“I was talking to my husband about the trial, and what happens afterward . . . if things do not go the way we hope. He has some friends in the legal world and apparently across state lines there are some places that allow the children to stay with the mother, and matrons to attend properly to the women. Some have quite good facilities all told.”

Margery had acted like she hadn’t heard a word.

“We’re all praying for you in church. You and Virginia. Isn’t she the dearest thing? I just wondered whether you would like us to try to—”

“Appreciate your thoughts, Mrs. Brady, but we’ll be fine.”

And that was it, Mrs. Brady said, throwing her hands into the air. “It’s as if she’s burying her head in the sand. Honestly, I don’t think she can simply rely on the idea of getting out. She needs to plan.”

But Alice didn’t feel that optimism was at the heart of Margery’s behavior. It was one of the many reasons she felt increasingly anxious with every day that the trial grew closer.

* * *

• • •

Exactly one week before the trial was due to start newspapers began to speculate on its suspect. One had got hold of the picture of the women from the Nice ’N’ Quick, and cropped it so that only Margery’s face was visible. The headline read:

THE LIBRARIAN KILLER: DID SHE MURDER INNOCENT MAN?

The nearest hotel, in Danvers Creek, swiftly found itself with every room booked, and there was talk that some neighbors had tidied up back rooms and put beds in them to house the reporters who were also coming to town. It seemed that Margery and McCullough were all anybody talked about, except within the confines of the library, where nobody talked about them at all.

Sven headed to the jail in the height of the afternoon. It was an excessively warm day and he walked slowly, using his hat to fan himself, and raising a hand in greeting to those he passed, his outward demeanor revealing nothing of what he felt inside. He handed the tin of Alice’s cornbread to Deputy Dulles, and checked his pockets for the clean vest and bib that Alice had folded neatly for him to bring. Margery was in the holding cell upstairs, feeding the baby, seated cross-legged on the bunk, and he waited to kiss her, knowing as he did how easily distracted the baby was. Usually she would raise a cheek for him but this time she kept gazing down at the child, so after a moment he sat down on the stool nearby.

“She still feeding all night?”

“Much as she can get.”

“Mrs. Brady said she might be one of those babies needs solid food early. I got a book about it from the girls, just to read up a little.”

“Since when have you been chatting with Mrs. Brady about babies?”

He looked at his boots. “Since I quit my job.”

When she stared at him, he added: “Don’t worry. I’ve not been out of work since I was fourteen years old. And Fred is letting me stay in his spare room so I’m good. We’ll be good.”

Margery didn’t speak. Some days she was like this now. Would barely say a word the whole time he was there. Those days had grown fewer since Virginia arrived—it was as if she couldn’t help but talk to the child, even if she was feeling down, but Sven still hated to see them. He rubbed at his head. “Alice said to tell you the chickens are doing fine. Winnie laid a double-yolker. Charley’s getting fat. Quite enjoying the rest, far as I can see it. We’ve got him turned out this week with Fred’s young ones and he’s showing them who’s boss.”

She looked down at Virginia, checking that she had finished, then adjusted her dress and placed the baby against her shoulder for burping.

“You know, I was thinking . . .” Sven continued. “Maybe when you come home we could get another dog. There’s a farmer over at Shelbyville got a hunting bitch I’ve fancied for a long time that he wants to put to pup. She’s got a sweet nature. It’s good for a child to grow up around a dog. If we get a puppy, he and Virginia could grow up together. What do you say?”

“Sven . . .”

“I mean, we don’t have to get a dog. Could wait till she’s a little older. I just thought . . .”

“You remember I once told you I would never tell you to leave me?” Still she kept her eyes on the child.

“I do indeed. Almost made you write it on a piece of paper for proof.” He raised a wry smile.

“Well . . . I made a mistake. I need you to go.”

He leaned forward, his head cocked. “I’m sorry—what?”

“And I need you to take Virginia.” When she finally looked up at him her eyes were wide and serious. “I was arrogant, Sven. I thought I could live as I wanted, long as I didn’t hurt nobody. But I’ve had time to think in here—and I worked it out. You don’t get to do that in Lee County, maybe not in the whole of Kentucky. Not if you’re a woman. You play by their rules or they . . . well, they squash you like a bug.”

Her voice was calm and even, as if she had rehearsed the words in her many silent hours. “I need you to take her far away, to New York State or Chicago, maybe even the West Coast, if there’s work. Take her somewhere beautiful, somewhere she can have opportunities and a good education and not have to worry about whatever shitty scars her family left on her future before she was even born. Take her from people who will judge her for her name long before she can even spell it.”

He was nonplussed. “You’re talking crazy, Marge. I’m not leaving you.”

“For twenty years? You know that’s what they’re going to give me even if I get manslaughter. And it’ll be worse if it’s murder.”

“But you didn’t do nothing wrong!”

“You think they care a whit about that? You know how this town works. You know they’re gunning for me.”

He looked at her as if she were mad. “I’m not going. So you can forget it.”

“Well, I’m not going to see you any more. So, you don’t get a say.”

“What? What are you talking about now?”

“This is the last time I’m going to see you. It’s one of the few rights I get in here, the right not to see visitors. Sven, I know you’re a good man, and you’ll do anything to help me. And, by God, I love you for it. But this is about Virginia now. So I need you to promise me you’ll do as I ask, and never bring our daughter back to this place.” She leaned back against the wall.

“But . . . what about the trial?”

“I don’t want you there.”

Sven stood up. “This is crazy talk. I’m not listening to this. I—”