“Yes, as often as I can.”
Conawago shot Duncan a cautioning glance.
“To do so in the wilderness seems odd,” Duncan said.
“To my wife. My heart says she still lives. That hope is all I live for,” the tinker confessed. He bent and opened the knapsack that lay near his altar, tipping it. Sealed letters spilled out, dozens of letters. “When we reunite, I will share all these years of my search with her. It will … help repair things, I think, bridge the gap so we can put these painful years behind us, and when we are old, we will take them out and tell our grandchildren about our grand wilderness adventure.” He looked at Conawago and gestured to the letters. “Many are in English, some in Hebrew. Open one or two, my friend. You will find them filled with boring details of a solitary existence
