Later that day Rachel sat down with her son, Malachi, and told him of his father, a wild, red-haired Jew named Maxi. “My father’s name is Maxi,” Malachi said without a hint of comment. “Maxi,” he repeated, “is a fine name—a fine name for a man.” Rachel smiled at her red-haired son, whose rugged Hordoon features were clearly underlying her own, more delicate looks. “Yes, he was a very fine man.” “Is he dead, Mother?” With a surprising certainty she said softly, “Of that, Malachi, I’m sure.” — Silas felt a cold breeze move across his face, and he thought someone had called his name. He looked up into the high ceiling of the sixth floor of the Hordoons’ massive new department store on Bubbling Spring Road, which his father had built directly across from the Vrassoons’ newest emporium. “Did you say something?” Silas asked the accountant with whom he was setting up the store’s books. “No, young sir,” the man said. “It’s cold in here, isn’t it?”
