Almost nobody went to Swede’s Hill.

It was desolate. It was depressing. It was the remnant of a feud from well over a century before, when one faction had been exiled to the further, less desirable part of the island. The dead from the losing side had been buried there, and the names on the stones were not carried by any living Islanders. Nobody tended the graves. It was said to be the haunt of demons, even in daylight. Hardly anyone ever visited.

For the Duday brothers, it was ideal.

They had been pacing as they talked, which meant a serious question was being discussed. They had now stopped pacing, which meant it was time for an answer to the question. They conversed neither in English nor decent French, but Fourchaise, which meant either a desire for privacy (Some dead sill lingered at Swede’s Hill) or an easy intimacy. In this case, it meant both.

“If I were like you, brother,” said Tel, “I would have no problem. I would merely hold out my hand and any woman I wanted would take it.”

Greg shook his head. “I really wish,” he said, “you wouldn’t make it sound like magic. I don’t do that shit. Not with women.”

“Are you sure?” asked Tel. “Because you seem to have a supernatural ability to fascinate every good-looking lady who visits the Island. Your face never gets slapped.”

“I promise you, Tel, I have bored many a woman. Bored the eyeballs out of ’em. If I don’t get slapped it’s because, having the sense God gave a stoat, I don’t try to fuck those particular women.”

He sighed. “You could try listening to them occasionally,” he added, a bit hopelessly.

Tel blinked and gestured as if waving away a fly. “Anyway, this isn’t about fucking,” Tel said. “This is about finding a wife.”

“Lucky girl.”

“That’s what I think. I have a lot to offer, don’t I? Don’t I? Money’s no problem, and I’m not so bad looking. I’m a nice fellow. I’d never beat her. And I have a future. Scott Bonney and I are like this. Our family is a good family, or at least, as good as any other family on the island. Better, if you think about it sensibly.”

Tel had already said this twice. It was time to draw things to a close. Greg’s class in accounting at the Mechanics’ was not until 7:00 pm, but he liked to go over his notes in his room at the boarding house beforehand. “All right, Brother, do you want to know what I think?”

“Please.”

“First… You will not find a woman of Talent on this Island other than our mother and sister.”

“Yes, yes, that goes without saying.”

“So, she will have to be someone who will not lose her head when she learns the truth about us.”

“Well, I thought I would…”

“No. Absolutely not. Bad idea. You can’t keep that kind of a secret from someone sharing your house, your bed, your children. Especially your children.”

“Oh. You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. So she will have to be someone of courage and discretion. She will also have to be someone our mother likes. Don’t look so surprised, Brother. Surely you wouldn’t subject some poor untalented woman to Maman’s ill will?”

“Le Bon Dieu preserve us all from that. I’m just surprised that you…”

“She should come from a fairly good family, one Maman would consider worthy of her heir apparent. And for you…”

“No homely women, Greg.”

“…She must be pretty,” Tel said. “And pure. Intact, if you know what I mean. And young…”

“Which narrows it down considerably. There is only one lady on this island with all that’s required. She is young, she is beautiful, she’s untouched, and she is just…” Greg was about to say “self-absorbed” but rejected the term as ungallant. “…preoccupied enough to live with you for decades and still mind her own business.”

Greg was not normally dramatic, but he was his mother’s son, and Tel looked so anxious Greg couldn’t resist a slight pause before he uttered the name.

“Mam’selle Felicia Finnegan.”

Tel blinked again. “Bill Finnegan’s younger daughter? The artist?”

“The very one. Remember, brother, I worked in that house. I’ve watched her. She would be perfect for you.”

Tel thought for a moment. “Her father was a prize-fighter,” he said.

“Surely you’re not afraid of him?”

“Yes, actually, I am.”

“Well, she isn’t. I can tell you that. I don’t think Felicia is afraid of anything other than clashing colors. And she does what she wants. Remember that time she sailed off to Pity-Me Island by herself? Spent the whole day there painting with a bunch of Frenchy fisherman edging around her. Not one of those thugs said ‘bah’ to her, and neither did her father. Even Agnes Pascoe still received her. Could anyone else on the island have gotten away with that? No, brother, what counts is whether she likes you, and I think she would. I think she’d like you very much.”

Tel’s mind was working. He touched his jaw. “I should shave…”

“No. Don’t shave. Go to her as you usually are. Talk to her as you usually talk. Show her what you want in life. It’s not far at all from what she wants.” Greg pointed at the ground.

“Felicia Finnegan may be an artist — a very good artist too — but she is an Aristotelian to the core. That means she believes in what’s solid. She likes things. Things that you could give her. Do you understand?”

Tel was grinning, his eyes sparkling. Half in love already, Greg thought.

“Fe-li-cia!” Tel said, lingering over the syllables. “She’s so lovely! Do you think she’s really…what you said? An aristo-something? Do you really think it’s possible…? Could she…? She’d be perfect! Absolutely perfect.”

“And she won’t slap your face. Unless you tell her she’d have to give up painting. You don’t want her to do that anyway. It’ll keep her occupied.”

“Thank you Greg! Thank you!” Tel embraced Greg, and Greg smacked him on the back.

“Go get her, Brother,” he said.

He allowed himself only an moment’s thought about Felda, then pushed it out of his mind by thinking of Clarice, the lady from San Francisco who’d sailed home yesterday. Pretty, sloe-eyed, clever, and married Clarice, a mature woman who knew what she liked and could hold her own in a conversation. That’s all he really asked of a woman — to be smart, pretty and ultimately unavailable.

Felda and he would be in-laws. They could have nice long talks at family gatherings. That would be nice. He missed their conversations very much.

Too bad she wasn’t pretty and his own age.