Excerpt from The Sweetness of Water by Nathan Harris, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

While August sat across from George's desk, George himself could only bear to stand at the window. August informed him that he'd been injured, a bad tumble on patrol that had led to his discharge only a week earlier, the first day of March. He looked perfectly healthy to George, who figured the boy's father had paid to see him to safety as the war in its last throes grew more dangerous. But his suspicions weighed nothing against what it was that had brought them to this moment. To this room. And so August began to speak, and even with his first utterance, George grasped the hollowness of the boy's words, the theatrics of his delivery; could picture him in his runabout, coming to his property, going over each sentence, each syllable, for the greatest possible effect.

He told George that Caleb had served honorably and had welcomed death with honor and courage; that God had willed him a peaceful passing. Caleb had been going off with this boy since they were both so young that neither reached George's midsection. He recalled a time they'd run into the woods to play, only to return with Caleb so mortified, August so filled with glee, that George took the contrast as the result of some competition, an occasion that might lend itself to a moral lesson. Take your losses like a man, now, George had said. But later, when Caleb would not sit for dinner, winced even in consideration of doing so, George pulled the boy's trousers down. Slash marks, some still flush with blood, the others bruised to a deep purple, covered his backside. He told George of the game August had hatched, Master and the Slave, and that they had only been assuming their proper roles for the afternoon. The pain was not from the marks, Caleb went on, but from the fact that he could not conceal them and that George might tell August's father. He had to swear to the boy that he would keep it secret.

Standing in his study, George sighed and made it clear to August that he knew he was lying. His son could lay claim to many traits, but bravery was not one of them. This single comment was all it took for the varnish of August's act to peel away; he stumbled over his words, crossed his legs, checked his timepiece, desperate for an exit that George would not provide.

No, no. His son had died. And he deserved to know the truth of what had happened.

George had not seen Landry start the fire before him, but light from the flame overtook their corner of the forest and cast the bigger man in relief; he retrieved the skinned rabbit and spitted the bloody mess on the end of a shaved branch for roasting. The clouds had parted and the sky was full of stars so clear, so magnificent, it was as if they'd been arranged just for the three of them.

"I should be heading home," George said. "My wife will be worried. If you could give me some assistance…I'd make it worth your while."

Prentiss was already standing to help.

"I mean, you two could stay here, if you wished to. For a time."

"Let's not worry about that right yet," Prentiss said.

"And if there is something else I could assist you with, perhaps."

Ignoring George, Prentiss put a hand beneath his arm and lifted him in one swoop, before the pain could set in.

"Just like that," Prentiss said. "Slow-like."

They walked as one through the trees with Landry trailing them. Though George needed the stars for guidance, it was all he could do to keep his sight straight ahead to stop himself from falling over, from giving in to the pain. He placed his head in the nook where Prentiss's chest met his shoulder and allowed the man to balance him.

After some time had passed, he asked if Prentiss knew where they were.

"If this is your land as you say it is, then I've seen your home," Prentiss said. "It's a beautiful place, isn't it? Not far from here. Not far at all."

George realized as they reached the clearing how absolutely exhausted he was. At once, the entire night, which had been suspended in time, unspooled itself before him, and reality presented itself in the form of his log cabin, standing before him and the black outline of what could only be Isabelle carved in shadow against the front window.

Excerpted from The Sweetness of Water by Nathan Harris. Copyright © 2021 by Nathan Harris. Excerpted by permission of Little Brown & Company. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.