Fated to My Mate's Uncle novel · Chapter 19 of 32

Chapter 19: The Old Reader

"Second reader," I said at breakfast. "That's what I cut it for. Somebody else has to put a nose on it."

"Who?" Patsy said.

"Who do you think?"

She put the coffee pot down.

"He's eighty-one, honey. And he hates everybody."

"He taught me."

"He hates you most. You were his best, and you went and swore wrong on his name in front of four hundred wolves."

"I know."

Fraser was cutting the boy's pancake into squares.

The boy was letting him, which was new.

"How far?" Fraser said.

"Three hours north. Flathead pack land, on the lake."

"I'll drive."

"You've got a bounty on you."

"Not on Flathead land." He slid the plate in front of the boy. "And Gregor's men won't look for me going away from him."

The boy looked up.

"Are you coming back?"

"Tomorrow night," Fraser said. "Patsy's in charge. If she tells you to eat a vegetable, you eat it."

"What if it's a bad vegetable?"

"Then you tell the kid in the yellow shirt, and he'll eat it for you. He eats anything."

We left at seven in Fraser's crew pickup with the windows down.

I had my kit on my knees with the swatch inside it.

Fraser drove with one wrist on the wheel and his other hand on my thigh.

"You know he's going to say no," he said.

"He's going to say no first."

"Then what?"

"Then I'm going to stand on his porch until he says yes."

"That's your whole plan?"

"It worked on you."

He laughed.

"It did not."

"You said one night. I've been there six weeks."

"I said one night for the crew. I never said anything about me."

North of Missoula the valley opened up and the mountains backed off.

He turned the radio to a country station and sang along to every song, badly and on purpose, until I begged him to stop.

He didn't stop.

I didn't really want him to.

The old reader lived in a log house on a point above Flathead Lake.

There were six young wolves on his porch with notebooks.

His apprentices.

He came out the screen door on two canes.

He was smaller than I remembered, and his white hair stood straight up.

He looked at me for a long time.

"No," he said.

"You haven't heard what I want."

"You want me to read something. I don't read for oath-breakers."

"I didn't break an oath. I swore a wrong one. You taught me better and I didn't listen."

"Then why should I listen to you now?"

"Test me."

The apprentices went quiet.

The old reader narrowed his eyes.

Then he turned and said something to the tallest apprentice, who went inside.

He came back with a tray of six small jars, lids on.

"Blind," the old reader said.

The tallest apprentice tied a bandana over my eyes.

"Six jars. Six scraps of cloth. Tell me who touched each one and how they felt about it."

They put the first jar in my hands.

I opened it and breathed.

"A woman. Middle-aged. She was ironing it. Starch. She was bored."

"Next."

"A man. Fishing. He'd gutted a trout and wiped his hands. He was happy."

"Next."

"This one's yours," I said. "You were angry when you touched it. You were angry this morning, before we came."

One of the apprentices laughed and stopped.

"Next."

I went through all six.

The last one was a strip of white cotton.

I breathed in, and stopped.

"There are two people on this one."

"There's one," the tallest apprentice said. "I put it in. It's my shirt."

"It's your shirt," I said. "But a girl wore it after you. She was in love with you, and she was crying."

Nobody on that porch said a word.

I took the bandana off.

The tallest apprentice had gone red to his ears.

The old reader was looking at him, and then at me, with his mouth folded in.

"Well," he said. "You've learned to breathe past the loud one."

"Eight years too late."

"Better than never." He held out his hand. "Give it here."

I gave him the seal bag.

He didn't open it.

He just held it up to the light and looked at the stain.

"I read in the morning," he said. "My nose is old. It's better fresh. Come back at eight, and don't be late, and bring me a pastry from the bakery in town. A real one, not the cardboard."

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