moved. The dog stopped growling briefly, its nose pointing toward the door. The two barrels didn’t budge.
“I ain’t coming to town,” said the voice from inside. “I . . . I’m not coming. I told the sheriff what day our pa disappeared and that’s that. You ain’t getting nothing else.”
Kathleen took a step closer. “We understand, Verna. We would just really welcome a couple minutes of your time to talk. Just to help our friend. Please?”
There was a long silence.
“What happened to her?”
They looked at each other.
“You don’t know?” said Kathleen.
“Sheriff just said they found my pa’s body. And the murderer to go with it.”
Alice spoke up. “That’s pretty much it. Except, Miss Verna, it’s our friend who is standing trial and we would swear on the Bible that she is not a murderer.”
“Miss Verna, you may know of Margery O’Hare. You know her daddy’s name travels before her.” Kathleen’s voice had lowered, as if they were in some casual conversation. “But she’s a good woman, a little . . . unconventional, but not a cold-blooded killer. And her baby faces growing up without a mother because of gossip and rumor.”
“Margery O’Hare had a baby?” The gun lowered an inch. “Who’d she marry?”
They exchanged awkward glances.
“Well, she ain’t exactly married.”
“But that doesn’t mean nothing,” Izzy called hurriedly. “Doesn’t mean she isn’t a good person.”
Beth brought her horse a few steps closer toward the house, and held up a saddlebag. “You want some books, Miss McCullough? For you or your sister? We got recipe books, storybooks, all kinds of books. Lots of families up in the mountains happy to take them. You don’t have to pay, and we’ll bring you new ones when you like.”
Kathleen shook her head at Beth and mouthed, I don’t think she can read.
Alice, anxious, tried to talk over them: “Miss McCullough, we’re truly, truly sorry about your father. You must have loved him very much. And we’re really sorry to trouble you with this matter. We wouldn’t be here unless we were desperate to help our friend—”
“I ain’t sorry,” the girl said.
Alice swallowed the rest of her sentence. Her shoulders slumped a little. Beth’s mouth closed in dismay.
“Well, I appreciate it’s natural you would harbor ill-feelings toward Margery but I would beg you just to hear—”
“Not her.” Verna’s voice hardened. “I ain’t sorry about what happened to my pa.”
The women looked at each other, confused. The gun lowered slowly another inch, and then disappeared.
“You the Kathleen used to have braids pinned upside your head?”
“That’s me.”
“You rode all the way up here from Baileyville?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Kathleen.
There was a brief pause.
“Then you’d best come in.”
As the librarians watched, the rough wooden door slid open a fraction, and then, after a moment, opened a little wider, creaking on its hinges. And there, for the first time, in the gloom, they saw the twenty-year-old figure of Verna McCullough, dressed in a faded blue dress with patches on the pockets and a headscarf knotted over her hair, her sister moving in the shadows behind her.
There was a short silence while they all took in what was in front of them.
“Well, shit,” said Izzy, under her breath.
TWENTY-SIX
Alice was first in the queue for the courthouse on Monday morning. She had barely slept and her eyes were sore and gritty. She had brought fresh-baked cornbread to the jail earlier in the morning, but Officer Dulles glanced down at the tin and observed apologetically that Margery wasn’t eating. “Barely touched a thing over the weekend.” He looked genuinely concerned.
“You take it anyway. Just in case you can get her to eat something later.”
“You didn’t come yesterday.”
“I was busy.”
He frowned at the abruptness of her answer, but plainly decided that things were off-kilter enough in the town that week without him questioning it further, and headed back down to his cells.
Alice took her place at the front of the public gallery and regarded the crowd. No Kathleen, no Fred. Izzy slid in beside her, then Beth, smoking the tail end of a cigarette that she stubbed out under her feet.
“Heard anything?”
“Not yet,” said Alice.
And then she startled. There, two rows back, sat Sven, his face somber, and his eyes shadowed, as if he hadn’t slept for weeks. He kept his eyes to the front and his hands on his knees. There was something in the rigidity of his bearing that suggested a man working hard to keep himself contained, and the sight of him made her swallow painfully. She flinched as Izzy’s hand reached