What would happen to those two kids then? Grandparents probably would get custody, but a court could decide to put them in foster homes. Nothing was certain where kids were concerned any longer. And who would guard her trees?

This was exactly why she had dropped out, Barbara thought with great bitterness. The machine was in motion, and Nell was not aboard. She had not sidestepped in time, and it was too late now; she was directly in front of the behemoth. And just what the h.e.l.l was she, Barbara, doing here brooding about a strange woman and her probable fate? It was going on noon, too late to start driving, especially since her legs had failed her on such a short walk.

But it was more than simple brooding, she realized. She was seething over the b.a.s.t.a.r.d Lucas who had done this to Nell and her two beautiful children. The devourers and the devoured, she muttered under her breath. If he had killed that girl and thrown her into the river, he had just as surely destroyed his wife and his children. If Nell was found guilty of manslaughter, of killing him in self-defense, or premeditated murder, she was destroyed, and so was the family. No one recovered from such a history, not really.

The torture wouldn't leave visible scars and physical mutilations, but there was torture and torment aplenty in store for them. Predators and prey. Always it came back to that.

Pick a role, there are only two. Victimizer or victim. Toss a coin.

Angrily she stood up and gathered the unread papers, arranged them neatly for her father. She had turned her back on the machine, she told herself; she refused the coin, the roles, both of them. She had refused the machine, walked away from it. Even if she agreed to help her father on this case, nothing would be changed. Tomorrow another young woman would be devoured, or a young man, and then another and another endlessly, faster and faster. Nothing changed.

Her father would say, just as angrily, she knew, that it was the only game in town and you play by the rules.

"No more," she said.

"No more."

Lunch was a sandwich and an apple. Afterward, her father disappeared for his nap, just as he had said he would. She wandered around the house, then went to her room and lay down, for a minute, she told herself. She slept nearly an hour, to her great surprise. All that walking, all that soporific air, she thought, chagrined. She had not taken a nap in so many years she could not even remember the last time.

Then her gaze landed on the newspapers, the ones filled with the stories of the two murders. Presently she sat in the easy chair and resumed reading where she had left off.

Later her father asked if she was up for walking over to Nell's house.

"How far?"

"Maybe half a mile."

"You're talking about another country mile altogether, aren't you? Let's drive."

He chuckled, and they went out to his car. He pointed out where Doc's property stopped and Nell's began; the difference was startling. Doc's place had been left wild; thick forest, the same fringe of undergrowth along the road, but then the trees became more s.p.a.ced out, with great clear areas, and the regularity of an orchard. Barbara didn't recognize the trees until he told her they were the walnut trees that would make Nell a very rich woman one day soon. The road made a sharp right turn onto Nell's property. Barbara gazed at the giant fir tree that had been threatened by the tree cutters. And what had that been all about? she wondered, but did not comment.

She was surprised to find that Tawna and James were black. They greeted her father as a friend and extended that friendship to her without hesitation. Celsy, their teenage daughter, was just as friendly. Barbara was surprised again to learn that the Gresham family was living in the big house, Nell and her children in the smaller one. Topsyturvy, she found herself saying under her breath.

Travis began to tell Frank about the horse James had treated that week.

"We had to give him a shot," Travis said.

Nell spread her hands in a helpless gesture.

"I keep telling James not to let him be a nuisance, but he loves to tag along."

"The day comes that he's a nuisance, that's the day I send him packing," James said.

"Frank, Barbara, we're having wine and beer, but there's bourbon, some gin, maybe something else. Name it."

While he was inside getting wine for them both, Frank pulled a chair closer to the grill where Tawna was turning chicken. She looked at her daughter and said softly, "Maybe you could play something?"

Celsy glanced at the company, then said with some resignation, "Okay."

"Can I watch?" Carol asked. She said sure, and they both went inside the house.

"And she's a pest with Celsy," Nell said.

Frank questioned Tawna about the sauce she had made for the chicken; it smelled spicy and alien.

Palm oil, chili peppers, a little this, a little that, she said. Nell began to tell Barbara about the ceramic jewelry that Tawna made.

Then James came out with a tray and handed out wine; it seemed to Barbara that she had known these people for a long time and was very comfortable with them.

The sound of Celsy's flute drifted out; Tawna glanced at James and they both smiled faintly, very proud of their talented daughter. For a moment Barbara felt her eyes burn. When she looked at Nell, she knew she was seeing another side of her, relaxed, at ease, the terror deeply buried for the time being.

The chicken was delicious, the bakery bread that Nell had supplied was crisp and very good, the salad was superb.

Prank praised everything extravagantly, and soon he began telling one of his funny court stories, and then James topped it with a funnier animal story. When Carol began to yawn, Nell sighed.

"Guess it's that time," she said with regret. It had become very dark.

"I'll take them," Celsy said.

"You want to stay and talk a while, I'll go down with them." She was already on her feet; it was obvious that she had had quite enough of the adult evening.

"Okay, burns, say good night and then march!" Carol giggled and said it nicely; Travis saluted and said good night in a computer like voice. He began to march like a wooden soldier. By the time they were out of the light from the house, they were all giggling.

"It's been a grand party," Frank said.

"Those are great kids," Barbara added.

"All three."

"Sometimes you wish you could put a bell jar over them, keep them exactly the way they are forever and ever," Tawna said in a low voice.

"You know, capture them at this exact moment."

"What happens is that kids turn into people all too soon," Barbara said, and to her dismay the light tone she had intended was not there.

"People are okay," James said reflectively.

"Not as nice as animals, but okay."

Tawna laughed.

"If animals wanted anything more than regular meals and shelter, they'd be just like people. You better believe."

"Maybe if all people had regular meals and shelter, they'd be as nice as animals," Nell said.

"They wouldn't," Barbara said.

"People don't want only what they really need. They want more, always more, and the only way to get it is by taking what they want from others. Human nature."

"Oh, no!" Tawna protested.

"It's learned behavior.

People aren't selfish because of their genes. Everyone can quote the golden rule, but who actually practices it? There are too many ways to learn things, and by rote, the way we teach the golden rule, is probably the worst of all."

"Nurture/nature," Frank said.

"One of those problems without an answer. One of the reasons philosophers are now up to their eyeb.a.l.l.s talking about language, and forgetting the basic questions. Because they have recognized finally that there can't be any definitive answers, just faith.

Suppose, for a minute, you were granted the power to change people. What would you do, Tawna, for openers?"

"Teach them, really teach them to do unto others as you would have them do unto you. That would be quite enough."

"No," Barbara said.

"It isn't. It implies reciprocation.

You want something in return for doing good, you expect it. That's the basis for what pa.s.ses as altruism most of the time. You'll be rewarded, if not in the here and now, then in heaven. But always there must be a reward."

"Well, maybe that's one way of interpreting it," Tawna said, but her tone said she did not believe it.

"What would you do, Barbara?" James asked. "Maybe grant the veil of ignorance to every living being.

A true veil of ignorance. Every action of every person would be just, because you would never know the recipient.

Male, female, young, elderly, black, white, American, Brazilian, none of that would enter into any decisions.

If the action was just, it would be just for anyone alive, not just a select few."

"That's frightening," Nell said, nearly in a whisper.

"Justice without mercy is more frightening than anything I can think of."

"In my world justice and mercy would never be linked.

Mercy implies one with power having pity on one without power. In my world that dichotomy would no longer exist."

"Utopia," James said, sounding relieved.

"Suddenly, although we banished the philosophers, we are in the philosophical Utopia."

Frank laughed.

"Well, my thoughts of Utopia include the idea of a warm bed and pleasant dreams. Bobby, ready to make tracks?"

"I'll get your bread," Nell said. Then she turned to Barbara.

"Want to walk over to my house with me?"

Nell gave Tawna and James a hug and a kiss, and then kissed Frank's cheek, and she and Barbara left the group.

They walked in silence for half the distance.

"You're a lawyer, too, aren't you?" she asked.

"Your father mentioned it a couple of times."

"Was, maybe I still am. It's hard to say."

"Can I come talk to you tomorrow? Something you said.. .. You reminded me of something Lucas said a long time ago. And then I forgot again. I want to think it through, try to remember it all, and then talk to you.

Would you mind?"

Barbara recognized the feeling that enveloped her not as resignation, but as despair.

"All right," she said slowly.

ELEVEN.

nell arrived shortly after one the next day. Barbara and Frank had already finished lunch and were having coffee when she walked from the woods between Prank's house and Doc's. She was in jeans and sneakers and a T-shirt, carrying an armload of books; she looked like a schoolgirl.

Today she appeared shyer than she had yesterday when she had the children with her, and again at the cookout, as if then she had been playing the role of mother and had found security with it; now she was alone and vulnerable.

Barbara had not had a good night; fir trees filtering the air had not helped. Now she regarded this young woman with a careful neutrality.

"h.e.l.lo. Another beautiful day, isn't it?"

Nell nodded and said h.e.l.lo. She put the books on the table and sat in the chair Frank motioned to.

"Coffee? We're just finishing lunch. Still some fruit salad." Frank looked at her, questioning. She accepted coffee and turned down food. It soon became apparent that she needed the coffee simply to keep her hands busy with something. She fiddled with the spoon and stirred and stirred the coffee.

As they waited for her to start, Barbara realized with irritation how much she had picked up from her father over the years. His motto was to let the one who wanted to talk be the one to start, to point the direction.

Finally Nell put down the spoon and looked at Barbara, addressed her.

"Last night when you were talking about the veil of ignorance, I began to think of a different phrase, a veil of innocence. Oh, we can't restore it, I know that, but the kind of innocence that children have kept coming to mind. And I began to think of Lucas, when I saw him that time up on the ridge. He had it restored." She looked puzzled, almost pleading with Barbara in some unfathomable way.

Now she turned to Frank, including him, where a moment ago she had excluded him. She drew in a deep breath and said, "He didn't kill that girl. I know he didn't."

Frank looked at her over his gla.s.ses, then poured him self more coffee.

"Just tell us what you're getting at. We'll go on from there."