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 using a 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 Mrs Brady – but on a day like today, when the air hung warm and heavy with moisture, there was little relief.
Alice thought suddenly how awful the jailhouse would be in winter, with its exposed windows and cold cement floor. How much worse would the state penitentiary be? She will be free by then, she told herself firmly. No thinking ahead. No thinking beyond today, this next hour.
‘Didn’t think I could love another creature like this,’ Margery continued. ‘Feels like she’s taken a layer of skin off me, you know?’
‘Sven is truly besotted.’
‘Ain’t he just?’ Margery smiled to herself at some memory. ‘He’s going to be the greatest daddy to you, tiny girl.’ Her face shadowed, as if there were something she didn’t want to acknowledge. And then it was gone, and she was holding the baby up, gesturing to her head, smiling again. ‘You think her hair’s going to be dark like mine? She’s got a little Cherokee in her, after all. Or you think she’ll lighten up, more like her daddy? You know when Sven was a baby his hair was white as chalk.’
Margery wouldn’t discuss the trial. She would shake her head twice, tiny movements, as if suggesting there was no point in it. And despite this new softness, there was something steely enough in that movement for Alice not to try to contradict it. She had done the same to Beth and to Mrs Brady when they visited, and Mrs Brady had arrived back at the library quite pink with frustration.
‘I was talking to my husband about the trial, and what happens afterwards … if things do not go the way we hope. He has some friends in the legal world and apparently across state lines there are some places that allow the children to stay with the mother, and matrons to attend properly to the women. Some have quite good facilities all told.’
Margery had acted like she hadn’t heard a word.
‘We’re all praying for you in church. You and Virginia. Isn’t she the dearest thing? I just wondered whether you would like us to try to –’
‘Appreciate your thoughts, Mrs Brady, but we’ll be fine.’
And that was it, Mrs Brady said, throwing her hands into the air. ‘It’s as if she’s burying her head in the sand. Honestly, I don’t think she can simply rely on the idea of getting out. She needs to plan.’
But Alice didn’t feel that optimism was at the heart of Margery’s behaviour. It was one of the many reasons she felt increasingly anxious with every day that the trial grew closer.
Exactly one week before the trial was due to start newspapers began to speculate on its suspect. One had got hold of the picture of the women from the Nice ’N’ Quick, and cropped it so that only Margery’s face was visible. The headline read:
THE LIBRARIAN KILLER :
DID SHE MURDER INNOCENT MAN?
The nearest hotel, in Danvers Creek, swiftly found itself with every room booked, and there was talk that some neighbours had tidied up back rooms and put beds in them to house the reporters who were also coming to town. It seemed that Margery and McCullough were all anybody talked about, except within the confines of the library, where nobody talked about them at all.
Sven headed to the jail in the height of the afternoon. It was an excessively warm day and he walked slowly, using his hat to fan himself, and raising a hand in greeting to those he passed, his outward demeanour revealing nothing of what he felt inside. He handed the tin of Alice’s cornbread to Deputy Dulles, and checked his pockets for the clean vest and bib that Alice had folded neatly for him to bring. Margery was in the holding cell upstairs, feeding the baby, seated cross-legged on the bunk, and he waited to kiss her, knowing as he did how easily distracted the baby was. Usually she would raise a cheek for him but this time she kept gazing down at the child, so after a moment he sat down on the stool nearby.
‘She still feeding all night?’
‘Much as she can get.’
‘Mrs Brady said she might be one of those babies needs solid food early. I got a book about it from the girls, just to read up a little.’
‘Since when have you been chatting with Mrs Brady about babies?’
He looked at his boots. ‘Since I quit my job.’
When she stared at him, he added: ‘Don’t worry. I’ve not been out of work since I was fourteen years old. And Fred is letting me stay in his spare room so I’m good. We’ll be good.’
Margery didn’t speak. Some days she was like this now. Would barely say a word the whole time he was there. Those days had grown fewer since Virginia arrived – it was as if she couldn’t help but talk to the child, even if she was feeling down, but Sven still hated to see them. He rubbed at his head. ‘Alice said to tell you the chickens are doing fine. Winnie laid a double-yolker. Charley’s getting fat. Quite enjoying the rest, far as I can see it. We’ve got him turned out this week with Fred’s young ones and he’s showing them who’s boss.’
She looked down at Virginia, checking that she had finished, then adjusted her dress and placed the baby against her shoulder for winding.
‘You know, I was thinking …’ Sven continued. ‘Maybe when you come home we could get another dog. There’s a farmer over at Shelbyville got a hunting bitch I’ve fancied for a long time that he wants to put to pup. She’s got a sweet nature. It’s good for a child to grow up around a dog. If we get a puppy, he and Virginia could grow up together. What do you say?’