A wind had risen out of the southwest sweeping in thick clouds the color of soot. He saw us coming from the church parking lot under that oppressive sky and he eyed us with concern. We were looking for Gus, I lied with amazing ease and Jake made no attempt to contradict me. I’m going to Emil Brandt’s house, my father said. Can we come? You both stay here. His tone told us he would brook no argument. Wait for Liz. She should be arriving soon to fix you something to eat. Your grandfather will probably come with her. Will you be home for dinner, I asked, and will Mom? I don’t know, he replied brusquely. We’ll see. He hurried to the Packard and backed out of the gravel driveway and drove fast up Tyler Street. As soon as he was gone, I bounded off the porch and headed for the river. Without asking where we were going Jake came running behind. Beneath that sky which had turned cast-iron black the Minnesota River ran dark as old blood. I raced along the water’s edge breaking through bramble and ignoring the suck of mud and whenever possible keeping to the sand flats on which I could make good time.
