For weeks Sadie avoided.
Not fear.
No need.
Then one autumn afternoon they met in general store.
Sadie was buying lamp oil.
Cobb stood beside flour sacks.
Both froze.
He removed hat.
“Sadie.”
“Horace.”
Storekeeper became intensely interested in beans.
Cobb looked older than years.
“Children?”
Sadie almost resented question.
“Two.”
“I heard.”
“Then why ask?”
He accepted.
“I don’t know.”
Silence.
Cobb looked toward window.
“They tell story wrong.”
Sadie’s mouth tightened.
“Which?”
“About us.”
“There should not be an us.”
“I mean what I did.”
“How do they tell?”
“That I sold you.”
“You did.”
He flinched.
“I didn’t take money.”
“You exchanged my marriage for agreement you already had.”
“Yes.”
He stared at floor.
“I used to tell myself that mattered.”
“Does it?”
“No.”
Sadie waited.
He continued.
“I thought intent separated me from men who truly sold people.”
Sadie’s voice became cold.
“Careful.”
“I know.”
He raised hands.
“I know.”
“What do you want?”
“Nothing.”
“No forgiveness?”
“No.”
“Then why speak?”
Cobb looked directly.
“Because prison gives man too many hours to rehearse explanations.”
“And?”
“Eventually I noticed every explanation ended with me as person who knew best.”
Sadie felt unexpected sadness.
Not for him entirely.
For wasted years.
Cobb continued.
“I believed Oak Haven would die if I lost control.”
“Did it?”
“No.”
“You were wrong.”
“Yes.”
“About town.”
“Yes.”
“About me.”
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
“I was wrong about people needing me.”
Sadie looked at flour sacks.
A boy entered laughing.
Store alive.
Railroad whistle far.
Cobb had not been necessary.
No one is, forever.
Sadie said:
“I don’t know whether I forgive.”
“I’m not asking.”
“Good.”
“But I no longer want punish you.”
Cobb closed eyes briefly.
“Thank you.”
“That is not gift.”
“No?”
“It’s freedom for me.”
He nodded.
They parted.
He lived another nine years.
Never returned to office.
He occasionally volunteered to keep cooperative books but trustees refused due policy, not vengeance.
Instead he kept accounts for freight company.
He did it accurately.
When he died, Sadie did not attend funeral.
Lucien did.
Sadie asked why.
Lucien answered:
“I wanted see end.”
“That sounds grim.”
“It was.”
“Did you hate him?”
“Less at end.”
“Why?”
“He got small.”