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"I don't suppose you saw the train leave or the uniforms of the men who took her."
"No. You know how they are with that stuff. Someone disappears through a door or behind a curtain and then they're just gone."
She stood up with a little hop. "Now. Your question's been answered. You can go."
"I wasn't the one who got married and quit writing," Valentine said. He saw her eyes go wet.
"Go join one of the nightly card games with Valdez and the corporals, David. Go and learn about a bad hand. We were a bad hand, that's all. You played it well back in Wisconsin, you did right by me and my family, but it was still a bad hand. Leave me-us-alone."
Valentine stood up too, and regretted it. He was a good six inches taller than Molly and the last thing he wanted to do was physically intimidate her. "What 'us'? You and me or you and your son? I've got a daughter, Molly. She's a thousand miles away and all I know is that she was born, but she's a piece of me. Just like you." He took a step back.
"A piece, you mean."
"Don't! Molly, just don't. It wasn't that way, not with us, not with Mo-Malita. Don't play with words and think that'll change what happened."
An arch collapsed inside her. "Crap," she said, and sniffled.
"You want me to go?"
"Yes. No-no. Do what you have to. You're built for it."
He spoke softly. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"One of the old hands in Weening used to say you Wolves and whatnot, the aliens came and took out your hearts and put in those of horses and pigs and lions or whatever to make you so you could stand up to them. You weren't human anymore, not on the inside."
"We drank some kind of medicine. That's it."
"You can eat with us tonight if you want. Or just leave-I'll understand. That trail you're on's cold enough." She turned and went quickly into the barn, and Valentine got the distinct feeling she didn't want to be followed.
She didn't want anything from him at all.
* * * *
He borrowed a horse from Valdez-"We've got plenty that need exercise; take one!"-and rode the big quarter horse hard down to Forrest City. He posted a letter summarizing the relevant pieces of his conversation with Molly to the Miskatonic and saw to the feeding and care of his borrowed gelding. A few hundred dollars of back pay disappeared into the stalls and markets the next morning, and a hard afternoon's ride later he was back at Quapaw Post.
"What's all this?" Molly said at her screen door. Edward interposed himself in front of his mother.
Valentine set down canvas mailbags, and the child reached out with both hands. He was sophisticated enough to know what a big bag promised.
"Season's Greetings," Valentine said. "It's customary to give a little something in exchange for valuable information."
He reached in and extracted three bolts of fabric. "Denim, of course, and I hope you like that green. You're the kind of blond who can wear green."
A big bag of buttons came next. "Most of them match. I looked. I figured you could trade any you didn't like."
Shoes in various sizes for Edward came next, a heavy slab of bacon in waxed paper, great loops of sausage like ox yokes, some lemons and limes, candied dates, and a black-and-white ceramic cow that had probably once been a cookie jar.
He'd let Molly discover the cookies inside on her own, if Edward didn't first.
"Thought it looked like the cows in Wisconsin."
"Holsteins," Molly said, her hand at her throat.
Tea, powdered sugar, a bottle of brandy, even elastic-banded socks and underwear-luxuries all, smuggled from the Kurian Zone, no doubt, but it was considered bad taste to ask a trader questions beyond quality-all joined the growing pile on the tiny table.
"And some cans of jelly," Valentine finished.
"Jelly!" Edward said.
