THE INSTANT HE spotted Eva approaching with the baby, Ethan broke into a broad grin and abandoned his work. Eva knew in advance for whom the smile was intended, a fact that was confirmed instantly, when Ethan s.n.a.t.c.hed the child from her arms. He swung her once about in a circle and held her above his head and looked up into her cherubic face before cradling her in his arms. spotted Eva approaching with the baby, Ethan broke into a broad grin and abandoned his work. Eva knew in advance for whom the smile was intended, a fact that was confirmed instantly, when Ethan s.n.a.t.c.hed the child from her arms. He swung her once about in a circle and held her above his head and looked up into her cherubic face before cradling her in his arms.

"You ought to have sent word you were coming," he said. "Just look at me, I'm a mess."

"I won't be long, Ethan. I've come with a purpose."

Ethan smiled at her. "You always do, my love. I can only hope that you've finally seen clear to -"

"I'm leaving Minerva," she said.

Ethan went cold. "What do you mean, you're leaving her?"

"I'm leaving her with you."

"But - what - for how long?"

Eva could not bear to look at him. Swinging around to avoid his perplexity, her voice faltered. "Indefinitely," she said. "However long it takes."

"It? What are you talking about?"

"I need time to work unmolested. Perhaps a week, perhaps two."

"For heaven's sake, Eva, look around you! What are you saying? You can't possibly -"

"I've contracted a woman."

"Certainly not that wh.o.r.e you've been keeping company with?"

"That 'wh.o.r.e' was my friend. You should be so lucky. I've provided a woman to see to Minerva's needs until such time that -"

"A woman?" Ethan peered over her shoulder. "You mean to say that Indian on the steps there? She's to be the mother of my daughter?"

Eva strangled her grief and swung around to face him. "I'm the mother of your daughter! What's more, you're the father of your daughter, and I daresay you haven't been acting it."

"Eva, this is no place for a child! Not yet!"

"Then you'd best make it one," she said. "If you can build a dam, then I should think a nursery wouldn't be too much trouble."

business SEPTEMBER 1890 1890.

Eight days after she'd left Minerva, Eva was back at the construction site. Upon her arrival shortly before dusk, she proceeded across the muddy flat toward the office, at which point she was directed rather vaguely by a man with a broom to a location outside, where Ethan was most likely to be found. Eva set out to find him, her notebook clutched tightly against her cotton blouse and her chin thrust out above her collar and tie like the prow of a steamship. She resolved herself once more not to cave in to weakness, not to let her affections for Ethan or the child get the best of her. She must stay true to her course. She must bear in mind at all times the burden of responsibility placed upon her shoulders by the public interest. She must not waver in her beliefs, because beliefs were bigger than individuals, bigger than babies and husbands. Beliefs could do anything with enough steam. The evidence surrounded her. The unconditional surrender of the valley, once wooded and remote, now seemed complete. What remained was a ravaged landscape, scarred and splintered and blasted.

Ethan stood with the baby in his arms on the near side of what was once a narrow gorge, gazing down at the dry riverbed, where day and night men hammered lengths of steel into the earth, and the great dredgers heaved and grunted ceaselessly, coughing out clouds of bitter steam. High-scalers worked the scaffold on the far edge of the canyon, now straddled by a great wooden bridge like a train trestle. One day, in the not so distant future, they could begin pouring concrete into the box molds, setting them in place. Soon the water would begin to rise on the upriver side, and Lake Thornburgh would begin to be a reality.

When Ethan registered Eva's approach, he bolted upright in a rush of grat.i.tude and relief. Eva stopped well short of him, but Ethan soon bridged this gap, planting a kiss on her forehead, which she received with the magnanimity of a queen. The child did not stir.

"Oh, Eva, thank heavens you're back. I knew you'd come to your senses."

Looking at the baby, all wrapped up like something precious and delicate, Eva felt herself weaken. She ached to hold the child. She ached too for Ethan's embrace. For all his rough edges, he looked handsome. But she fought the aching. "I did not leave my senses, Ethan. I merely left you."

"And your child, lest you've forgotten." your child, lest you've forgotten."

"Our child," she said, brushing a maverick hair out of her face. "To whom I've devoted the lion's share of my time and energy ever since the day you decided to build an empire in the middle of nowhere. child," she said, brushing a maverick hair out of her face. "To whom I've devoted the lion's share of my time and energy ever since the day you decided to build an empire in the middle of nowhere. Our Our child, I might add, who appears to be doing quite well asleep on your lapel." child, I might add, who appears to be doing quite well asleep on your lapel."

Ethan could not disguise a certain pride in this fact, and a smile played again at the corners of his mouth. "At any rate, thank heavens you're back."

Eva turned from Ethan and the baby. In that moment she very nearly caved in. The only thought that sustained her was that she needed just a little more time, and it would be better for everybody. "I'm not back, Ethan. I'm here on business."

"Business?"

"Yes, business. That's what you run here, isn't it?"

"See here, what is this all about, Eva?"

"That's what I'm here to find out. For starters, I - we we - should like to know just who you and Jacob are forging partnerships with. Honestly, Ethan, what became of 'bringing hydroelectric power to the people'? What happened to 'completely revolutionizing the economical industrial conditions'? I'm here for an accounting." - should like to know just who you and Jacob are forging partnerships with. Honestly, Ethan, what became of 'bringing hydroelectric power to the people'? What happened to 'completely revolutionizing the economical industrial conditions'? I'm here for an accounting."

"You're here to do a story story? Surely, you've got to be joking."

Eva crossed her arms. "I'm quite serious."

"What happened to birthing cows and bridle paths?"

"And I quote, Ethan: 'Who do you think is going to roll up their sleeves and put this place on the map? Men like your father? Stodgy old capitalists with no vision, the bed partners of senators and - '"

"That's not fair, Eva, and you know it."

"Isn't it?"

"This dam can't be built without money from the east. It's just not possible, and all the Utopian rhetoric in the world is not going to make make it possible. It's simply a financial reality." it possible. It's simply a financial reality."

"Whose financial reality?"

"Report what you want, Eva, but know that my hands are tied. If it's a lamb for the altar you're looking for, well, look no further. But why stop there? Why not sacrifice your daughter's future while you're at it?"

"Sacrificial lamb. Ha! You've lost all sense of proportion, Ethan."

"Have I? This from a woman who abandons her child to write stories for a -"

"Don't be evasive, Ethan. You've been selling your dream to the people of Port Bonita since day one, selling them on equitable equitable returns and convenience for all, as if they had some vested interest in -" returns and convenience for all, as if they had some vested interest in -"

"They do do have a vested interest! How can we have growth with -" have a vested interest! How can we have growth with -"

"With what, Ethan? With ... with migrating capital? So that men like my father can -"

"The resources are endless, Eva! Goodness, woman, look around you!"

Looking around, Eva thought she saw the future.

"It's a wasteland, Ethan."

"Think of the future, I beg you."

"Whose future?"

"All our futures. The future of Port Bonita - and yes, even your commonwealth. The future has already begun. Don't you see, Eva - I don't want to surrender control, but I can't stop the momentum. And it's actually a good thing, this outside money. It shows confidence in our economy. A hundred years from now this dam will still be the engine of Port Bonita."

Eva looked him squarely in the eye, and what she saw in his unwavering gaze was the very same determination that had driven him to this place, and nothing less. He still believes, she thought, he sincerely believes: in progress, in destiny, in his own place in history.

chill waters SEPTEMBER 1890 1890.

Minerva came to know the caress of rough hands, and the deafening crack of mortar blasts from dawn until dusk. She came to know the yellow light of late summer slanting through the window and how the dust turned somersaults in its radiance. She slept always with the orange pulse of candlelight behind her eyelids and the soft murmur of gruff voices beneath her dreams. And she slept well. And each time she woke, it was as though she had done so for the first time, and the newness of life was a thing to crawl up inside of, a thing to savor on her tongue, a thing to grasp with chubby fingers at every opportunity and not let go. She came to know a sea of voices and a sea of faces, and a thousand different smells, from the sweet spice of rough-hewn cedar to the chalky itch of basalt dust. And her favorite smell of all would become the acrid odor of her father's neck, her favorite touch, his calloused hand. There were days in the waning summer and early autumn when he took her far from the clatter of the canyon, to the chill waters upstream, where she lolled on the riverbank beneath his delicious gaze, sharing it with no one, and she watched the endless stream of silver fish fighting their way upriver as though their lives depended on it, little knowing that they did. The silver fish were a miracle in the sunlight, a river running inside the river, a leaping, wriggling ribbon of life. And it felt to the child as though the whole world existed in the shade of an alder, on the bank of a river, beneath the gaze of her father.

kaw mix bux AUGUST 2006 2006.

They kept calling you Curtis. They wouldn't stop calling you Curtis. They thought you were me. How are we today, Curtis? Are we ready to talk today, Curtis? Curtis, this is so and so, he'd like to ask you a few questions. How are we today, Curtis? Are we ready to talk today, Curtis? Curtis, this is so and so, he'd like to ask you a few questions.

When they weren't calling you Curtis, they were asking their endless questions: Does this hurt?

Can you feel this?

How many fingers?

How many fingers now?

And the woman. She always cried. Every time they brought her in and sat her down in a chair in front of you, she would smile her brave smile, but then she would begin to cry. My baby, My baby, she would say. she would say. What happened to my baby? What have they done with my baby? What happened to my baby? What have they done with my baby?

You tried to tell the woman that you didn't have her baby. You tried to tell her in your silent way that you would help her look for her baby. If she could only get you out of this place.

And she would cry again. And blame herself for losing her baby.

Do you remember the day she came with the picture books? And how, at first, you just looked at the pictures, but then you began to read the talking white s.p.a.ces, and you recognized the white s.p.a.ces because you, too, talked in white s.p.a.ces. At great length, you tried to explain that to the woman, but like everybody else in that place, she could not understand white s.p.a.ces. She only looked at the pictures.

Everywhere there were shiny things, and colorful things, hard and smooth as bone. Things with no straight lines, which you liked. You picked them up and ran your hands over them, and tried to ask the people questions about the things.

Does this hurt? they would answer. they would answer.

Can you feel this?

How many fingers?

They would not let you wander. They followed you where you went. They followed you to the window, where they watched you look out. They led you outside the window and walked you around in circles on the yellow-striped ground. You liked that. You wanted to go farther, but they would not let you.

The food they brought you had strange flavors. It was always too hot. They encouraged you to eat with a fork. The fork was strange and flexible and white. You would turn it over and over in your fingers and bend it this way and that and snap its long white teeth off. You would wave it at them, laughing in white s.p.a.ces about funny teeth. They would smile, but not really. Mostly they just watched the fork very carefully.

Curtis, they would say. they would say. This is doctor so-and-so, he'd like to ask you some questions, Curtis. This is doctor so-and-so, he'd like to ask you some questions, Curtis.

When the woman came you managed to communicate your desire for more picture books, and for the first time she seemed to understand you. They all seemed to understand you.

He really responds to the kaw mix bux, they would observe among themselves. They brought you others, but they were not the same. They had white s.p.a.ces, but no John Proudstar, no Thunderbird. When you tossed them aside, they shook their heads in disappointment. The woman began to cry again. they would observe among themselves. They brought you others, but they were not the same. They had white s.p.a.ces, but no John Proudstar, no Thunderbird. When you tossed them aside, they shook their heads in disappointment. The woman began to cry again.

My baby. What happened to my baby?

you never know AUGUST 2006 2006.

With her ap.r.o.n strings still dangling, Rita wrestled her hair into a net, just as she noticed Krig upstairs standing at the smudged Plexiglas window looking down at her. He glanced at his watch and, with a wince, scratched his s.h.a.ggy neck.

Rita pretended she didn't see him and took her place on the line next to Hoffstetter who, pausing with a handful of entrails to wipe his mustache on a shirtsleeve, also checked his watch.

Twenty minutes later, Rita found herself seated in Krig's dingy cubicle, gazing at the mottled brown carpet. She could feel Krig's eyes upon her as he sprinkled nondairy creamer into his Styrofoam cup and gave it a pensive stir. How long had she been at High Tide? Seven years? Eight? Could it be eight? Jesus.

Though Rita knew it was highly unlikely, part of her hoped Krig would just cut her loose. Part of her wanted her whole world to go up in flames.

"Everything all right at home?" said Krig, finally. How long had Rita been there, he wondered - five, six years? Until three weeks ago, he didn't even know she had a kid. He hated this managerial bulls.h.i.t. He hated being the man. The truth is, he liked his years on the line a lot better than the front office, except for the c.r.a.ppy paycheck. He liked the camaraderie of the line. He could remember the late eighties, when they were moving ten, twelve million pounds a year through this place. They'd stack up a lot of overtime in those days. And go to the bars after: Kip Tobin, Williams, the whole bunch of them. Life felt like a Bob Seger song back then. Krig felt like part of something. Port Bonita ruled.

"Everything's fine," said Rita.

Krig stifled a sigh and was about to scratch his neck but went for his coffee instead. Rita could tell that the whole line of questioning was uncomfortable for Krig, and she felt a little sorry for putting him in this position.

"Then, uh, I guess my next question would be ... uh ..."

"Okay," she said. "Everything's not all right at home. Actually, if you want to know - nothing's all right at home. Not one single thing in my life is all right - it's all wrong."

"Ah," said Krig.

"My son is having serious mental problems ... he's ... they're not even sure if ..." Rita pulled up short, fighting back a wave of emotion.

She remembered the night she first brought Curtis home from the hospital. He was a happy baby, calm and curious. He slept through his first night and well into his first morning. Rita watched him sleep most of the night and awoke in the morning curled on the love seat next to the ba.s.sinet, clutching her grandmother's quilt. Where did everything go so wrong? Where did their lives jump track and become so hopelessly derailed? What happened to the calmness, the curiosity? She didn't even know where her grandma's quilt was anymore.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just ... it's been a ... the last couple weeks have ..."

Krig scratched his neck yet again. "No, no. Not a problem. You, uh, need some time off. Or ... ?"

"No," she sniffled. "Look, I can't afford to. I need this job. I'm barely making it as it is. I don't know what's going to happen with Curtis, I just ... everything is ..." Cursing her weakness, she succ.u.mbed finally to hoa.r.s.e sobs.

Krig felt like a gorilla trying to comfort a canary as he rested his big hand between her shoulder blades. He could feel her spine through her cotton sweatshirt. "We can juggle some stuff around," he said. "Figure out some kind of arrangement."

Back when Mullen was GM, and Krig, gooned on Rumplemintz and Old English, had broken his collarbone trying to tackle a weaner pig down at Tobin's dad's place, Mullen had worked out a special arrangement for Krig. You had to take care of your people. That's just what you did at High Tide. That's what you did in Port Bonita, USA. If that made him old-fashioned, so be it.

"Look, I'll talk to Jared," he said.

Rita sniffled.