Dorothy had unwrapped the white queen, and Charles took it from her. There was no play in the pin holding the chestnut figure to the cherry base. “Where do you think Derek’s stolen pieces are now?”
“Three places,” Norman said. “In a basement somewhere, you know, or buried or something. Or in some rich guy’s parlor that bought the whole bag. Or else at the bottom of the Potomac. That’s where they’d be if the guy that stole them was smart.”
“How would the guy that stole them find the rich guy that wanted to buy them?” Charles said.
“How do any of those guys find each other?” Norman said. “But they do. They always do.”
“Could you find one?”
“Why should I want to? Except I could use the money, and that would be no taxes on the sale. You know how much I pay in taxes? What’s it like in Virginia? It must be lower than D.C.”
“I suppose,” Charles said. “Here, Norman, look at this queen. What do you think?”
Norman looked close, then very close. “Let me see the other queen.”
They found it, and Norman looked close again. “It doesn’t exactly match the other pieces. The carving, you know? But the queens match each other. And the colors don’t match exact either. But it’s chestnut, and who can get chestnut? It must be from the same workshop.” He looked very, very close. “I don’t know. Maybe it was a different carver?”
“I think Lucy Bastien, Derek’s wife, mentioned something about the queens. I hadn’t ever looked close.”
“Then she’s got a good eye. It’s good stuff. So maybe they don’t match exactly, but you’ve got to have an eye to see it, and they’re maybe the best work of the whole set.”
“Very good, then,” Charles said. “Here is a check, and I’m very glad to have the whole set. We’ll keep it in the basement for now. I just wish I had someone to play with.”
“I’d like to speak to Mr. Galen Jones, please. This is Charles Beale.”
He waited.
“Beale. Now what do you want?”
“I want you to build a table for me.”
“What table?” There was some suspicion and a little curiosity.
“Do you remember Derek Bastien’s chess set, Mr. Jones?”
“Sure. I told you I replaced the queens.”
“I have that set now. Norman Highberg says it would have had a matching table once. I’d like for you to make one for me.”
“Okay…” For the first time, there was less suspicion in his voice than interest. “I’ll come look at it.”
“Please. At your convenience.”
“My convenience is Thursday. Are you always there?”
“Usually,” Charles said. “You could call. Or no, we should meet up at Norman Highberg’s. He’ll know just how the table should look.”
“Okay, ten o’clock?”
“Good. I’ll bring the board.”
“The pieces, too. But just don’t tell Highberg I ever touched them. So, Beale, anybody asking you about the desk lately?”
“It’s come up, but I haven’t said your name.”
“Just keep doing the right thing, okay?”
EVENING
“ ‘To be, or not to be? That is the question.’ ”
“Are you still being Shakespearian, Charles?” Dorothy said. They were together in their parlor, but Charles had no book in his hand.
“No, it is a question. Wasn’t Hamlet’s great flaw that he couldn’t make up his mind?”
“He did have that problem.”
“I do, too.”
“You’ve been hoping for better choices.”
“None have presented themselves,” Charles said.
“I think I’ve lost track of all your conversations with everyone.”
“There is one point, dear, that is especially troubling me. It is from Galen Jones, on Friday. I have been trying to work out what it means.”
A breeze troubled the curtains.
“What, dear?”
“There was a hidden drawer in Derek’s desk. Mr. Jones put it there.”
The hidden breeze stirred the air in the room. “But Derek’s papers were in the book you bought.”
“Some papers were.”
Some of the breeze swirled about him; some twirled about her.
“You think there were more papers?”
“I know he had a drawer and a book, and I have what was in the book.”
“Then what was in the drawer?”
“I do not know,” Charles said. “But the point that is most troubling to me isn’t what was in each place, but why.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What is it about the papers in the book that he chose to keep them there, instead of in the drawer?” The breeze died in a maze of eddies. “Alas, poor Derek, I thought I knew him well.”
“Again! Five games, Charles, and I have yet to capture your elusive king.”
“They have all been very close, Derek.”
“And I think I see your methods. You hold back your stronger pieces longer than most players.”
“They’re wasted on a crowded board. Pawns are the power in the beginning, when they hold territory. All the other pieces’ tactics have to cooperate with them.”
“I’ve seen that you don’t like giving them up.”
“Sentiment, Derek. I don’t have the ruthless streak a real master would.”
“And you need to use your knights better.”
“That is my other weakness. They have the greatest strategic potential, but I can’t see far enough ahead with them.”
“You did quite well in taking my castle, Charles.”
“Sometimes I notice an opportunity, Derek! On the crowded board, they’re very strong, but they weaken compared to the other pieces as the board clears. I trade them too quickly, while they’re still more useful than a bishop. The key is to know the right moment, when their capabilities are becoming less useful.”
“And then sacrifice them.”
“ Trade them. I think it’s a better word.”
“You mean it’s a less ruthless word.”
“No. A trade is for mutual advantage, and even as opponents, we choose trades that benefit us both. A sacrifice is giving something up for no return. It might have no place in chess, Derek, but it has in real life.”
“Which is why I like chess, Charles. It mirrors my life quite well.”
“I would think that was a callous statement, Derek, if I didn’t know that you say such things just to provoke me.”
“All right then, Charles, consider this: If I am the callous one, and chess is a ruthless game, why do you always beat me?”
SUNDAY MORNING
The stone held away a steady rain.
Charles and Dorothy sat in the still dimness for their quiet hour. The muted, silent roar of sky-sent water on hard earth-anchored roof was the only answer to every thought and question.
The service began and they sang as they did every week, and the heavens replied with their streams.
They listened.
“Look at the world we have to live in. Our purpose might be to live the best we can in this world of decisions and challenges and tragedy. We would serve God, and the best lived life wouldn’t be the most successful or accomplished, but the life that served God most sincerely. What would God’s role be in a world like that? Just to watch and keep score in a grand game?
“No. The vast difference between our lives and a game, the great single fact of our lives, is Christ’s sacrifice. Our lives cost him dearly, and that alone makes them desperately valuable. We have great worth because a great price was paid for us.”
AFTERNOON
“He cost us dearly,” Charles said. His suit was gray, and Dorothy’s coat was black. The umbrella was black and the rain was gray.
“He was very dear to us,” Dorothy said. The upright stone was gray. All the stones were gray and upright in the emerald grass, and the rain darkened them to black.
“Desperately valuable,” Charles said. “If only I could have given enough.”
“Oh, Charles. If only I knew why.”
“If only we knew why.”
He held the umbrella over them as seas fell around them, and seas rose within them.