yard, accounting, supply depot.”
“I’ve worked on a few big projects before, but none were on anywhere this large a scale.”
“Oh, Maufrais and his group are playing at a whole other level. He’s got connections high up, they say. Roosevelt wants him for major projects spread over half the damned country as part of this New Deal spending. They’re talking national infrastructure. Any engineer who can make the cut, can join Maufrais’ inner circle. And he’s set for both a permanent job and the kind of work that means something.”
Nathan could feel the tug of it, the pulse of hope that was all the sharper for the span of time he’d gone without. “And the ones who don’t make the cut? They go like Robinson?”
“Ninety days, one way or the other. Either you’re in or you’re hitting the road.” Clark spit. “It’s tough, but that’s how it is. You get three months’ pay and a bit more experience. Make it count, Mr. McReaken. That’s my advice.”
“You’re on probation, too?”
Clark grimaced. “Twenty days down,” he said, then brightened. “It’s win-win for me, though. I’m itching to get out of these hills. If I’m not selected, I’m taking my resume and heading north. I’ll go wherever the jobs are.”
Nathan wanted to tell him how hard that road was, following the hope of work, but he didn’t see any gain in dampening the young man’s spirits. When he looked up, though, Clark’s face had gone hard and Nathan wondered if he’d somehow betrayed his skepticism. He followed Clark’s gaze up the hill, found the scarecrow figure of Fitzsimmons on the landing before the engineers’ building. He stood looking out over the valley, a cigarette in his mouth.
“I hate that son of a bitch,” Clark said and spit. “You watch yourself with him.” The wind shifted, a hot buffeting gust that kicked up the dust of the work site. Above them, Fitzsimmons’ suit flapped like a flag.
“He’s Maufrais’ second in command?”
“More like his hammer. Maufrais is the arm, and the arm decides where the hammer comes down, but Fitzsimmons will surprise you. He may not look too bright, but he’s got a knack for making himself look good, especially if it’s at our expense.”
They watched Fitzsimmons smoke.
“He chose Robinson,” Nathan said. “He was the one who decided.”
Clark spit again. “You can forget about Robinson already.”
Nathan rested his forearms on the rail. “So, it’s ninety days or bust.”
“That’s their game.”
“I need this job,” Nathan said. “I don’t have anything to fall back on. Not anymore.”
Clark narrowed his eyes at him, scrutinizing. “In a spot, huh?”
“You could say that.” As they’d talked a cool weight had slid inside his chest, pulling him down at his guts. He couldn’t go back now. Memphis was lost to him after what had happened. “I’ve got to make this work.”
“Well then, we’d better get back in there. I expect they’ll have your desk ready by now.”
CLAIRE LAY ON HER MOTHER’S BED WITH HER UNDERPANTS bunched up in her fist, her skirts rolled back while Doc Peters made the burning alternately better then worse with his hands. Her mother had sent Tom to the store for groceries, had taken little Nan out under the big oak. There was no door between her mother’s room and the kitchen, and none between the kitchen and the front room. Claire found herself staring absently at the living room curtains where the light played through the trees.
“Here, too?” Doc said, raising his face to look up at her.
Claire nodded, wincing. Doc sat up straight, shaking his head. In the afternoon heat, the house was stifling, and his face shone with sweat.
“Looks like the old mining camp special is making a comeback. Nasty stuff. You’re the third case this month.” He wiped his hands on a towel. “You’re lucky. Three years ago I couldn’t do a thing for this, but the Germans have come up with a medicine. I’ll write to Memphis for some.”
Claire smoothed her skirts down. “Who were the men you treated?”
“Oh, I can’t tell you that.” But Claire saw him quickly search her with his eyes first.
“Travis was one of them,” she said.
Doc considered, then said, “He was.” He began gathering the instruments that he’d spread out on the bedside. “I never figured that he’d be bringing it home, though, Claire. Else, I would have given him a sterner lecture. I figured that you two were quits in that department if he’d taken to doing what he was doing.” He patted Claire on the thigh. “You ask me, he has a woman like you at home, he’s got no business looking elsewhere.”
Claire’s lips pressed into a hard line. She pulled her leg away from Doc’s hand.
“Did he say who he caught it from? Which one of them?”
Doc shook his head, stood up. “He didn’t say. I didn’t ask.”
“You should have.”
Doc considered her. “It don’t do for a lady to trouble herself with some things. Knowing who she was wouldn’t change the situation, except that you’d have one more thing eating at you, and that one they don’t make a medicine for.”
“I’ve got two kids, Doc. They don’t have a daddy around anymore.”
Doc rolled his shirtsleeves down. He looked at her, moved his jaw ruminatively.
“Who did that other fella get it from?” she asked.
“Some gal from that place over the old gas station. But there’s nothing to say it was the same woman.”
“It’s enough for me to think on.” She walked Doc to the front door.
“I’ll wire to Memphis for those sulfas,” he said. “It might take a few days.”
“It can’t get here too soon.” She imagined the wait. A week seemed like a long time.
“I’ll send word when it arrives. And, Claire, on that other business, don’t go making trouble. Probably coincidence.”
“Thanks for seeing me so quick, Doc.”
He nodded and went out onto the porch. “Eliza, she’ll be fine,” he said to her mother, who sat under the tree arranging sticks with Nan.
“She’d better be, at your prices,” her mother said. Doc took this in with an uncomfortable smile and went out into the sun.
Claire picked Nan up. The child smiled at her, offered one of the twigs. Claire pressed her forehead against her daughter’s, kissed her nose. By the same age, Tom had been a chatterbox, making up his own singsong language, but Nan remained mute. Children took their own sweet time, Claire knew. There was no measuring stick for progress.
A figure came along the road and she looked up, thinking it was Doc back with something he had forgotten, but it was Travis.
“Mama, take Nan back into the house,” she said, handing the child to Eliza.
Travis didn’t look like he’d bathed after the workday. The front of his coveralls were stiff with mud and concrete. His hat was pulled down tightly on his head, but she could see enough of his eyes to know he’d been drinking. For courage, no doubt. Claire started after her mother.
“Claire,” he called. “Dammit, Claire! Wait. I want to talk to you.”
“I don’t feel much like talking to you,” Claire said,