answer a man who won’t give me the courtesy of a title, do you?”
“No, I don’t believe you should,” said Sven, calmly. He had sat playing solitaire for half the night, one eye on the door, a river of dark thoughts running through his head about men who beat women.
“Margery O’Hare!”
“Oh, Lord. You know he’ll wake her if he carries on this loud.”
Wordlessly, Sven handed Margery his gun and she walked to the screen door and opened it, the rifle held loosely in her left hand as she stepped out onto the stoop, making sure Van Cleve could see it. “Can I help you, Mr. Van Cleve?”
“Fetch Alice. I know she’s in there.”
“And how would you know that?”
“This has gone far enough. You bring her out and we’ll say no more about it.”
Margery stared at her boot, considering this. “I don’t think so, Mr. Van Cleve. Good morning.”
She turned to walk back in and his voice lifted. “What? Wait, you don’t shut a door on me!”
Margery turned slowly until she was facing him. “And you don’t beat up on a girl who answers you back. Not a second time.”
“Alice did a foolish thing yesterday. I admit tempers were running high. She needs to come on home now so we can sort things out. In the family.” He ran a hand over his face and his voice softened. “Be reasonable, Miss O’Hare. Alice is married. She can’t stay here with you.”
“The way I see it, she can do what she likes, Mr. Van Cleve. She’s a grown woman. Not a dog, or a . . . a doll.”
His eyes hardened.
“I’ll ask her what she wants to do when she wakes. Now I have work to get to. So I’d be obliged if you’d leave me to wash up my breakfast dishes. Thank you.”
He stared at her for a moment, his voice lowering. “You think you’re mighty clever, don’t you, girl? You think I don’t know what you did with them letters over at North Ridge? You think I don’t know about your filthy books and your immoral girls trying to steer good women into the path of sin?”
For a few seconds the air seemed to disappear around them. Even the dog fell quiet.
His voice, when he spoke again, was thick with menace. “You watch your back, Margery O’Hare.”
“You have a nice day now, Mr. Van Cleve.”
Margery turned and walked back inside the cabin. Her voice was calm and her gait steady, but she stopped by the curtain and watched from the side of the window until she was sure Van Cleve had disappeared.
* * *
• • •
Where the heck is Little Women? I swear I’ve been searching for that book for ages. Last time I saw it checked out was for old Peg down at the store, but she says she returned it and it’s been signed off in the book.”
Izzy was scanning the shelves, her finger tracing the spines of the books as she shook her head in frustration. “Albert, Alder, Allemagne . . . Did somebody steal it?”
“Maybe it got ripped and Sophia’s fixing it.”
“I asked. She says she ain’t seen it. It’s bugging me because I got two families asking and nobody seems to know where it’s gone. And you know how ornery Sophia gets when books go missing.” She adjusted her stick under her arm and moved to her right, peering closely at the titles.
The voices quieted as Margery walked through the back door, closely followed by Alice.
“You got Little Women tucked away in your bag somewhere, Margery? Izzy’s bitching fit to bust and—whoo-hoo. Looks like someone took a beating.”
“Fell off her horse,” said Margery, in a tone of voice that brooked no discussion. Beth stared at Alice’s swollen face, then her gaze slid to Izzy, who looked down at her feet.
There was a brief silence.
“Hope you—uh—didn’t hurt yourself too bad, Alice,” said Izzy, quietly.
“Is she wearing your breeches?” said Beth.
“You think I’ve got the only pair of leather breeches in the state of Kentucky, Beth Pinker? I’ve never known you so fixated on someone’s appearance before. Anyone would think you’d got nothing better to do.” Margery walked up to the ledger on the desk and began to flick through it.
Beth took the rebuke cheerfully. “Reckon they look better on her than you anyway. Lord, it’s colder than a well-digger’s backside out there. Anyone seen my gloves?”
Margery scanned the pages. “Now, Alice is a little sore so, Beth, you take the two routes over at Blue Stone