Bennett and I . . .” Alice said, over the noise of the music and the two men yelling at each other in the corner “. . . we have nothing in common. We don’t understand each other. We don’t talk to each other. We don’t seem to make each other laugh, or long for each other, or count the hours when we’re apart—”

“Sounds like marriage from where I’m sitting,” Margery observed.

“And, of course, there is . . . the other thing.” Alice looked awkward even saying the words.

“Still? Well, now, that is a problem.” Margery recalled the comfort of Sven’s body wrapped around hers just that morning. She felt stupid now for how afraid she’d been, asking him to stay, trembling like one of Fred’s spooked Thoroughbreds. McCullough hadn’t shown up. Sounded like he had been so drunk he couldn’t hit the ground with his hat, Sven pointed out. He most likely wouldn’t even remember what he’d done.

“I read that book. The one you recommended.”

“You did?”

“But it . . . it only seemed to make things worse.” Alice threw her hands up. “Oh, what is there to say? I hate being married. I hate living in that house—I’m not sure which of us is more miserable. But he’s all I have. I’m not going to have a baby, which might have made everyone happier, because . . . Well, you know why. And I’m not even sure I want one because then I wouldn’t be able to ride out any more. Which is the only thing that brings me any happiness at all. So, I’m trapped.”

Margery frowned. “You’re not trapped.”

“Easy for you to say. You have a house. You know how to get by on your own.”

“You don’t have to play by their rules, Alice. You don’t have to play by anyone’s rules. Hell, if you wanted you could pack up today and head home to England.”

“I can’t.” Alice reached into her bag and pulled out the letter.

“Well, hello there, pretty ladies.”

A man in a wide-shouldered suit, his mustache slick with wax, his eyes wrinkling with practiced bonhomie, planted himself against the bar plumb between the two of them. “You looked so deep in conversation I almost didn’t want to disturb you. But then I thought, Henry boy, those pretty ladies look like they could do with a drink. And I could not forgive myself if I let you sit there thirsty. So what’ll it be, huh?”

He slid an arm around Alice’s shoulders, his eyes flickering over her chest.

“Let me guess your name, beautiful. It’s one of my skills. One of my many special skills. Mary Beth. You look pretty enough to be a Mary Beth. Am I right?”

Alice stuttered a no. Margery stared at the two short inches between his fingers and Alice’s breast, the proprietorial nature of his grip.

“No. That don’t do you justice. Laura. No, Loretta. I once knew a very beautiful girl called Loretta. That must be it.” He leaned in to Alice who turned her head, her smile uncertain as if she didn’t want to offend him. “You gonna tell me I’m right? I’m right, ain’t I?”

“Actually, I—”

“Henry, is it?” said Margery.

“Yes, it is. And you would be a . . . Let me guess!”

“Henry, can I tell you something?” Margery smiled sweetly.

“You can tell me anything, darling.” He raised an eyebrow, his smile knowing. “Anything you like.”

Margery leaned forward so that she was whispering in his ear. “The hand that’s in my pocket? It’s resting on my gun. And if you don’t take your hands off my friend here by the time I’m done talking, I’m going to close my fingers around the trigger and blow your oily head halfway across this bar.” She smiled sweetly, and then moved her lips closer to his ear. “And, Henry? I’m a real good shot . . .”

The man stumbled over the feet of the stool she was sitting on. He didn’t say a word but walked briskly back to the other end of the bar, shooting glances behind him as he went.

“Oh, and it’s real kind of you, but we’re just fine for drinks!” Margery called, more loudly. “Thank you, though!”

“Whoa,” said Alice, adjusting her blouse as she watched him go. “What did you say to him?”

“Just that . . . kind as his offer was, I didn’t think it was gentlemanly to lay his hands on a lady without an invitation.”

“That’s a very good way of putting it,” said Alice. “I can never think of the right words to say when I need them.”

“Yeah. Well . . .” Margery took a slug of her drink “. . . I’ve had some practice lately.”

They sat for a moment and let the bar chatter rise and fall around them. Margery asked the bartender for another bourbon, then changed her mind and canceled it. “Go on,” she said. “With what you were saying.”

“Oh. Just that I can’t go home. That’s what the letter said. My parents don’t want me back.”

“What? But why? You’re their only daughter.”

“I don’t fit. I’ve always been something of an embarrassment to them. It’s like . . . I don’t know. How things look is more important to them than anything else. It’s like . . . it’s like we speak different languages. I honestly thought Bennett was the one person who just liked me as I was.” She sighed. “And now I’m trapped.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Henry was leaving, casting furious, anxious glances at them as he hauled at the door.

“I’m going to tell you one thing, Alice,” said Margery, as the door closed behind him. She took Alice’s arm and gripped it, uncharacteristically tightly. “There is always a way out of a situation. Might be ugly. Might leave you feeling like the earth has gone and shifted under your feet. But you are never trapped, Alice. You hear me? There is always a way around.”

* * *

• • •

I don’t believe it.”

“What?” Bennett was examining the creases in his new trousers. Mr. Van Cleve, who had been standing with his arms outstretched, being pinned for a new waistcoat, gestured abruptly toward the door, so that a pin caught him in his armpit and made him curse. “Goddamn it! Out there, Bennett!”

Bennett looked up and through the tailor’s shop window. To his astonishment, there was Alice, arm in arm with Margery O’Hare, walking out of Todd’s Bar, a spit and sawdust establishment that advertised “BUCKEYE BEER ON SALE HERE” on a rusty sign outside the door. They had their heads tilted together and were laughing fit to bust.