The Giver of Stars

25

It was clear within a couple of hours of setting out why only Margery and Charley ever undertook the route to Arnott’s Ridge. Even in the benign conditions of early September, the route was remote and arduous, taking in steep crevasses, narrow ledges and a variety of obstacles to scrabble down or over, from ditches to fences to fallen trees. Alice had brought Charley, confident he would understand where he was going, and so it proved. He strode out willingly, his huge ears flicking backwards and forwards, following his own well-worn tracks along the creek bed and up the side of the ridge, the horses following on behind. There were no notches on trees here, no red ribbons; Margery had plainly never expected anyone but herself to take such a route, and Alice glanced behind her intermittently at the other women, hoping she could trust Charley as a guide.

Around them the air hung thick and moist and the newly amber forests lay dense with fallen leaves, muffling sound as they made their way along the hidden trails. They rode in silence, focused on the unfamiliar terrain, only breaking off to praise their horses quietly or warn of some approaching obstacle.

It occurred to Alice as they headed along the track into the upper reaches of the mountains that they had never ridden together, not all of them, like this. And then that it was entirely possible this would be the last time she rode into the mountains.

In a week or so she would be making her way by train towards New York and the huge ocean liner that would take her to England, and a very different kind of existence. She turned in her saddle and looked at the group of women behind her and realized she loved them all, that leaving each of them, not just Fred, would be a wrench almost greater than anything she had endured up to now. She couldn’t imagine meeting women with whom she would feel so in tune, so close to in her next life, over polite chit-chat and cups of tea.

The other librarians would slowly forget her, their lives busy with work and families, and the ever-changing challenges of the seasons. Oh, they would promise to write, of course, but it wouldn’t be the same. There would be no more shared experiences, the cold wind on their faces, the warnings of snakes on tracks, or commiserations when one of them took a fall. She would gradually become a postscript to a story: Do you remember that English girl who rode with us for a while? Bennett Van Cleve’s wife?

‘Think we’re getting close?’ Kathleen broke into her thoughts, riding up alongside.

Alice pulled Charley to a halt, unfolding the map from her pocket. ‘Uh … according to this, it’s not far over that ridge,’ she said, squinting at the hand-drawn images. ‘She said the sisters live four miles that way, and Nancy would always walk the last part because of the hanging bridge, so I make the McCullough house … somewhere over there.’

Beth scoffed. ‘You reading that map upside down? I know for a fact the damn bridge is that way.’

Alice’s belly was tight with nerves. ‘If you know better, you want to head off on your own and let us know when you’re there?’

‘No need to get ornery. You’re not from here is all. I just thought I –’

‘Oh, and don’t I know it. Like the whole town hasn’t spent the last year reminding me.’

‘No need to take it like that, Alice. Shoot. I just meant some of us might have more knowledge of the mountains than –’

‘Shut up, Beth.’ Even Izzy was irritated. ‘We wouldn’t even have got this far if it wasn’t for Alice.’

‘Hold up,’ said Kathleen. ‘Look.’

It was the smoke that alerted them, a thin apologetic whisper of grey that they might not have spotted had the trees nearby not lost their leaves from the crown, so that the wavering plume was briefly visible against the leaden sky. The women stopped in the clearing, just able to make out the shack squatting on the ridge, its shingle roof missing a couple of tiles, its yard unkempt. It was the only house for miles and everything about it spoke of neglect and an antipathy towards casual visitors. A mean-looking dog tethered to a chain set up a fierce, staccato bark, already aware of their presence through the trees.

‘Think they’ll shoot at us?’ said Beth, and spat noisily.

Fred had instructed Alice to take his gun and it was slung over her shoulder by its strap. She couldn’t work out whether it was a good or a bad thing for the McCullough family to see she had it in her possession.

‘Wonder how many of them are in there. Someone told my eldest brother that none of the out-of-town McCulloughs even came up this far.’

‘Yeah. Like Mrs Brady said, they most likely just came for the circus,’ said Kathleen, squinting as she tried to see better.

‘Ain’t like they were coming for the McCullough riches, is it? What did your mama say about you coming up here, anyway?’ said Beth to Izzy. ‘I’m surprised she let you.’

Izzy pushed Patch forward over a small ditch, clearing it with a grunt.

‘Izzy?’

‘She doesn’t exactly know.’

‘Izzy!’ Alice turned in her saddle.

‘Oh, hush, Alice. You know as well as I do that she would never have let me.’ Izzy rubbed at her boot.

They all faced the house. Alice shivered.

‘If anything happens to you, your mother is going to have me in that dock alongside Margery. Oh, Izzy. This is not safe. I would never have let you come had you told me.’ Alice shook her head.

‘So why did you come, Izzy?’ said Beth.

‘Because we are a team. And a team sticks together.’ Izzy lifted her chin. ‘We are the Baileyville packhorse librarians and we stick together.’

Beth punched her lightly on the arm as her horse moved forward. ‘Well, goddamn to that.’

‘Ugh. Will you ever stop cursing, Beth Pinker?’

And Izzy punched her back and squealed as the horses collided.

In the end it was Alice who went first. They walked up as far as the snarling dog on the chain would allow, and Alice dismounted, handing her reins to Kathleen. She took a few steps towards the door, staying wide of the dog, its teeth bared and its hackles lifted in little spikes. She eyed the chain nervously, hoping that the other end was pinned securely.

‘Hello?’

Two windows at the front, thick with dirt, stared back blankly at them. If it hadn’t been for the trickle of smoke she might have been certain that nobody was home.

Alice took a step closer, her voice lifting. ‘Miss McCullough? You don’t know me, but I work at the Packhorse Library down in town. I know you didn’t want to talk to the sheriff’s men but I would very much appreciate it if you could help us at all.’

Her voice bounced off the mountainside. There was no movement from within the house.

Alice turned and looked at the others uncertainly. The horses stamped their feet impatiently, their nostrils flaring as they eyed the growling dog.

‘It would really only take a minute!’

The dog turned its head and quieted briefly. For a moment the mountain was possessed of a dead silence. Nothing stirred, not the horses, the birds in the trees. Alice felt her skin prickle, as if this presaged something terrible. She thought of the description of McCullough’s body, his eyes pecked clean out of his head. Lying not too far from here, for months.

I don’t want to be here, she thought, and felt something visceral and fearful trickle down her spine. She looked up and saw Beth, who nodded at her, as if to say, Go on – try again.

‘Hello? Miss McCullough? Anybody?’

Nothing stirred.

‘Hello?’

A voice broke into the silence: ‘You all can git and leave us alone!’

Alice turned on her heel to find two barrels of a gun visible through the gap in the door.

She swallowed and was about to speak again, when Kathleen appeared on foot beside her. She put a hand on Alice’s arm. ‘Verna? Is that you? I don’t know if you remember me but it’s Kathleen Hannigan, now Bligh. I used to play with your sister down at Split Creek? We made corn dollies with my ma one harvest time and I think she made one for you. With a spotted ribbon? Would you remember that?’

The dog was eyeing Kathleen now, its lips pulled back over its teeth.

‘We’re not here to cause no trouble,’ she said, her palms up. ‘We’re just in something of a fix with our good friend and we’d be real grateful for the chance to speak with you for a moment or two about it.’

‘We got nothing to say to any of youse!’

Nobody moved. The dog stopped growling briefly, its nose pointing towards 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 rumour.’

‘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 towards 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 harbour ill-feelings towards 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.