The restaurant fell silent. Behind her a couple of people stood up to see what was going on.

“You dropped mud on my dinner?” Van Cleve stood, his chair pushing back with a squeal. “You come in here, after all you’ve done, and drop dirt on my food?”

Margery’s eyes glittered. “Not dirt. Coal slurry. Poison. Your poison. I went up on the ridge and I saw your busted dam. It was you! Not the rains. Not the Ohio. The only houses destroyed were the ones your filthy water ran right over.”

A murmur went around the restaurant. Van Cleve wrenched his napkin from his collar. He took a step toward her, his finger raised. “You listen here, O’Hare. You want to be very careful before you start throwing accusations around. You’ve caused enough trouble—”

But Margery squared up to him. “I’ve caused trouble? Says the man who shot my dog? Who knocked two teeth right out of his daughter-in-law’s head? Your flood almost drowned me, and Sophia and William! They had near on nothing to start with and now they got less! You would have drowned three little girls if my girls hadn’t got there to save them! And you swagger around here pretending like it’s nothing to do with you? You want arresting!”

Sven appeared behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder but she was in full flow and shook him off. “Men die because you prize dollars over safety! You trick people into signing away their own houses before they understand what they’ve done! You destroy lives! Your mine is a menace! You are a menace!”

“That’s enough.” Sven now had his forearm around Margery’s collarbone and was pulling her backward, even as she pointed at Van Cleve, still yelling. “C’mon. Time to go outside.”

“Yes! Thank you, Gustavsson! Take her outside!”

“You act like you’re the goddamn Almighty! Like the law doesn’t count for you! But I’m watching you, Van Cleve. For as long as I have breath in my lungs, I’ll tell the truth about you and—”

“Enough.”

The air in the room seemed to have disappeared into a vacuum as Sven steered her, still struggling, out of the restaurant door. Through its glass panel she could be seen hollering at him in the road, her arms flailing as she tried to free herself.

Van Cleve glanced around and sat back down. The other diners were still staring.

“The O’Hares, huh!” he said, too loudly, tucking his napkin back in. “Never know what that family’s going to get up to next.”

Bennett’s eyes flickered from his plate and back down again.

“Gustavsson’s sound. He knows. Oh, yes. And that girl out there is the craziest of the lot of them, right? . . . Right?” Van Cleve’s smile wavered a little until people started to drift back to their food. He let out a breath and motioned to the waitress. “Molly? Sweetheart? Could you—uh—get me a fresh plate of chicken, please? Thank you kindly.”

Molly pulled a face. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Van Cleve. The last of it just went out.” She eyed his plate, wincing slightly. “I have some soup and a couple of biscuits I could warm up for you?”

“Here. Have mine.” Bennett pushed his untouched meal toward his father.

Van Cleve ripped his napkin out of his collar. “Lost my appetite. I’ll get Gustavsson a drink and we’ll head home.”

He glanced through the door to where the younger man still stood outside with the O’Hare girl. “He’ll be in once he’s seen her off.” He was aware of a vague sense of disappointment that it hadn’t been his own son who had stood to push the girl out.

But the strangest thing: as O’Hare continued to yell and gesticulate outside, Gustavsson, rather than dusting off his hands and returning to the restaurant, took a step forward, his forehead lowered toward Margery O’Hare’s.

As Van Cleve watched, frowning, Margery’s hands briefly covered her face and both of them stood very still. And then, clear as anything in the moonlight, Sven Gustavsson placed a protective hand on the swell of O’Hare’s belly, waiting until she looked up at him, and covered it gently with her own, before he kissed her.

* * *

• • •

Exactly how much trouble do you want to get yourself into?”

Margery pushed at Sven blindly, trying to free herself, but he held tight to her upper arms.

“You didn’t see it, Sven! Thousands of gallons of his poison! And him acting like it’s just the river, and William and Sophia’s house ruined, and all the land and water round Monarch Creek destroyed for I don’t know how long.”

“I don’t doubt it, Marge, but going at him in front of a restaurant full of people isn’t going to help anything.”

“He should be shamed! He thinks he can get away with anything! And don’t you dare pull me out of there like I’m a—a badly trained dog!” She pushed hard with both hands, finally breaking his grip, and he lifted his palms.

“I just . . . I just didn’t want him to come at you. You saw what he did to Alice.”

“I’m not scared of him!”

“Well, maybe you should be. You got to be clever with a man like Van Cleve. He’s cunning. You know that. C’mon, Margery. Don’t let your temper trip you up. We’ll go about this the right way. I don’t know. Talk to the foreman. The unions. Write to the governor. There are ways.”

Margery seemed to subside a little.

“C’mon now.” He reached out a hand. “You don’t have to fight every damn battle by yourself.”

Something gave in her then. She kicked at the dirt, waiting for her breathing to slow. When she looked up, her eyes glittered with tears. “I hate him, Sven. I do. He destroys everything that’s beautiful.”

Sven pulled her to him. “Not everything.” He placed his hand on her belly and left it there until he felt her soften in his arms. “C’mon,” he said, and kissed her. “Let’s go home.”

* * *

• • •

Small towns being what they were, and Margery being who she was, it wasn’t too long before word got out that she was carrying, and for a few days at least, every place where townspeople were prone to meeting—the feed merchant, the churches, the general store—was thick with the news of it. There were those for whom this just confirmed everything they thought of Frank O’Hare’s daughter. Another no-good O’Hare child, no doubt destined for disgrace or disaster. There would always be those for whom any baby out of wedlock was a matter for vocal and emphatic disapproval. But there were also those whose minds were still thick with the flood and memories of what she’d said about Van Cleve’s part in it. Luckily for her, they seemed to comprise most of the townspeople, who believed that when so much bad had taken place, a new baby, whatever the circumstances, was nothing to get too aerated about.