TWENTY-SEVEN

   Up in this high air you breathed easily, drawing in a vital assurance and lightness of heart. In the highlands you woke up in the morning and thought: Here I am, where I ought to be.

• KAREN BLIXEN, Out of Africa

Much to the disappointment of the traders and bartenders, it took less than a day for Baileyville to empty. After the “NOT GUILTY—SHOCK VERDICT” headlines had been reduced to firelighters and draft-proofing, and the last of the mobile homes had rattled their way back across county lines, and the prosecution lawyer with the three inexplicably slashed tires had managed to get a spare set sent over from Lexington, Baileyville swiftly returned to normal, leaving nothing but muddy tracks and empty food wrappers dotted along the verges to show that a trial had ever taken place.

Kathleen, Beth and Izzy escorted Verna back to her cabin, taking turns to walk while Verna rode the sturdy Patch. The journey took the best part of a day, and they parted with promises that Neeta, Verna’s sister, would come and find them if she needed help with her laboring. Nobody ever spoke of the paternity of the child, and Verna had once again grown silent by the time they reached the door, as if exhausted by all the unfamiliar contact.

They did not expect to hear from her again.

* * *

• • •

   That first night Margery O’Hare lay in her own bed facing Sven Gustavsson in the near dark. Her hair was soft and clean from her bath and her belly was full, and out of the open window she could hear the owls and the crickets calling into the darkness of the mountainside, a sound that made the blood slow in her veins, and her heart beat with an easy rhythm. They watched the tiny girl who lay between them, her arms thrown back in sleep, her mouth making soft shapes as she dreamed. Sven’s hand rested on the swell of Margery’s hip and Margery relished the weight of it, the prospect of the nights to come.

“We can still leave, you know,” he said quietly.

She lifted the child’s cotton blanket, tucking it under her chin. “Leave where?”

“Here. I mean, what you said about your mother’s warning, and getting a fresh start. I’ve been reading up on places in northern California where they’re seeking farmers and homesteaders. Think you’d like it up there. We could make a good life.”

When she said nothing he added: “Doesn’t have to be in a city. It’s a big old state. People go to California from all over so nobody looks twice at someone from elsewhere. I got a friend with a cantaloupe farm says he’ll give me work while we find our feet.”

Margery pushed her hair back from her face. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, we could look at Montana, if you prefer the sound of it.”

“Sven, I want to stay. Here.”

Sven propped himself up on his elbow. He studied her expression as best he could in the dim light. “You said you wanted Virginia to have freedom. To live however she wanted.”

“I know I did,” said Margery. “And I do. But it turns out we have real friends here, Sven. People who have our backs. I’ve thought about it, and as long as she’s got those, she’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

When he didn’t speak, she added, “Would that . . . be agreeable to you? If we just . . . stayed?”

“Any place that has you and Virginia is agreeable to me.”

There was a long silence.

“I love you, Sven Gustavsson,” she said.

He turned toward her in the dark. “You’re not getting sentimental on me, are you, Marge?”

“Didn’t say I was going to say it twice.”

He smiled and lay back against the bolster. After a moment he reached his hand across and she took it and held it tight in her own, and that was how they slept, for a couple of hours at least, until the baby woke again.

* * *

• • •

It had been shocking to Alice how quickly her feelings of delight and elation at Margery’s return home had turned to cold stone as she grasped that this meant there was no longer a single obstacle left to her own immediate departure. That was it. The trial was over, and so was her time in Kentucky.

She had stood among the librarians and watched Sven drive Margery and Virginia up the road toward the Old Cabin and felt herself begin to calcify by inches as she realized what it meant. She managed to maintain her smile as they all drifted away, exclaiming to each other, hugging and kissing, had promised she might see them at the Nice ’N’ Quick later for a celebration. But the effort was too great, and even as Beth kicked her cigarette butt into the road and gave a cheery wave, she could feel something hard settling in her chest. Only Fred caught it, something in his expression mirroring her own.

“Would you care for a bourbon?” said Fred, as they locked the library door and walked slowly up to his house. Alice nodded. She had just a matter of hours left in the town.

He poured two tumblers and handed her one and she sat down on his good settle with the buttoned cushions and the patchwork quilt over the back, the one his mother had made. It had grown dark outside and the balmy weather had given way to a brisk wind and fine, spitting rain, and Alice was already dreading heading out in it again.

Fred reheated the rest of the soup, but she had no appetite, and, she realized, nothing to say. Alice tried not to look at his hands, both of them conscious of the clock ticking on the mantel and what it meant. They talked of the trial, but even though they painted it in bright colors, Alice knew that Van Cleve would be even more furious now, would no doubt redouble his efforts to ruin the library, or make sure her life was as uncomfortable as it could be. Besides, no matter what Margery had said, she couldn’t stay in the cabin any longer. They all knew that Sven and Margery would need time alone and it was telling that when she told them she had been invited to stay at Izzy’s that evening their protests had been half-hearted.

“So what time is your train?” said Fred.

“A quarter past ten.”

“You want me to drive you to the station?”

“That would be kind, Fred. If it’s no trouble.”

He nodded awkwardly and tried to raise a smile, which slid away as quickly as it arrived. She felt the same residual pain she always did at his discomfort, knowing that she was the cause of it. What right had she had to make any claim on this man anyway, knowing it was impossible? She had been selfish to allow his feelings to come anywhere near her own. Sunk in misery that neither of them felt able to articulate, their conversation had swiftly become strained. Alice, sipping a drink she could barely taste, wondered briefly if it had been a good idea coming here at all. Perhaps she should have gone straight to Izzy’s. What was the point in prolonging all this heartbreak?