Out on the street, the heat pressed down like a heavy blanket.
Daniel scanned the sidewalks until he spotted a slender man strolling with a certain elegance: brown waistcoat, black shirt, leather briefcase, and a round-brimmed hat. His hair was short, streaked with gray, and his mustache trimmed to precise perfection.
Daniel approached with measured caution.
"Good day, sir. I'm Daniel Crisco. Just passing through."
The man removed his hat with an old-fashioned courtesy.
"Mario Barner. At your service young Crisco."
Mario's eyes swept the street before resting on Daniel again.
"Forgive me—this air is thick. I drove all the way here in my car, yet somehow I'm sweating more from walking than from the drive."
Daniel noticed a car parked in the distance.
"Is that yours?"
"A Benz Pareifal. A fine creation of 1902."Yes young Crisco.
"Must mean you've got some money."
Mario chuckled dryly.
"I can't claim money I don't have. Let's just say I move among the upper class. A man with the will to grow with his nation. This land you see…" —his hand swept toward the horizon— "…one day it will be nothing but asphalt and buildings. Technology advances, and like my skin… it waits for no one."
Daniel smiled, though he didn't fully follow.
"You must come from a good family, then."
Mario extended his hand.
"Doctor Barnes. Mario Barnes. At your service."
When Daniel shook it, he was struck by how soft the man's skin felt. He rubbed his fingers together in mild astonishment.
"Your hands… soft as fine silk."
Another dry laugh from Mario. He glanced at his own hands as if they held a lifetime of memories.
"These are the hands of a man born into privilege. My parents were doctors. My grandfather, an architect of a great city. An idealist, with the makings of a president."
Mario leaned in, as though sharing something confidential.
"Later he was governor, then senator, and finally… the right hand of the vice president. The name… I'll let you figure that out."
Daniel frowned slightly.
"Math was never my strength… and history even less."
Mario's gaze softened, though it carried an undercurrent of pity.
"Ah… no direction, naïve, lost. Geronimo's letter wasn't wrong."
Daniel blinked.
"Really?"
Mario ignored the question, pointing across the street.
"That's my office."
He crossed and waved Daniel over with a generous gesture.
"Come along, young Crisco."
They walked to a small building with a sign over the door that read Doctoria.
Mario clicked his tongue.
"No word is more poorly chosen than that. 'Doctoria'… I should remove it at once. Try again—use your head, young Crisco."
Mario eyed him as though expecting little.
"Do you think I wrote that?" Daniel asked, startled.
Mario sidestepped the question.
"Relax. I don't discriminate against other people's ignorance."
Daniel pulled a key from his pocket and opened the office. He glanced once more at the sign, then in the direction of the Amish settlement, suspecting Palermo had been the one to put it up.Inside, Daniel's brows knit together. He paced the ground floor like a caged animal. Geronimo had been spreading details of his life that he preferred to keep buried. He stopped by the window. Barnes's car sat beside the office.
The door creaked open and Martha stepped in, wearing her usual mask of dryness and impatience.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Martha," Daniel greeted, concealing his simmering irritation with forced politeness. "I trust your day's been pleasant."
Her eyes stayed cool.
"I spoke with the Ferries. They'll feed you—just for now. Once you get paid, you can give them what's fair."
"That won't be necessary," he said sharply. "I'm leaving tomorrow."
Her expression flickered at the bluntness.
"What's gotten into you, boy? You're impossible today."
Daniel drew in a long breath, trying to hold his tongue, but Martha didn't give him the chance.
"Besides," she continued, "Geronimo told me you're the one staying in charge of the town while he's away. Quite the load for someone like you, don't you think?"
Daniel stayed silent. He refused to take the bait.
Martha's tone shifted, softening ever so slightly.
"You have every right to leave Daniel. No one's going to hold you here. I could even talk to Geronimo—he'd understand… that you turned out rather ungrateful."
Daniel's head lifted at that. Martha eased back a little.
"What I mean," she said more gently, "is that we're glad you're here. You're a good young man. Not like that letter says."
Daniel's jaw tightened.
"Mrs. Martha… has the whole town read that letter from Father Marcos?"
She gave him a curious look.
"Why do you ask?"
"Because everyone talks as if they've known me all my life. And they always circle back to that letter. Even Dr. Barnes mentioned it just now."
Her brows rose in surprise.
"Dr. Barnes is here? Well, that's good! I'll have to tell Geronimo—he's an expected guest."
She headed for the door, but paused.
"Oh, I almost forgot. Palermo's waiting for you outside Daniel. Says he needs your help."
The heat outside was merciless. Daniel stepped out slowly, spotting Palermo in front of the house, staring up at the sky as if expecting some divine sign that refused to come. Martha spoke to him in low tones, and he nodded silently before she walked away.