they like about their religion, but if it does not teach them to be good

and kind to man and beast, it is all a sham.

• ANNA SEWELL, Black Beauty

In the end they sent Pastor McIntosh, as if God’s word might hold sway where Van Cleve’s could not. He knocked on the door of the Packhorse Library on a Tuesday evening and found the women in a circle, cleaning their saddles, a bucket of warm water between them, chatting companionably as the log burner roared in the corner.

He removed his hat, folding it to his chest. “Ladies, I am sorry to interrupt your work but I wondered if I might have a word with Mrs. Van Cleve here.”

“If it’s Mr. Van Cleve sent you, Pastor McIntosh, I’ll save your breath and tell you exactly what I told him, and his son, and his housekeeper, and anyone else who wants to know. I’m not going back.”

“Lord, but that man is relentless,” muttered Beth.

“Well, that’s an understandable emotion, given the high feelings of recent weeks. But you are married now, dear. You are subject to a higher authority.”

“Mr. Van Cleve’s?”

“No. God’s. Those whom God has joined together, let no man put asunder.”

“Good thing she’s a lady, then,” muttered Beth, and sniggered.

Pastor McIntosh’s smile wavered. He sat heavily on the seat by the door, and leaned forward. “You were married under God, Alice, and it’s your duty to return home. You just walking out like this is . . . well, it’s causing ripples. You need to think about the wider effects of your behavior. Bennett’s unhappy. His father is unhappy.”

“And my happiness? I’m guessing that doesn’t come into it.”

“Dear girl—it is through domestic life that you will achieve true contentment. A woman’s place is in the home. Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands as unto the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church, and he is the savior of the body. Ephesians, Chapter five, Verse twenty-two.”

Margery rubbed vigorous circles into the saddle soap without looking up. “Pastor, you know you’re talking to a room full of happily unmarried women here, right?”

He acted like he couldn’t hear. “Alice, I urge you to be guided by the Holy Bible, to hear the word of God. I will therefore that the younger women marry, bear children, guide the house, give none occasion to the adversary to speak reproachfully—that one is from the first epistle to Timothy, Chapter five, Verse fourteen. Do you understand what he is saying to you, dear?”

“Oh, I think I understand, thank you, Pastor.”

“Alice, you don’t have to sit here and—”

“I’m fine, Margery,” Alice said, holding up a hand. “The pastor and I have always had interesting conversations. And I do think I understand what it is you’re telling me, Pastor.”

The other women exchanged silent looks. Beth gave a tiny shake of her head.

Alice scrubbed at a stubborn patch of dirt with a rag. She cocked her head, thinking. “I would be much obliged if you could advise me a little further, though.”

The pastor steepled his fingers. “Why, yes, child. What is it you want to know?”

Alice compressed her mouth for a moment, as if choosing her words carefully. Then, without looking up, she started to speak. “What does God say about smashing your daughter-in-law’s head repeatedly into a table because she had the audacity to give two old toys to some motherless girls? Do you have a verse for that one? Because I’d love to hear it.”

“I’m sorry—what did you—”

“Perhaps you have one for when a woman’s sight is still blurred in one eye because her father-in-law smacked her so hard in the face that she saw stars? Or what’s the Bible verse for when a man tries to give you paper money to make you behave as he wants you to? Do you think Ephesians has a view on that? Fifty dollars is quite a sum, after all. Large enough to ignore all kinds of sinful behavior.”

Beth’s eyes widened. Margery thrust her head down.

“Alice, dear, this—uh—this is all a private ma—”

“Is that godly behavior, Pastor? Because I’m listening really hard and all I’m hearing is everyone telling me what I’m apparently doing wrong. When actually I think I may have been the godliest one in the Van Cleve household. I might not spend enough time in church, granted, but I actually do minister to the poor and sick and needy. Never looked at another man, or given my husband reason to doubt me. I give away what I can.” She leaned forward over the saddle. “I’ll tell you what I don’t do. I don’t call in men with machine-guns from across state lines to threaten my own workforce. I don’t charge that same workforce four times the fair amount for groceries and sack them if they try to buy food anywhere but the company store, until they run up debts they’ll die before they can pay back. I don’t throw the sick out of their company homes when they can’t work. I certainly don’t beat up young women until they can’t see, then send a servant over with money to smooth it over. So tell me, Pastor, who really is the ungodly one in all this? Just who needs a lecture on how to behave? Because I’m darned if I can work this one out.”

The little library had fallen completely silent. The pastor, his mouth working up and down, regarded each of the women’s faces: Beth and Sophia stooped innocently over their work, Margery’s gaze flickering between the two of them, and Alice, her chin up, her face a blazing question.

He placed his hat on his head. “I—I can see you’re busy, Mrs. Van Cleve. Perhaps I’ll come back another time.”

“Oh, please do, Pastor,” she called, as he opened the door and hurried off into the dark. “I do so enjoy our Bible studies!”

* * *

• • •

With that final attempt by Pastor McIntosh—a man who could not accurately be described as the soul of discretion—word had finally traveled around the county that Alice Van Cleve really had left her husband and was not coming back. It had not improved Geoffrey Van Cleve’s mood—already weighted down by those rabble-rousers at the mine—one jot. Emboldened by the anonymous letters, the same troublemakers who had tried to resurrect the unions were now rumored to be doing so again. This time, however, they were smarter about it. This time it had been done in quiet conversations, in casual talks down at Marvin’s Bar or the Red Horse honky-tonk, and often mentioned so swiftly that by the time Van Cleve’s men had arrived all there was to see was a few Hoffman men legitimately downing a cold beer after a long week’s work and just a vague sense of disturbance in the air.

“Word is,” said the governor, as they sat in the hotel bar, “you’re losing your grip.”