Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;

 Earth’s joys grow dim; its glories pass away;

 Change and decay in all around I see;

 O Thou who changest not, abide with me.

Mrs. Brady, her back straightening, took two, three strides, pushed through the crowd and placed herself beside her daughter, her back against the outside of the jailhouse wall, and her chin lifted. As they sang together, Kathleen, then Beth and, finally, Sophia and Alice, their arms still linked, moved to stand beside them and lifted their voices, too, their heads up and their gaze steady, facing down the crowd. As the men shouted insults, their six voices grew in volume, drowning them out, determined and unafraid.

    Come not in terrors, as the King of kings,

 But kind and good, with healing in Thy wings,

 Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea—

 Come, Friend of sinners, and thus abide with me.

They sang until the crowd was silent, watched by Sheriff Archer. They sang, pressed shoulder to shoulder, hands reaching blindly for hands, their hearts beating fast but their voices steady. A handful of townspeople stepped forward and joined them—Mrs. Beidecker, the gentleman from the feed shop, Jim Horner and his girls, their hands clasped together and their voices lifting, drowning the sounds of hate, feeling the resonance of each word, sending comfort, while trying to offer a little of that elusive substance to themselves.

* * *

• • •

A few inches away, on the other side of the wall, Margery O’Hare lay motionless on the bunk, her hair stuck to her face in damp tendrils, her skin pale and hot. She had lain there for almost four days now, her breasts aching, her arms empty in a way that made her feel as if someone had reached inside her and simply ripped out whatever kept her upright. What was there to stand up for now? To hope for, even? She was unnaturally still, her eyes closed, the rough hessian against her skin, listening only dimly to the crowd hurling abuse outside. Someone had managed to throw a stone through the window earlier and it had caught her leg, where a long scratch remained, livid with blood.

    Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes,

 Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies.

She opened her eyes at a sound that was both familiar and strange, blinking as she focused, and it gradually registered that the sound was Izzy, her unforgettable sweet voice rising into the air outside the high window, so close she could almost touch it. It told of a world far beyond this cell, of goodness, and kindness, of a wide, unending sky into which a voice could soar. She pushed herself up onto her elbow, listening. And then another voice joined hers, deeper and more resonant, and then, as she straightened, there they were, separate voices she could just distinguish from the others: Kathleen, Sophia, Beth, Alice.

    Heaven’s morning breaks and earth’s vain shadows flee.

 In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.

She heard them and realized then that it was to her they were singing, heard Alice’s shout as the hymn drew to a close, her voice still clear as crystal.

“You stay strong, Margery! We’re with you! We’re right here with you!”

Margery O’Hare lowered her head to her knees, her hands covering her face and, at last, she sobbed.

TWENTY-FOUR

   I loved something I made up, something that’s just as dead as Melly is. I made a pretty suit of clothes and fell in love with it. And when Ashley came riding along, so handsome, so different, I put that suit on him and made him wear it whether it fitted him or not. And I wouldn’t see what he really was. I kept on loving the pretty clothes—and not him at all.

• MARGARET MITCHELL, Gone with the Wind

By common agreement, on the opening day of the trial the WPA Packhorse Library of Baileyville, Kentucky, remained closed. As did the post office, the Pentecostal, Episcopalian, First Presbyterian and Baptist churches, and the general store, which opened only for an hour at 7 a.m. and then again for the lunch hour to cater to the influx of strangers who had arrived in Baileyville. Unfamiliar cars parked at haphazard angles all along the roadside from the courthouse, mobile homes dotted the nearby fields, and men with sharp suits and trilby hats walked the streets with notebooks in the dawn light, asking for background information, photographs, anything you like, on the murdering librarian Margery O’Hare.

When they reached the library, Mrs. Brady waved a broom at them, told them she would take the head off any one of them who ventured into her building without an invitation, and they could put that in their darned paper and print it. She didn’t seem to care too much what Mrs. Nofcier might think of that.

State policemen stood talking in pairs on the corners of the streets, and refreshment stands had been set up around the courthouse, while a snake-charmer invited the crowds to test their nerve and come closer, and the honky-tonks offered special deals on two-for-one keg beers at the end of every court day.

Mrs. Brady decided there was little point in the girls trying to make their rounds today. The roads were clogged, their minds were all over the place, and each of them wanted to be in court for Margery. And, anyway, long before seven that morning there was a queue of people trying to get into the public gallery. Alice stood at the head of it. As she waited, joined by Kathleen and the others, the queue built swiftly behind them: neighbors with lunch pails, somber recipients of library books, people she didn’t recognize, who seemed to think of this as fun, chatting merrily, joking and nudging each other. She wanted to scream at them, This is not some nice day out! Margery’s innocent! She shouldn’t even be here!

Van Cleve arrived, pulling his car into the sheriff’s parking slot, as if to let them all know just how close to the proceedings he was. He didn’t acknowledge her, but marched straight into court, jaw jutting, confident his own place had already been reserved. She didn’t see Bennett; perhaps he was minding business at Hoffman. He had never been much of a gossip, unlike his father.

Alice waited silently, her mouth dry and her stomach tight, as if it were she, not Margery, who was on trial. She guessed the others felt the same. They barely exchanged a word, just a nod of greeting, and a brief, tight clasp of hands.

At half past eight the doors opened, and the crowd flooded in. Sophia took a seat at the back with the other colored folk. Alice nodded at her. It felt wrong that she wasn’t sitting with them, another example of a world out of kilter.

Alice took her seat near the front of the public gallery on the wooden bench, flanked by her remaining friends, and wondered how they were meant to endure this for days.

* * *

• • •