“My grip?”

“You’ve been obsessing about that damn library and not focusing on what’s going on at your mine.”

“Where did you hear such nonsense? I have the firmest of grips, Governor. Why, didn’t we discover a whole bunch of those troublemakers from the UMWA just two months ago and shut that down? I got Jack Morrissey and his boys to see them off. Oh, yes.”

The governor gazed into his drink.

“I got eyes and ears all over this county. I’m keeping track of these subversive elements. But we have sent a warning, if you like. And I have friends at the sheriff’s office who are very understanding about such matters.”

The governor raised the slightest of eyebrows.

“What?” said Van Cleve, after a pause.

“They say you can’t even keep control of your own home.”

Van Cleve’s neck shot to the back of his collar.

“Is it true that your Bennett’s wife ran off to a cabin in the woods and you ain’t been able to get her home again?”

“The young ’uns may be having a few hiccups just now. She—she asked to stay with her friend. Bennett’s letting her just till things simmer down.” He ran a hand over his face. “The girl got very emotional, you know, about not being able to bear him a child . . .”

“Well, I’m sad to hear that, Geoff. But I have to tell you that’s not how it’s being parlayed.”

“What?”

“They say the O’Hare girl’s running rings around you.”

“Frank O’Hare’s daughter? Pfft. That little . . . hillbilly. She—she just hangs off Alice’s coattails. Got some kind of fascination with her. You don’t want to listen to anything anyone says about that girl. Hah! Last I heard, her so-called library was on its last legs anyway. Not that I’m much troubled by the library one way or another. Oh, no.”

The governor nodded. But he didn’t laugh and agree, slap Van Cleve on the back and offer him a whiskey. He just nodded, finished his drink, slid off his bar stool and left.

And when Van Cleve finally got up to leave the bar, several bourbons and a whole lot of brooding later, his face was the dark purple of the upholstery.

“You good, Mr. Van Cleve?” said the bartender.

“Why? You got an opinion as well as everyone else around here?” He sent the empty glass skidding and it was only the bartender’s sharp reflexes that stopped it flying off the end of the bar.

* * *

• • •

   Bennett looked up as his father slammed the screen door. He had been listening to the wireless and reading a baseball magazine.

Now Van Cleve smacked it out of his hand. “I’m done with this. Go get your coat.”

“What?”

“We’re bringing Alice home. We’ll pick her up and put her in the trunk if necessary.”

“Pop, I told you a hundred times. She says she’ll just keep leaving until we get the message.”

“And you’re going to take that from a little girl? Your own wife? You know what this is doing to my name?”

Bennett opened his magazine again, mumbling into his collar. “It’s just folk talking. It’ll die down soon enough.”

“Meaning what?”

Bennett shrugged. “I don’t know. Just . . . we should maybe leave her be.”

Van Cleve squinted at his son, as if he might have been replaced by some alien he barely recognized. “Do you even want her to come home?”

Bennett shrugged again.

“What in hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oho . . . Is this because little Peggy Foreman’s been hanging around you again? Oh, yes, I know all about that. I see you, son. I hear things. You think your mother and I didn’t have our difficulties? You think there weren’t times we didn’t want to be around each other? But she was a woman who understood her responsibilities. You’re married. Do you understand, son? Married in the eyes of God and in the eyes of the law and according to the laws of nature. If you want to be fooling around with Peggy you do it quietly and on the side of things, not so that everybody’s looking and talking. You hear me?”

Van Cleve adjusted his jacket, checking his reflection in the mirror over the mantel. “You have to be a man now. I’m done with waiting around while some stuck-up English girl wrecks my family’s reputation. The Van Cleve name means something around here. Get your damn coat.”

“What are you going to do?”

“We’re going to fetch her.” Van Cleve looked up at the larger figure of his son, now standing in his way. “Are you blocking me, boy? My own son?”

“I won’t be part of it, Pa. Some things are best . . . left.”

The older man’s mouth, clamped shut, worked like a trap. He shoved past him. “This is the thin end of the wedge. You might be too pussy to send that girl a message. But if you think I’m the kind of man to sit by and do nothing, then you really don’t know your old pa at all.”

* * *

• • •

Margery rode home deep in thought, nostalgic for times when all she had to think about was whether she had enough food for the next three days. As she often did, when her thoughts grew deep and cold, she murmured to herself under her breath. “It’s not so bad. We’re still here, aren’t we, Charley boy? Books are still getting out there.”

The mule’s big ears flicked back and forth so that she swore he understood half her conversation. Sven laughed at the way she talked to her animals, and every time she would retort that they made more sense to her than half the humans around there. And then, of course, she would catch him murmuring to the damn dog like a baby when he thought she wasn’t looking—Who’s a good boy then, huh? Who’s the best dog? Soft-hearted, for all his bluntness. Kind with it. Not many men would have been so welcoming of another woman in the house. Margery thought about the apple pie Alice had rustled up the night before, half of which was still sitting on the side. Seemed like the cabin was always chock full of people, these days, bustling around, making food, helping with chores. A year ago she would have bridled at it. Now returning to an empty house seemed like a strange thing, not the relief she might have imagined.

A little delirious with tiredness, Margery’s thoughts meandered and splintered as the mule plodded up the dark track. She thought of Kathleen Bligh, returning to a home echoing with loss. Thanks to her, these last two weeks, despite the weather, they had managed to cover nearly all their rounds, and the loss of those families who had fallen out of the project due to Van Cleve’s rumors meant they were pretty much up to date. If she had the budget she’d take Kathleen on for good. But Mrs. Brady wasn’t much for talking about the future of the library just now. “I have held off writing to Mrs. Nofcier about our current troubles,” she had told her the previous week, confirming that Mr. Brady was as yet unbending on the issue of Izzy’s return. “I am hoping that we can win round enough townspeople that Mrs. Nofcier might never have to hear about this . . . misfortune.”