But Kathleen shook her head firmly. “Oh, I know.” She stooped to pick at something on her breeches. “There was only one man for me.”

At this Fred caught Alice’s eye and, after the euphoria of earlier in the day, she felt suddenly sad, and weary. She hid it under a toast. “To Marge,” she said, holding up her enamel mug.

“To Margery.”

“And Virginia,” said Sven, and, as they all looked at him: “After Margery’s sister.” He swallowed. “That’s what she wants. Virginia Alice O’Hare.”

“Well, that’s just a beautiful name,” said Sophia, nodding her approval.

“Virginia Alice,” they echoed, lifting their mugs. And then Izzy abruptly got up and announced that she was sure there was a book of names somewhere and she would very much like to know where it came from. And everyone else, swallowing just as hard and more than grateful for the distraction, agreed, so that nobody had to look at Alice, who was now sobbing, silently, in the corner.

TWENTY-TWO

   An unbelievably filthy institution in which are confined men and women serving sentence for misdemeanors and crimes, and men and women not under sentence who are simply awaiting trial. . . . Usually swarming with bedbugs, roaches, lice, and other vermin; has an odor of disinfectant and filth.

• JOSEPH F. FISHMAN, Crucibles of Crime, 1923

The jailhouses of Kentucky, like those across much of America, were run on an ad-hoc basis and their rules, and laxity, varied considerably depending on the rigidity of the sheriff, and in the case of Baileyville, his deputy’s fondness for baked goods. As such, Margery and Virginia were able to receive a stream of visitors and, despite the unpleasant confines of the cell, Virginia spent her first weeks in much the same way that all beloved babies spend them—in clean, soft clothes, admired by visitors, celebrated with small toys, and spending a good part of her day nestled against her mother’s bosom. She was a remarkably alert baby, her dark eyes scanning the cell for movement, her tiny starfish fingers stroking the air or making little fists of contentment as she fed.

Margery, meanwhile, was a woman transformed, her face softened, her whole focus on the tiny child, carrying her around as easily as if she had done it for years. Despite her previous reservations, she seemed to take to motherhood instinctively. Even when Alice scooped up the baby so that Margery could eat, or change her clothes, Margery had one eye on her, a hand reaching out to touch Virginia, as if she could not bear to be separated from her even for a moment.

Alice noted with relief that she appeared less depressed than before, as though the baby had given her something to fix on other than what she had lost beyond the walls. Margery ate better (“Sophia says I gotta eat to keep the milk coming”), smiled frequently, even if her smiles were directed chiefly at the child, and moved around the cell, bouncing on her heels to soothe the baby, whereas before she had seemed chiefly pinned to the floor. Deputy Dulles had lent them a bucket and a mop, to make it all a little more sanitary, and when the girls had brought her a fresh bed roll, complaining that it wasn’t right to make a baby sleep on a dirty old pad with chiggers in it, he had agreed without complaint. They had burned the old one in the yard, wincing at its myriad stains.

* * *

• • •

Mrs. Brady visited Margery on the sixth day after she’d given birth, bringing with her a doctor from out of town to check that she was healing properly and that the baby had everything she needed. When Deputy Dulles had attempted to protest, given the absence of slips or indeed any prior warning, Mrs. Brady had cut him down with a look that could have frozen hot soup and announced imperiously that should she be impeded in any way while tending a nursing mother Sheriff Archer would be the first to hear about it, and Governor Hatch the second, and Deputy Dulles should be in no doubt about it. The doctor examined mother and baby while Mrs. Brady stood in the corner of the cell—she had squinted at her surroundings in the half-dark and decided not to sit—and while conditions were far from ideal, the doctor had announced both to be in good health and in as good spirits as could be expected. The men in the nearby cells had a few words to say about the stink of the baby’s soiled diapers, but Mrs. Brady told them to hush their mouths and announced that the occasional brush with soap and water wouldn’t hurt them none either, frankly, so maybe they should put their own house in order before complaining.

* * *

• • •

The librarians only discovered this visit after the event, when Mrs. Brady turned up at the library and declared that, having discussed matters at length with Miss O’Hare, they had agreed that she would step in and take over the day-to-day running of the library, and that she hoped very much this wouldn’t inconvenience Mrs. Van Cleve, knowing, as she did, how hard she had worked to keep things going while Margery was incapacitated.

Alice, while a little taken aback, was not inconvenienced at all. She had been running on empty these last weeks, trying to visit Margery every day, keep the cabin in good order, and run the library, all while dealing with her own complex and overwhelming feelings. The idea that someone else would take over even one of those things came as a relief. Especially, she thought privately, as she would be leaving Kentucky before long anyway. Not that she had told any of the others; they all had enough to deal with just now.

Mrs. Brady removed her coat and asked to see all the ledgers. She sat at Sophia’s desk and went through the payroll records, blacksmith’s bills, cross-checked the wage slips and petty cash, pronouncing herself satisfied. She returned after supper and spent an hour with Sophia that evening checking up on the whereabouts of missing and damaged books, and berated Mr. Gill as he passed the door as to the late return of a book on raising goats. Within a few hours her being there felt unremarkable. It was as if a grown-up were in charge again.

* * *

• • •

In this way, summer inched forward under a blanket of heavy heat and flying bugs, of humidity and sweaty, fly-bothered horses, and Alice tried to live day to day, dealing with the minor discomforts, and without thinking of the many more substantial and infinitely more unpleasant discomforts that were lining up, like skittles, in her future.

Sven resigned from his job: with his shifts he could not make it over to see Margery and the baby during the week, and half his heart, he told Alice, was always there in that damned cell anyway. Hoffman’s firemen lined up with their pickaxes against their shoulders and their helmets pressed against their chests when he told them of his departure, much to the fury of the foreman, who took Sven’s departure somewhat personally.

Van Cleve, who was still smarting from the discovery of Sven’s long-standing relationship with Margery O’Hare, said it was good riddance, that he had been a spy and a traitor, despite there being no evidence for either, and warned that if that snake Gustavsson was seen heading inside the Hoffman gates again he would be shot without warning, just like his godless hussy.