Page 53 of The Giver of Stars
Alice pulled the books from her saddlebag. ‘I know little Pete loves the rabbit stories and this one is new in from the publishing house itself. But I’ve earmarked some Bible readings in this one that you might take comfort in, if you really didn’t want to read anything longer. And there’s some poetry. Have you heard of George Herbert? Those can be good to dip into. I’ve been … reading quite a bit of poetry myself lately.’
She placed the books neatly on the table. ‘And you can keep these until the New Year.’
Kathleen regarded the little pile for a moment. She reached out a finger and traced the title of the book on the top. Then she withdrew it. ‘Miss Alice, you may as well take these back with you.’ She pushed her hair back from her face. ‘I wouldn’t want to waste them. I know how desperate everyone is for reading. And that’s a long wait for some.’
‘It’s no trouble.’
Kathleen’s smile wavered. ‘In fact, I can’t see how it’s worth you wasting your time coming all the way up here just now. To tell you the truth, I can’t hold a thought in my headand the children … Well, I don’t seem to have much time or energy to read to them either.’
‘Don’t you worry. There are plenty of books and magazines to go round. And I’ll just leave picture books for the children. You won’t need to do anything and they can –’
‘I can’t – I can’t seem to fix on much. I can’t do anything. I get up each day and I get through my chores and I feed the children and mind the animals but it all seems …’ Her smile broke. Kathleen lowered her face into her hands and let out an audible shaky sigh. A moment passed. Her shoulders began to convulse silently and, just as Alice was wondering what to say, a low, broken howl emerged from somewhere deep within Kathleen, raw and animal. It was the most painful sound Alice had ever heard. It rose and fell on a tide of grief, and seemed to come from some place completely broken. ‘I miss him.’ Kathleen wept, her hands pressed tightly to her face. ‘I just miss him. I miss him so much. I miss the feel of him and the touch of him and I miss his hair and I miss the way he used to say my name and I know he was sick for so long and that by the end he was barely a shell of himself but, oh, Lord, how am I meant to go on without him? Oh, God. Oh, God, I can’t do it. I just can’t. Oh, Miss Alice, I want my Garrett back. I just want him back.’
It was doubly shocking because, outside anger, Alice had never seen any of the local families express greater emotion than either mild disapproval or amusement. Mountain people were stoic, not given to unexpected shows of vulnerability. Which made this somehow even more unbearable. Alice leaned forward and took Kathleen in her arms, the young woman’s body racked with sobs so fierce that Alice’s own body shook with them. She placed her arms tightly around her, pulled her close and let her cry, holding her so tightlythat the sadness seeping out of Kathleen became an almost tangible thing, the grief she carried a weight that settled over them both. She pressed her head to Kathleen’s, trying to lift a little of the sadness, to tell her silently that there was still beauty in this world, even if some days it took every bit of strength and obstinacy to find it. Eventually, like a wave crashing onto the shore, Kathleen’s sobs slowed, and quieted into sniffs and hiccups, leaving her to shake her head with embarrassment, and wipe at her eyes.
‘I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ Alice whispered back. ‘Please don’t be sorry.’ She took Kathleen’s hands in her own. ‘It’s wonderful that you got to love somebody that much.’
Kathleen raised her head then, and her swollen, red-rimmed eyes searched Alice’s. She squeezed Alice’s hands. Both were roughened from work, thin and strong. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, and this time Alice understood that she meant something quite different. She held the woman’s gaze, until Kathleen finally released her hand and swiped at her tears with her flat palm, glancing over at the still sleeping children.
‘My goodness. You’d best be getting on,’ she said. ‘You got rounds to get through. Lord knows the weather’s closing in. And I’d better wake those babies or they’ll have me up half the night again.’
Alice didn’t move. ‘Kathleen?’
‘Yes?’ That desperate bright smile again, wavering, and yet determined. It seemed to take all the effort in the world.
Alice lifted the books onto her lap. ‘Would … would you like me to read to you?’
For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under the heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and atime to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.
Two women sat in a tiny cabin on the side of a vast mountain as the sky slowly darkened, and inside the lamps sent out slivers of gold light through the gaps in the wide oak planks. One read, her voice quiet and precise, and the other sat, her stockinged feet tucked up under her on the chair, her head resting against her open palm, lost in her thoughts. Time passed slowly, and neither of them minded and the children, when they stirred awake, didn’t cry but sat quietly and listened, even though they understood barely any of what was said. An hour later, the two women stood at the door and, almost on an impulse, hugged each other tightly.
They wished each other a happy Christmas, and both smiled wryly, knowing that for each this year it would simply have to be endured. ‘Better days,’ said Kathleen.
‘Yes,’ Alice responded. ‘Better days.’ And with this thought she wrapped her scarf high around her neck so that it covered everything but her eyes, mounted the little brown and white horse and made her way back towards the town.
Perhaps it was boredom at being stuck in the house after years of long days spent in the camaraderie of other miners, but William liked Sophia to tell him what had been happening at the library each day. He knew all about Margery’s anonymous letters to the families of North Ridge, who had asked for which books at the cabin, about Mr Frederick’s deepening crush on Miss Alice, and the way she herself seemed to be hardening, like ice creeping across water, as that fool Bennett Van Cleve gave her the cold shoulder and killed her love for him, inch by frozen inch.
‘You think he’s one ofthem?’ William asked. ‘Men that like … other men?’
‘Who knows? Far as I can see that boy don’t love nothin’ but his own reflection. Wouldn’t surprise me if he stands in front of the mirror and kisses the glass every day ’stead of his wife,’ she retorted, and enjoyed the rare sight of her brother bent double with laughter.
But she was darned if she could find much to tell him today. Alice had sat down heavily on the little cane chair in the corner and her shoulders had slumped like she was carrying the weight of the world.
Tiredness doesn’t make you look like that. When they were physically tired the girls would pull off their boots and bitch and moan and rub at their eyes and laugh at each other. Alice just sat there, still as a stone, her thoughts somewhere far from the little cabin. Fred saw it. Sophia saw he was pretty much itching to walk over there, and comfort her, but instead he just went to his coffee jug and brewed her a fresh mug, placing it in front of her so gently that it took her a moment even to register that he had done it. Your heart would break to see how tender he looked at her.
‘You okay, girl?’ Sophia said quietly, when Fred had stepped out for more logs.
She didn’t speak for a moment, then wiped at her eyes with the heel of her palms. ‘I’m fine, Sophia. Thank you.’ She looked over her shoulder at the door. ‘Plenty worse off than me, right?’ She said it like it was something she’d repeated to herself many times. She said it like she was trying to convince herself of it.
‘Ain’t that always the truth,’ Sophia responded.
But then there was Margery. She’d blown in like a whirlwind as dusk fell, her eyes wild, her coat dusted with snow and a strange, brittle energy about her so that she forgot toclose the door and Sophia had to scold her to remind her that it was still blizzarding outside, and was she actually born in a barn?
‘Anyone been by here?’ she said. The girl’s face was as white as if she’d seen a haint.
‘Who you expecting?’
