“How can you forgive them so easily?”
“What would not forgiving them do for me?”
“But you’re strong and healthy now. How…?”
Jericho tossed a small rock from the roof with a baseball player’s power. “They tried something new. I was lucky; it worked. And after some time, I recovered.”
“Why, that’s a miracle!”
“There are no miracles,” he said. His face was unreadable. “Will agreed to be my guardian. He needed an assistant, and I needed a home. He’s a good man. Better than most.”
“He only cares about his work and that damned museum,” Evie said, not caring that she swore.
“That isn’t true. I don’t know what happened today, but he was awfully worried. Talk to him, Evie.”
Evie wanted to tell Jericho what had happened, but she couldn’t seem to open herself to scrutiny again.
“He’s already made up his mind to send me back to Ohio,” Evie said. “Perhaps if I were a ghost he’d listen.”
“There are no such things as ghosts, either. But don’t tell your uncle that,” Jericho said. It made Evie smile for a moment.
She knew she should start packing, but she wanted to forestall the inevitable just a little longer, to etch the skyline of the city forever in her mind. It had been a wonderful few weeks. It was a shame it was over.
Jericho took out his dog-eared book, and Evie nodded to it. “May I?”
Jericho handed it over, and Evie read from the bookmarked page: “ ‘God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers?’ ” Evie narrowed her eyes at him. “You sure know how to have a good time, don’t you?” She handed it back to him. “Will you read to me?”
“You want me to read Nietzsche to you?”
“The way I’m feeling, it couldn’t hurt.”
Jericho cleared his throat and found his place. “ ‘What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: Who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves…’ ”
Jericho’s voice lulled Evie. She watched the sun glint off the side of a water tower on the roof of a building to the west. Nearby, the pigeons hopped about in their constant quest for food.
“ ‘What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?’ ”
“Jericho, have they tried your miracle cure on anyone else?”
“I told you,” Jericho said. “There are no miracles.”
A STAY OF EXECUTION
Will returned home around suppertime and summoned Evie to his office. He sat stiffly in his chair, fidgeting with an unlit cigarette. The radio played softly.
“Evangeline, I shouldn’t have lost my temper earlier. I apologize.”
Evie shrugged. “Everybody gets sore sometimes.”
“It took me rather by surprise, I’m afraid.” Will lit the Chesterfield in his hand. He dragged on it, then blew out a thin stream of smoke. “Tell me more about this talent of yours.”
“It started two years ago, when the dreams about James began.”
“Your brother, James?”
“No. James the doorman,” Evie snapped, and instantly regretted it. The last thing she needed to do was to aggravate Will.
“There was no antecedent. I’m a curator and scholar. I must have sourcing,” Will said matter-of-factly. “How did you come to discover it?”
“The first time, it was a brooch of Mother’s. I wanted to wear it, but she wouldn’t let me. She’d left it on her dressing table, and I picked it up, but I couldn’t seem to work up the nerve to pin it to my dress. I kept turning it over in my hands, and I got the funniest feeling. The brooch felt warm. My hands warmed, too, and my palms tingled.” Evie paused. She’d wanted to talk about it, but now she felt exposed.
“Go on. What did you see? Were you privy to only an hour of the object’s history, or could you see back farther? Did it come on you as more of a feeling, a suggestion, or did you feel as if you were with the person, living that moment?”
“So… you believe me?”
Will nodded. “I believe you.”
Evie sat forward, hopeful. “It was just like sitting at the picture show, but a picture show where the projector light isn’t terribly strong. It was only a moment. I could see Mother sitting at her dressing table, and I could feel what she had been feeling when she’d worn the brooch.”