“Fred reckons they’ll be out there all night.”

“I simply do not know what this town is coming to. Why Sheriff Archer doesn’t take a bullwhip to them I have no idea. I swear we’re becoming worse than Harlan.”

It was then that they heard Van Cleve’s voice rising above the swell of the crowd: “You can’t say I didn’t warn you, people! She’s a danger to men and to this town. The court is going to hear what kind of malign influence the O’Hare girl is, you mark my words. Only one place for her!”

“Oh, hell, now he’s fixing to stir things up,” said Beth.

“Folks, you will hear how much of an abomination the girl is. Against the laws of nature! Nothing she says can be trusted!”

“That does it,” said Izzy, her jaw clenched.

Mrs. Brady turned to look at her daughter, as Izzy climbed to her feet. She grabbed her stick and walked to the door. “Mother? Will you come with me?”

They moved as one, pulling on boots and hats in silence. And then, without discussion, they stood together at the top of the steps: Kathleen and Beth, Izzy and Mrs. Brady and, after a moment’s hesitation, Sophia, who rose from behind her desk, her face tense but determined, reaching for her purse. The others stopped to look at her. Then Alice, her heart in her throat, held out her arm and Sophia slid her own through it. And the six women walked out of the library and, in a tight group, along the shimmering road toward the jailhouse in silence, their faces set and their pace determined.

The crowd broke as they arrived, partly through the sheer force of Mrs. Brady, whose elbows were out and whose expression was thunderous, but partly in shock at the colored woman who stood between them, her arms linked with those of Bennett Van Cleve’s wife and the Bligh widow.

Mrs. Brady reached the front of the crowd and pushed her way through so that she was standing with her back to the jail and turned to face them. “Are you not ashamed of yourselves?” she bellowed at them. “What kind of men are you?”

“She’s a murderer!”

“In this country we believe in the presumption of innocence unless proven otherwise. So you can take your disgusting words and your slogans and you can darn well leave that girl alone until the law says you have good reason!”

She pointed at the mustachioed man. “What business do you have in our town anyway? I swear some of you are here just to cause trouble. Because you’re sure as anything not from Baileyville.”

“I’m Clem’s second cousin. Got a right to be here as much as anyone. I cared about my cousin.”

“Caring cousin my backside,” said Mrs. Brady. “Where were you when his daughters were starving, their hair full of cooties? When they were stealing food from people’s gardens because he was too drunk to bother feeding them? Where were you then, huh? You have no genuine feeling for that family.”

“You’re just sticking up for your own. We all know what them librarians have been up to.”

“You know nothing!” retorted Mrs. Brady. “And you, Henry Porteous, why, I thought you were old enough to know better. As for this fool—” she pointed at Van Cleve “—I honestly believed our neighbors would have more sense than to trust a man who has built an entire fortune on the back of misery and destruction, mostly at this town’s cost. How many of you lost your homes to his slurry dam, huh? How many of you were given warning to save yourselves by Miss O’Hare there? And yet, given baseless rumor and gossip, you would rather castigate a woman than look at the true criminal around here.”

“Those are slanderous words, Patricia!”

“So sue me, Geoffrey.”

Van Cleve’s skin flushed florid purple. “I’ve warned y’all! She’s a malign influence!”

“You’re the only malign influence around here! Why do you think your daughter-in-law would rather live in a cowshed than share one more night in your house? What kind of man beats up on his son’s wife? And you stand there presenting yourself as some kind of moral arbiter. Why, the way we judge the behavior of men against women in this town is genuinely shocking.”

The crowd began to murmur.

“What kind of woman kills a decent man with no provocation?”

“This has nothing to do with McCullough and you know it. This is about getting back at a woman who showed you up for what you are!”

“See, ladies and gentlemen? This is the true face of that so-called library. A coarsening of female discourse, behavior contrary to what’s proper. Why, do you think it’s right that Mrs. Brady should speak in such a way?”

The crowd surged forward, and was stopped abruptly by two gunshots in the air. There was a scream. People ducked, glancing around nervously. Sheriff Archer appeared in the back doorway to the jailhouse. He surveyed the crowd. “Now. I’ve been a patient man, but I do not want to hear one more word out here. The court will decide this case from tomorrow and due process will be followed. And if one more of you steps out of line you’ll be finding yourself in the jailhouse alongside Miss O’Hare. That goes for you too, Geoffrey, and you, Patricia. I’ll put any one of youse away. You hear me?”

“We got a right to free speech!” a man shouted.

“You do. And I got a right to make sure you’re speaking it from one of my cells down there.”

The crowd began to yell again, the words ugly, the voices harsh and clamorous. Alice looked around her and began to tremble, chilled by the venom, the hate etched on faces she had previously waved a cheery good morning to. How could they turn on Margery like this? She felt something fearful and panicky rise in her chest, the energy of the crowd charging the air around her. And then she felt Kathleen nudge her, and saw that Izzy had stepped forward. As the protesters railed and chanted around her, pushing and jostling, she limped her way out in front of them, a little unsteady and resting on her stick, until she was underneath the cell window. And as everyone watched, Izzy Brady, who struggled to stand in front of an audience of five, turned to face the shifting crowd, looked around her, and took a deep breath.

And she began to sing.

    Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;

 The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide.

She paused, took a breath, her eyes flickering around her.

    When other helpers fail and comforts flee,

 Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me.

The crowd quieted, unsure at first what was going on, those at the back straining on tiptoe to see. A man catcalled and someone cursed him. Izzy stood, her hands clasped in front of her, shaking slightly, and sang out, her voice growing in strength and intensity.