been shocking to Alice how quickly her feelings of delight and elation at Margery’s return home had turned to cold stone as she grasped that this meant there was no longer a single obstacle left to her own immediate departure. That was it. The trial was over, and so was her time in Kentucky.
She had stood among the librarians and watched Sven drive Margery and Virginia up the road toward the Old Cabin and felt herself begin to calcify by inches as she realized what it meant. She managed to maintain her smile as they all drifted away, exclaiming to each other, hugging and kissing, had promised she might see them at the Nice ’N’ Quick later for a celebration. But the effort was too great, and even as Beth kicked her cigarette butt into the road and gave a cheery wave, she could feel something hard settling in her chest. Only Fred caught it, something in his expression mirroring her own.
“Would you care for a bourbon?” said Fred, as they locked the library door and walked slowly up to his house. Alice nodded. She had just a matter of hours left in the town.
He poured two tumblers and handed her one and she sat down on his good settle with the buttoned cushions and the patchwork quilt over the back, the one his mother had made. It had grown dark outside and the balmy weather had given way to a brisk wind and fine, spitting rain, and Alice was already dreading heading out in it again.
Fred reheated the rest of the soup, but she had no appetite, and, she realized, nothing to say. Alice tried not to look at his hands, both of them conscious of the clock ticking on the mantel and what it meant. They talked of the trial, but even though they painted it in bright colors, Alice knew that Van Cleve would be even more furious now, would no doubt redouble his efforts to ruin the library, or make sure her life was as uncomfortable as it could be. Besides, no matter what Margery had said, she couldn’t stay in the cabin any longer. They all knew that Sven and Margery would need time alone and it was telling that when she told them she had been invited to stay at Izzy’s that evening their protests had been half-hearted.
“So what time is your train?” said Fred.
“A quarter past ten.”
“You want me to drive you to the station?”
“That would be kind, Fred. If it’s no trouble.”
He nodded awkwardly and tried to raise a smile, which slid away as quickly as it arrived. She felt the same residual pain she always did at his discomfort, knowing that she was the cause of it. What right had she had to make any claim on this man anyway, knowing it was impossible? She had been selfish to allow his feelings to come anywhere near her own. Sunk in misery that neither of them felt able to articulate, their conversation had swiftly become strained. Alice, sipping a drink she could barely taste, wondered briefly if it had been a good idea coming here at all. Perhaps she should have gone straight to Izzy’s. What was the point in prolonging all this heartbreak?
“Oh. Got another letter this morning at the library. In all the commotion I forgot to give it to you.” Fred pulled the envelope from his pocket and handed it to her. She recognized the writing immediately and let it fall to the table.
“You not going to read it?”
“It’ll just be about me coming back. Plans and suchlike.”
“You read it. It’s fine.”
While he cleared the plates she opened the envelope, feeling his eyes on her. She scanned it swiftly and shoved it back inside.
“What?”
She looked up.
“Why’d you wince like that?”
She sighed. “Just . . . my mother’s manner of talking.”
He walked back around the table and sat down, taking the letter from the envelope.
“Don’t—”
He pushed her hand away. “Let me.”
She turned away as he read it, frowning.
“What’s this? We will endeavor to forget your latest efforts to embarrass our family. What is that supposed to mean?”
“It’s just how she is.”
“Did you tell them Van Cleve beat you?”
“No.” She rubbed at her face. “They would probably have assumed it was my own fault.”
“How could it be your fault? A grown man and a bunch of dolls. Jeez. Never heard anything like it.”
“It wasn’t just the dolls.”
Fred looked up.
“He thought—he thought I had tried to corrupt his son.”