I let the comment roll off of me. I followed her back downstairs, retrieved my pack, then said goodnight and went back up to the room. I filled up both of the tubs, one for soaking my dirty socks and underwear and the other for me. After a long, relaxing bath I rinsed out my laundry and hung it over the radiator, which wasn't on but was still the best surface I could find for laying out my things. I climbed into bed and went to sleep.

The next morning I slept until seven-thirty. My headache was back, a dull ache near my incision. I collected my washing, which, fortunately, was dry, dressed and packed, then, taking my backpack with me, went downstairs for breakfast. There were two couples in the room, but neither of them acknowledged my entrance.

Cathy greeted me as I entered the dining room. "How did you sleep, Alan?"

"Well, thank you."

"You can sit wherever you like," she said.

I chose a small, round table away from the other guests. Across the room from me, a tall, walnut-cased grandfather clock chimed the hour.

"I think you'll enjoy this morning's breakfast," Cathy said. "It's our guests' favorite: crustless quiche with sausage, and our special cream cheese blackberry m.u.f.fins."

"It sounds delicious," I said.

She smiled. "Trust me, it is."

A few minutes later she returned with my plate, then left me alone to eat. I ate slowly, not in a particular hurry to get back on the road. In spite of a good night's rest, I still felt tired. A half hour later, Cathy emerged from the kitchen.

"How is everything?" she asked.

"As good as you said it would be."

She smiled. "Well, I didn't mean to boast."

"You should," I said. "How's business?"

"Pretty good. We're not going to be buying the St. Louis Cardinals anytime soon, but we enjoy what we're doing."

"That's better than owning the Cardinals," I said.

"I'll have to take your word for that."

"My wife would really like it here," I said.

"Then you'll just have to bring her next time," she said. "Excuse me. I need to check on the oven." She walked back to the kitchen, but returned a few minutes later with a basket of hot m.u.f.fins.

"Here you go, hot out of the oven."

I took one. "How do you like living in Ste. Genevieve?"

"I love it here. It has so much history and charm. Ste. Genevieve is a very old town. In fact, it's older than our country. It was settled mostly by French-Canadians, and a lot has been done to preserve the original French-colonial style. Did you see the Old Brick House?"

I shook my head.

"It's just around the corner. It's a restaurant now, but it's famous for being the first brick building west of the Mississippi."

"Did you grow up here?" I asked.

"No. I actually came to stay at the Southern Hotel just a few years after Mike's first wife Barbara pa.s.sed. I brought my granddaughter for a special trip, and the second Mike opened the front door, I was smitten. It took him a little longer to come around, but when he did, he just about ran me over."

"Mike owned the hotel before he met you?"

"Yes. He and Barbara were just pa.s.sing through town. They were at the candle shop across the street when they noticed a big FOR SALE sign in front of the hotel. In less than a week they were the owners. It took nine months and more than forty people to restore it, but the place has been receiving guests ever since."

"How long have you and Mike been married?"

She counted on her fingers. "Five years this Thanksgiving."

"What's it like being married to a widower?"

"That's an interesting question," she said. "I suppose it's like any marriage." She suddenly grinned. "Except I don't hit him if he calls me by another woman's name."

"Does he ever do that?"

"Call me Barbara? Every now and then. Usually when he's in a hurry. Old habits die hard."

"Does it bother you?"

She thought for a moment, then said, "No, not really. In a way it's a compliment. He loved his first wife dearly. And even though I never met her, I feel a connection to her that I can't quite explain. I think we would have been good friends." She shook her head. "That probably sounds strange."

I thought of McKale and Falene. "No," I said. "It's actually quite beautiful."

She smiled. "Thank you."

I finished my m.u.f.fin, then said, "I guess I've delayed the inevitable long enough, I better get going." I stood up from the table and lifted my pack. "Breakfast was terrific. Actually, everything was. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Stop by again sometime. And next time, bring your wife."

"That would be nice," I said.

As I walked toward the door, Cathy said, "Oh, don't forget to sign the quilt." She pointed to a st.i.tched quilt mounted to the wall. "We have all our guests sign it." She handed me a marker.

I signed my name, then walked out of the house. McKale definitely would have loved this place.Following Cathy's directions, I left Ste. Genevieve on a different road from the one I came in on. Before I left the city, I pa.s.sed a shop with a sign in its window advertising "KEY WEST." I walked up to read what it had to say. Key West turned out to be the name of a local "island" band.

The route Cathy gave me bypa.s.sed the residential areas, taking me directly back to 61 South. The longer I walked, the more I wished I had stayed another day in Ste. Genevieve. In addition to feeling crummy, I had to deal with the weather. The sky was dark and gray, and a little before noon it began raining hard enough that water ran off the brim of my hat. I was walking on a narrow shoulder of highway, and the fast traffic on slick roads not only put my life in peril, but guaranteed that I was frequently splashed by pa.s.sing vehicles. The air was muggy, thick with humidity and the loud sound of bugs and birds distressed by the rain.

Thankfully, the rain and my headache lightened some by late afternoon as I entered the town of Brewer. It was another small, rural town, and what struck me as most peculiar about the place was that it had the biggest front lawns I'd ever seen. These folks don't need tractor mowers, I thought, they need combines.

Two miles later I reached Perryville, the largest town of the day with a population of more than 8,000. I walked into town wet, tired and shivering. I took a room at the first hotel I found, a Budget Inn. I took off my wet clothes, showered, then ate dinner at a nearby Hardee's.The sky cleared during the night. The road still wasn't much for walking, narrow and grated with a severe rumble strip, and I stumbled more than once. Still, it wasn't raining and I was grateful for that. And the scenery was bucolic. I pa.s.sed beautiful red barns, and long, expertly cultivated rows of crops, marked and numbered with agricultural signs from the seed vendors for commercial demonstration.

A little over six miles into the day I reached my first town, Longtown, with a population of just 102. For such a small town it had an impressive church-Zion Lutheran-a large structure with pointed-arch windows and a tall white steeple. In addition to the church, Longtown also boasted an abnormally large number of plastic deer in its residents' front yards, which are only slightly weirder than plastic pink flamingos.

That afternoon I saw one other peculiar thing-a herd of cows gathered around a small bonfire. There were no humans in sight and I wasn't sure what to make of it. I was fairly certain that the cows hadn't started the fire, so I just kept on walking.

That evening I set up my tent in a grove of trees near a picturesque farm with three silos.