which a guy bitten by a vampire bat was the last human on earth. Danny read a lot of science fiction and he liked to tell you the whole story. He told it pretty well and just as he was finishing we beat our way through a stand of bulrushes covering a stretch of sand where we stumbled into a little clearing with a lean-to at its center. The structure was made of driftwood lashed into a frame with scavenged pieces of corrugated tin as roof and siding. A man sat in the deep shade created by the lean-to. He sat erect with his legs crossed and he stared at us where we stood on the far side of the clearing.

“That’s my uncle Warren,” Danny said.

I looked at Jake and Jake looked at me because we both recognized Danny’s uncle. We’d seen him before. We’d seen him with the dead man.

Danny’s uncle called out from the shade, “Your mother send you after me?”

Danny said, “Yeah.”

The man’s hands were laid flat on his bent knees. He nodded thoughtfully. He said, “Any chance I could bribe you to tell her you couldn’t find me?”

Danny walked across the sand leaving the prints of his sneakers behind him. I followed Danny’s prints and Jake followed mine.

“Bribe me?” Danny said. He seemed to think about it seriously. Whether he was seriously considering the offer or considering whether the offer was serious I couldn’t say. In any event he shook his head.

“Didn’t think so,” his uncle said. “How about this then? How about you tell her I’ll be around for dinner. Until then, I’m fishing.”

“But you’re not.”

“Fishing, Danny boy, is purely a state of mind. Some men when they’re fishing are after fish. Me, I’m after things you could never set a barbed hook in.” He looked up at Jake and me. “I know you boys.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“I heard they buried Skipper.”

“Yes, sir. Today. I was there.”

“You were? Why?”

“I don’t know. It seemed kind of right.”

“Kind of right?” His lips formed a grin but his eyes held no humor. “Was anybody else there?”

“My father. He’s a minister and said the prayers. And our friend Gus. He dug the grave. And the sheriff. And the undertaker.”

“Sounds surprisingly well attended.”

“It was fine. They buried him in a real nice place.”

“No kidding? Well, I’ll be. A lot of kindness shown there. A little late, though, don’t you think?”

“Sir?”

“You boys know what itokagata iyaye means? You, Danny?”

“Nope.”

“It’s Dakota. It means the spirit has gone south. It means that Skipper’s dead. Your mom or dad ever try to teach you our language, Danny?”

“Our language is English,” Danny said.

“I suppose it is,” his uncle said. “I suppose it is.”

“You got a letter,” Danny said. He pulled it folded from his back pocket and handed it to his great-uncle.

The man took the envelope and squinted. He reached into his shirt pocket and drew out a pair of glasses with thick lenses and with rims that looked made of gold. He didn’t put them on but used the lenses instead in the way you might use a magnifying glass and painstakingly read the return address. Then he slid his finger under the flap, carefully tore it open, pulled out the letter, and read it with the glasses in the same slow fashion.

I stood uncomfortably waiting to be dismissed. I was eager to be gone.

“Shit,” Danny’s uncle said at last and crumpled the letter and threw it into the yellow sand. He looked up at Danny. “Well, didn’t I tell you what to say to your mother? What are you waiting for?”