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Updated: August 6, 2024
They raised him and Amanda, his half sister. His mother had made a go of it in New England. Only once in awhile would she show signs of her Italian childhood. "Topolino mio," she used to call him when he was little and she'd been partying. He poured a nightcap and put on a tape Coltrane and Johnny Hartman. I'm wasting my life, he thought suddenly. What am I going to do?
Suzanne smiled for the first time. "If you've got it like I do, one of us is going to have to leave the state." "Maybe there's some other way," he said. "Tell me how much you love disco." "I hate disco," she said apologetically. "I like old time country music. And jazz. Coltrane." "Oh swell," Oliver said. "Have you ever been to the Cafe No, in Portland?" Suzanne shook her head.
"I recollect now where I got that two hundred dollars." "Don't think of it," said Coltrane cheerfully. "Later on we'll figure it all out together." They rode out of the branch, and when they reached the foot of the hill Goree stopped again. "Did you ever suspect I was a very vain kind of fellow, Colonel?" he asked. "Sort of foolish proud about appearances?"
He had sent the bullet where he intended, and where Goree had expected that it would pass through the breast of Colonel Abner Coltrane's black frock coat. Goree leaned heavily against Coltrane, but he did not fall. The horses kept pace, side by side, and the Colonel's arm kept him steady. The little white houses of Laurel shone through the trees, half a mile away.
"I wish," she said. "You got any Coltrane?" The guy was full of surprises. "We do." She rose slowly and flipped through the albums that Amber had borrowed from AhnRee. "Night music," she said, putting it on the stereo. Amber was smiling broadly and wiggling her toes. "Ice cream," she said. Willow remembered that she had to work in the morning. "Bedtime for me," she said.
The head quickly disappeared; there was a violent swaying of the bushes, and an ungainly figure ran up through the apple orchard in the direction of the house, zig-zagging among the trees. "That's Garvey," said Coltrane; "the man you sold out to. There's no doubt but he's considerably cracked.
Inside and along the fence, pokeberries, elders, sassafras, and sumac grew high and dense. At a rustle of their branches, both Goree and Coltrane glanced up, and saw a long, yellow, wolfish face above the fence, staring at them with pale, unwinking eyes.
To the Coltranes, also, but one male supporter was left Colonel Abner Coltrane, a man of substance and standing, a member of the State Legislature, and a contemporary with Goree's father. The feud had been a typical one of the region; it had left a red record of hate, wrong and slaughter. But Yancey Goree was not thinking of feuds.
The man was sickened of the husks; his prodigal heart was turning again toward the mountains. His mind was yet strangely clogged, and his thoughts and memories were returning to his brain one by one, like carrier pigeons over a stormy sea. But Coltrane was satisfied with the progress he had made.
Garvey rose, and shook out his broadcloth. "Missis Garvey will be pleased. You air out of it, and it stands Coltrane and Garvey. Just a scrap ov writin', Mr. Goree, you bein' a lawyer, to show we traded." Goree seized a sheet of paper and a pen. The money was clutched in his moist hand. Everything else suddenly seemed to grow trivial and light. "Bill of sale, by all means.
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