Page 101 of The Giver of Stars
An unbelievably filthy institution in which are confined men and women serving sentence for misdemeanours and crimes, and men and women not under sentence who are simply awaiting trial … usually swarming with bedbugs, roaches, lice and other vermin; has an odor of disinfectant and filth.
Joseph F. Fishman,Crucibles of Crime, 1923
The jailhouses of Kentucky, like those across much of America, were run on an ad-hoc basis and their rules, and laxity, varied considerably depending on the rigidity of the sheriff, and in the case of Baileyville, his deputy’s fondness for baked goods. As such, Margery and Virginia were able to receive a stream of visitors and, despite the unpleasant confines of the cell, Virginia spent her first weeks in much the same way that all beloved babies spend them – in clean, soft clothes, admired by visitors, celebrated with small toys, and spending a good part of her day nestled against her mother’s bosom. She was a remarkably alert baby, her dark eyes scanning the cell for movement, her tiny starfish fingers stroking the air or making little fists of contentment as she fed.
Margery, meanwhile, was a woman transformed, her face softened, her whole focus on the tiny child, carrying her around as easily as if she had done it for years. Despite her previous reservations, she seemed to take to motherhood instinctively. Even when Alice scooped up the baby so that Margery could eat, or change her clothes, Margery had oneeye on her, a hand reaching out to touch Virginia, as if she could not bear to be separated from her even for a moment.
Alice noted with relief that she appeared less depressed than before, as though the baby had given her something to fix on other than what she had lost beyond the walls. Margery ate better (‘Sophia says I gotta eat to keep the milk coming’), smiled frequently, even if her smiles were directed chiefly at the child, and moved around the cell, bouncing on her heels to soothe the baby, whereas before she had seemed chiefly pinned to the floor. Deputy Dulles had lent them a bucket and a mop, to make it all a little more sanitary, and when the girls had brought her a fresh bed roll, complaining that it wasn’t right to make a baby sleep on a dirty old pad with chiggers in it, he had agreed without complaint. They had burned the old one in the yard, wincing at its myriad stains.
Mrs Brady visited Margery on the sixth day after she’d given birth, bringing with her a doctor from out of town to check that she was healing properly and that the baby had everything she needed. When Deputy Dulles had attempted to protest, given the absence of slips or indeed any prior warning, Mrs Brady had cut him down with a look that could have frozen hot soup and announced imperiously that should she be impeded inany waywhile tending a nursing mother Sheriff Archer would be the first to hear about it, and Governor Hatch the second, and Deputy Dulles should be in no doubt about it. The doctor examined mother and baby while Mrs Brady stood in the corner of the cell – she had squinted at her surroundings in the half-dark and decided not to sit – and while conditions were far from ideal, the doctor had announced both to be in good health and in as good spirits as could be expected. The men in the nearby cells had a few words to say about the stink of the baby’ssoiled diapers, but Mrs Brady told them to hush their mouths and announced that the occasional brush with soap and water wouldn’t hurt them none either, frankly, so maybe they should put their own house in order before complaining.
The librarians only discovered this visit after the event, when Mrs Brady turned up at the library and declared that, having discussed matters at length with Miss O’Hare, they had agreed that she would step in and take over the day-to-day running of the library, and that she hoped very much this wouldn’t inconvenience Mrs Van Cleve, knowing, as she did, how hard she had worked to keep things going while Margery wasincapacitated.
Alice, while a little taken aback, was not inconvenienced at all. She had been running on empty these last weeks, trying to visit Margery every day, keep the cabin in good order, and run the library, all while dealing with her own complex and overwhelming feelings. The idea that someone else would take over even one of those things came as a relief. Especially, she thought privately, as she would be leaving Kentucky before long anyway. Not that she had told any of the others; they all had enough to deal with just now.
Mrs Brady removed her coat and asked to see all the ledgers. She sat at Sophia’s desk and went through the payroll records, blacksmith’s bills, cross-checked the wage slips and petty cash, pronouncing herself satisfied. She returned after supper and spent an hour with Sophia that evening checking up on the whereabouts of missing and damaged books, and berated Mr Gill as he passed the door as to the late return of a book on raising goats. Within a few hours her being there felt unremarkable. It was as if a grown-up were in charge again.
In this way, summer inched forward under a blanket of heavy heat and flying bugs, of humidity and sweaty, fly-bothered horses, and Alice tried to live day to day, dealing with the minor discomforts, and without thinking of the many more substantial and infinitely more unpleasant discomforts that were lining up, like skittles, in her future.
Sven resigned from his job: with his shifts he could not make it over to see Margery and the baby during the week, and half his heart, he told Alice, was always there in that damned cell anyway. Hoffman’s firemen lined up with their pickaxes against their shoulders and their helmets pressed against their chests when he told them of his departure, much to the fury of the foreman, who took Sven’s departure somewhat personally.
Van Cleve, who was still smarting from the discovery of Sven’s long-standing relationship with Margery O’Hare, said it was good riddance, that he had been a spy and a traitor, despite there being no evidence for either, and warned that if that snake Gustavsson was seen heading inside the Hoffman gates again he would be shot without warning, just like his godless hussy.
Sven would have liked to move into Margery’s cabin, Alice knew, to be in some way closer to her, but instead, ever the gentleman, he refused her offer so that Alice could escape the censure of those in the town who would have seen something suspect in a man and a woman resting under the same roof, even if it was clear to all that both loved the same woman, albeit in very different ways.
Besides, Alice was no longer afraid to stay alone in the little cabin. She slept early and deeply, rose at 4.30 a.m. with the sun, splashed herself with icy water from the spring, fed the animals, climbed into whatever clothes she had laid out to dry and cooked herself a breakfast of eggs and bread,scattering the remaining crumbs to the hens and the red cardinals that gathered on the windowsill. She ate while reading one of Margery’s books, and every other morning she baked a pan of fresh cornbread to take to the jailhouse. Around her the early-morning mountain rang with birdsong, the leaves of the trees glowing orange, then blue, then emerald green, the long grass mottled with lilies and sage grass, and as the screen door closed, huge wild turkeys rose up in an ungainly flap, or small deer skittered back into the woods, as if it were she who was the intruder.
She turned Charley out from the barn into the small paddock that backed the cabin, and checked the chicken coop for eggs. If she had time she would prepare food for the evening, knowing she would be tired when she returned home. Then she saddled Spirit, packed whatever she needed that day into the saddlebags, slammed the broad-brimmed hat onto her head, and rode down the mountain to the library. As she passed along the dirt track, she let the reins hang loose on Spirit’s neck, and used both hands to tie a cotton handkerchief around her collar. She barely used the reins any more; Spirit would gauge where they were going as soon as she started each route, and stride out, ears pricked, just another creature who knew – and loved – her job.
Most evenings Alice would stay an hour later at the library alongside Sophia, just for the company, and occasionally Fred would join them, bringing food from the house. Twice she had walked up the track and eaten at Fred’s, suspecting she was old news, and that few people were likely to see her make that short journey anyhow. She loved Fred’s house, with its scent of beeswax, and its well-worn comforts, less rough and ready than Margery’s, and with rugs and furniture that told of family money that went back more than one generation.
There was a reassuring lack of ornaments.
They would eat Fred’s food and talk of everything and nothing, breaking off to smile at each other like fools. Some nights Alice would ride the track back to Margery’s and have no idea what they had even said to each other, the hum of want and need in her ears drumming out whatever conversation had occurred. Sometimes she wanted him so badly she would have to pinch her hand under the table to stop herself reaching out for him. And then she would arrive back at the empty cabin and lie under the covers, her mind trying to conjure what might happen if once, just once, she invited him to come in with her.
Sven’s lawyer visited every fortnight, and Sven asked if the meetings could take place at Fred’s house, and whether she and Fred would sit alongside him. Alice understood that it was because Sven became so anxious, his leg jiggling with uncharacteristic nerves, his fingers tapping on the table, that afterwards he would invariably have forgotten half of what he’d been told. The lawyer tended to speak in the least straightforward way possible, his language ornate and tortured, taking routes around and under what he meant to say rather than just state it outright.
He observed that, despite the unexpected disappearance of the relevant ledger (he left a meaningful pause at this point), the Commonwealth was confident of the evidence against Margery O’Hare. In her initial interview the old woman had placed Miss O’Hare at the scene, no matter what she claimed afterwards. The library book, spattered with blood, appeared to be the only possible murder weapon, given there were no gunshot or stabbing injuries. No other of the packhorse librarians rode as far as Miss O’Hare, judging by the other ledgers, so the chances of anyone else usinga library book as a weapon at that spot were limited. And then there was the difficult matter of Margery’s character, the many people who would happily speak up about the long-standing feud between her family and the McCulloughs, and Margery’s habit of saying the least palatable things without considering the impact her words might have on those around her.
‘She will need to be mindful of these things when we come to trial,’ he said, gathering his papers. ‘It’s important that the jury find her a … sympathetic defendant.’
Sven shook his head mutely.
‘You won’t get Marge to be anyone other than who she is,’ said Fred.
‘I’m not saying she has to be someone else. But if she cannot win the sympathy of the judge and the jury, her chances of freedom are severely diminished.’
The lawyer sat back in his chair and put both hands on the table. ‘This is not just about truth, Mr Gustavsson. It’s about strategy. And no matter what the truth of this matter is, you can bet that the other side is working hardest on theirs.’
‘You like it, then.’
‘Like what?’ Margery looked up.
‘Being a mother.’
‘Got myself so swimming in feelings I don’t know which way is up half the time,’ Margery said softly, adjusting the cotton vest at Virginia’s neck. ‘Boy, it’s even warm up here. Wish we could catch a breeze.’
Since Virginia’s birth Deputy Dulles had allowed the visits to take place in the empty holding cell upstairs. It was lighter and cleaner than those in the basement – and, they suspected, more acceptable to the redoubtable MrsBrady – but on a day like today, when the air hung warm and heavy with moisture, there was little relief.
