“Did Stan Reacher get sick?”
The same bent and bony hand came up. The same warning.
“The name was never listed in the county-wide bulletin,” he said. “As far as I recall. But that doesn’t really mean I knew who he was. Everyone had cousins in and out all the time. Everyone got shunted around, when the wolf was at the door. It was like Times Square. So in my case what I’m saying is, there was always a rotating cast of characters. People were in and out, especially kids. I remember Mr. Reacher the mill foreman. He was a well known figure. He was a fixture. But I couldn’t swear in a court of law which of the kids was his. We all looked the same. You never knew exactly where anyone lived. They all came running out the same four-flat door. About nine of them from the foreman’s building, I think. Eight at least. One of them was a pretty good ballplayer. I heard he went semi-pro in California. Would that be your father?”
“He was a birdwatcher.”
Mortimer was quiet a beat. His pale old eyes changed focus, looking back years ago. Then he smiled, in a sad and contemplative way. As if at the strange mysteries of life. He said, “You know, I had completely forgotten about the birdwatchers. How extraordinary that you should remember and I didn’t. What a memory you must have.”
“Not a memory,” Reacher said. “Not a contemporaneous recollection. It’s a later observation. Projected backward. I assume he started young. I know he was a member of a club by the age of sixteen. But you said birdwatchers. Was there more than one?”
“There were two,” Mortimer said.
“Who were they?”
“I got the impression one of them was someone’s cousin and didn’t live there all the time, and one of them did. But they were together plenty. Like best friends. I guess from what you tell me one of them must have been Stan Reacher. I can picture them. I got to say, they made it pretty exciting. I guess truth to tell the first time I ever met them I was probably ready to stomp them for being sissies, but first of all I would need to bring an army, because they were the best fighters you ever saw, and second of all pretty soon they got everybody doing it, quite happily, taking turns with the binoculars. We saw birds of prey. One time we saw an eagle take something about the size of a puppy.”
“Stan had binoculars?”
“One of them did. Can’t say for sure which one was Stan.”
“I’m guessing the one who lived there all the time.”
“Can’t say for sure which one that was. I was in and out pretty random. I would find one of them gone from time to time. Or both at once. Whoever you were, you were missing sometimes. You got sent away, to eat better, or avoid an epidemic, or take a vacation. That’s how it was. People came and went.”
“I’m wondering how he afforded binoculars. When times were tough.”
“I assumed they were stolen.”
“Any particular reason?”
“No offense,” Mortimer said.
“None taken.”
“We were all nice enough kids. We wouldn’t break into a store. But we wouldn’t ask too many questions, either. Not if something came our way. Nice kids got nothing otherwise. I suppose the thought of anything worse would have been in our heads because of his father. Whichever one was Stan. We all thought Mr. Reacher the mill foreman was a bit dubious. So I guess we went ahead and assumed like father, like son. Even though I didn’t know exactly who Stan was. I suppose that’s the power of rumor. I was only a visitor. It felt like local knowledge.”
“What kind of dubious?”
“Everyone was scared of him. He was always yelling and screaming and throwing punches and knocking people down. Looking back on it, I suppose he drank. He thought people didn’t like him because he was the foreman at the mill. He was half right. All he got wrong was the reason. I guess we other kids imputed all kinds of villainy to him. Like in a storybook at school. Like Blackbeard or something. No offense. You asked the question.”
“Did he have a beard?”
“No one had a beard. It would catch on fire in the mill.”
“Do you remember when Stan left to join the Marines?”
Mortimer shook his head.
“I never heard about that,” he said. “I guess I’m a year or two older. I was already drafted.”
“Where did you serve?”
“New Jersey. They didn’t need me. It was the end of the war. They had too many people already. They canceled the draft soon after that. I never did anything. I felt like a fraud, every July Fourth parade.”
He shook his head, and looked away.
Reacher said, “Any other memories of Ryantown?”
“Nothing very exciting. It was a hardscrabble place. People worked all day and slept all night.”
“What about Elizabeth Reacher? James Reacher’s wife?”
“She would be your grandmother.”
“Yes.”
“She sewed things,” Mortimer said. “I remember that.”
“Do you remember what she was like?”
Mortimer was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, “That’s a difficult question to answer.”
“Is it?”
“I wouldn’t want to be discourteous.”
“Would you need to be?”
“Perhaps I should say she kept to herself, and leave it at that.”
“I never met her,” Reacher said. “She was dead long before I was born. I don’t care either way. We don’t need to walk on eggs.”
“Talking about your grandfather is one thing. He was a public figure. Being foreman at the mill. Talking about your grandmother is different.”
“How bad was she?”
“She was a hard woman. Cold. I never saw her smile. I never heard her say a nice thing. She always looked cross. Kind of sour. They deserved each other, that Mr. and Mrs.”
Reacher nodded.
He said, “Anything else you can tell me?”
Mortimer went quiet so long Reacher thought maybe he had fallen into a geriatric coma. Or died. But then he moved. He raised the same bent and bony hand. This time not a warning. This time an appeal for attention. Like a comedian calming a crowd, ahead of a punch line.
“I can tell you one thing,” he said. “Since you jogged my memory. And since your dad might have been involved. I remember one time there was a big hoo-hah about a rare bird. Some big deal. First time it was ever seen in New Hampshire. Or some such thing. The birdwatching boys wrote it up for the birdwatching club. For the minutes of the meeting. Or the report on proceedings. Whatever you call it. One of them was club secretary by then. Can’t say which one. The report was about all the things going on that might influence the bird being there, or not. It was very impressive. I believe it got picked up for a hobby magazine. The Associated Press said it was the first time Ryantown was ever mentioned outside the county.”