"It hasn't made any more runs since then."
"Nope."
"Too bad the credit union had to close. Sawdusters must be feeling the pinch. Were you affected?"
"Nope. Had m'money in a bank."
Hmm, Qwilleran mused; why not in his son-in-law's corporation? "Can you stand another rye, Ozzie? And a burger?"
"Doc says one won't do no harm, so I figger two'll do some good."
Qwilleran signaled for refills. "Did someone tell me Floyd Trevelyan is your son-in-law?"
"Yep."
"How do you like the model trains at his house?"
"Never see'd 'em," Ozzie said, staring into space.
There was an awkward silence, which Qwilleran filled with questions about the quality of the burgers, the degree of doneness, the availability of condiments, and the kind of fries. The bar served railroad fries: thick, with skins on. Finally he said, "I met your daughter once. Do you have other children?"
Ozzie's reply was bluntly factuaclass="underline" "One son killed on the rails. One killed in Vietnam. One somewheres out west."
"Sorry to hear that. Do you see your daughter often?"
"Nope. Don't get around much."
Qwilleran coughed and took a bold step. "Did you know she's seriously ill? You ought to make an effort to visit her. She may not have long to live."
Ozzie blinked his eyes. Was it emotion or the rheuminess of old age? Suddenly he said angrily, "Ain't see'd 'er since she married that feller! Way back then I said he weren't no good. They wasn't even married in church! Guess she l'arned a lesson." In a voice oozing with sympathy, Qwilleran said, "She tells people she's very proud of you, Ozzie - proud to have a father who's a famous engineer. No matter what happened, you were always her hero."
"Then why di'n't she listen to me? She were a good girl till she met that crook. I knowed he'd turn out bad."
"Yet you agreed to drive No.9 for him."
"That publicity feller wanted me to do it. Paid good money. It were an honor. All those people cheerin' and the band playin'! Nobody knowed No.9 were owned by a crook!"
"Have you never seen your grandchildren?"
"Nope."
"The boy is a house builder, and the girl is an accountant, I believe. Is your wife living?"
"Nope. Been gone nine year."
"How did she feel about being estranged from your daughter?"
"Never talked about it. Wouldn't let her say Florrie's name in the house.... You say the boy's buildin' houses? Like father, like son. Prob'ly turn out to be another crook!"
Qwilleran thought of their physical resemblance; Eddie had the black Trevelyan hairiness. He said, "Ozzie, a reunion with your daughter might prolong her life. It would mean so much to her. You might find it painful, but it could be the finest thing you've ever done. How long since you've seen her?"
"Twenty-five year. She were on'y nineteen when they had that sham weddin' in an engine cab. In over-halls! Not even a white dress! I di'n't go. Wouldn't let m'wife go neither."
Ozzie hung his head and said no more, and Qwilleran thought, He'd be shocked if he saw her!
After a silence during which they munched their burgers, Qwilleran said, "The woman who takes care of Florrie could pick you up some afternoon and bring you back. Her name is Mrs. Robinson."
There was no response from Ozzie.
"Mrs. Robinson has a video of you driving No.9 for the Party Train. She'd be glad to show it to you."
"Like t'see that! Fred and Billy, they'd like t'see it, too."
"Who are they?"
"Fred Ooterhans, fireman, and Billy Poole, brakeman. We worked together since I-don't-know-when. We was the best crew on the SC&L. Still together at the Center, playin' cards, shootin' the breeze."
Qwilleran paid the tab and said, "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Ozzie. Thank you for the interview."
"Gonna print it in the book?"
"That's my intention. And don't be surprised if you get a call from Mrs. Robinson."
Shared weekends had always been important to Qwilleran and Polly, ever since he lost his way in a blizzard and stumbled into her country cottage looking like a snowman with a moustache. And yet, weekends were losing their savor, and he blamed it on Polly's house. In an effort to restore some of the magic, however, he proposed Saturday night dinner at the Palomino Paddock in Lockmaster, a five- star, five-thousand-calorie restaurant.
Polly was surprised and pleased. "What is the occasion?"
"You don't know it, but we're exchanging our vows tonight," he said. "You're vowing to stop worrying about your house, and I'm vowing to end the Cold War with Bootsie."
"I'll wear my opals," she said, entering into the spirit of the occasion.
The Paddock was a mix of sophistication and hayseed informality, decorated with bales of straw and photographs of Thoroughbreds. The servers were young equestrians, fresh from a day of riding, eventing, jumping, or hunting. The chef-owner lived on a two-hundred- acre horsefarm.
Seated in a stall, Polly and Qwilleran drank to their new resolve - she with a glass of sherry and he with a glass of Squunk water.
He said, "Don't forget, the play opens Thursday evening, and I have four tickets. We can have dinner with the Rikers."
"Who's playing my namesake?" Polly had been named Hippolyta by a parent who was a Shakespeare scholar.
"Carol Lanspeak. Who else?"
"She's not very Amazonian."
"She doesn't look like a fairy queen, either, but she's doubling as Titania." He pronounced Titania to rhyme with Britannia.
"According to my father, Qwill, Shakespeare took Titania from Ovid and undoubtedly used the Elizabethan pronunciation of the Latin, which would be Tie-tain-ia."
"Try that on Moose County for size," Qwilleran quipped. "Did your father ever explain Hold, or cut bowstrings?"
"He said that etymologists have been debating its source for two centuries. I could look it up for you."
"No thanks. Sometimes it's more fun not to know.... By the way, I've uncovered another Hermia case: a father who forbade his daughter to marry the man of her choice, disowning her when she disobeyed, and forbidding his wife ever to mention their daughter's name."
"Shakespeare at least had a happy ending. Is there more to your story?"
"There may be. Meanwhile, I've been reading the play aloud, and Koko gets excited whenever I mention Hermia. He also knocked Androcles and the Lion off the shelf - not one of Shaw's best, but I enjoyed reading it again. I played the lion when I was in college. It was a good role; no lines to learn."
"What else have you been reading?"
"A mind-boggling book on the engineering of the Panama Canal. Do you realize the Big Ditch took ten years to complete? It's forty miles long, and they dug out 240 million cubic yards of earth!"
She listened in a daze, and Qwilleran knew she was wondering how many cubic yards of earth would be necessary to build a berm on her property.
He rattled on, doubting that she was really listening. "The book was written by Colonel Goethals, the engineer in charge. It was published in 1916. The flyleaf of my copy was inscribed by Euphonia Gage to her father-in-law. It was a Christmas present. He would be Junior Goodwinter's great-grandfather. I'll give the book to Junior when I've finished reading it."
"That will be nice," Polly mused. When it was time to order from the menu, Qwilleran had no problem in making a choice: she - crab soup, an appetizer of mushrooms stuffed with spinach and goat cheese, a Caesar salad, and sea scallops with sun-dried tomatoes, basil, and saffron cream on angel hair pasta. Polly ordered grouper with no soup, no appetizer, and no salad.
"Are you feeling all right?" he asked anxiously. She tended to keep her ailments a secret.
"Well, I've been plagued with indigestion lately," she confessed, as if it were a character flaw. "I have an appointment with Dr. Diane this week."
He thought, She's getting ulcers over that damned house!