Chapter 8

“So why not throw the ring in the St. Lawrence or something?”

Dubois held his eyes to his. “Because there’s no river deep enough to hold my shame.”

The admonition made Joe look away.

“Oh, what I’d give for a cup of tea,” Dubois said, after a while.

“We used to have a fire pit and boil our water. Too many men set their beds on fire.”

“And you?”

“I just drank tea.”

Dubois laughed and pulled the blanket over his head. Only his eyes were visible in the dark. Eyes as vivid and piercing as a child’s. “Will you work tomorrow?”

“No, not with my hand like this.”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“But you have a fiancée.”

“Yeah.” Joe remembered Claudine’s capable hands. Her cool smile. Would she wait for him? He wished she wouldn’t. He wished she’d stop writing. She should marry a man with a future ahead of him.

“What’s her name?”

“Claudine.” Joe rubbed his hands together for heat. “She’s a nurse. She’s good to my mother.”