Page 77 of The Giver of Stars
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Well, just wanted you to know the offer’s there. In case you get tired of Margery’s cooking.’
He tried to laugh and they stood facing each other, each a little awkward. He broke it, raised his hat in greeting, and trudged back up the wet path to his house. Alice stood watching, thinking of the warmth inside, the blue rag rug, the sweet smell of the polished wood. And then she sighed, pulled her scarf over her nose and began the long walk up the cold mountain to Margery’s.
Sven knew that Margery was not a woman who would be pushed. But when she told him it would be best if he stayed at his own house for the third time that week, he could no longer ignore the feeling in his gut. Watching her unsaddle Charley, he found himself crossing his arms and observing her with cooler, assessing eyes until finally he uttered the words he’d been mulling over for weeks.
‘Have I done something, Marge?’
‘What?’
And there it was again. The way she would barely look at him when she spoke.
‘Seems like the last few weeks you barely want me around.’
‘You’re talking crazy.’
‘I can’t seem to say nothing to please you. When we go to bed you’re bundled up like a silkworm. Don’t want me to touch you …’ he stuttered, faltering uncharacteristically. ‘We’ve never been cold with each other, even when we were apart. Not in ten years. I just … want to know if I’ve done something to offend you.’
Her shoulders slumped a little. She reached under the horse for his girth and flipped it over the saddle, the buckle jangling as it landed. There was something weary in the way she did it that reminded him of a mother dealing with ill-behaved children. She allowed a short silence before she spoke. ‘You’ve done nothing to offend me, Sven. I’m … just tired.’
‘So why don’t you want me even to hold you?’
‘Well, I don’t always want to be held.’
‘You never used to mind.’
Disliking the sound of his voice, he took the saddle from her and walked it over to the house. She turned Charley loose into his stall, rugged him, bolted the barn door, and followed in silence. They locked everything, these days, their eyes sharp for change, ears tuned to any strange sound around the holler. The track up from the road was strewn with a series of strings set with bells and tin cans to give her fair warning, and two loaded shotguns flanked the bed.
He placed the saddle on its stand and stood, thinking. Then he took a step towards her, lifted a hand, and touched the side of her face softly, an olive branch. She didn’t look up. Before, she would have pressed his palm to her skin and kissed it. The fact of this made something plummet inside him.
‘We’ve always been straight with each other, haven’t we?’
‘Sven –’
‘I respect how you want to live. I accepted that you don’t want to be tied. I haven’t so much as mentioned it since –’
She rubbed at her forehead. ‘Can we not do this now?’
‘What I mean is – we agreed. We agreed that … if you did decide you didn’t want me any more, you would say.’
‘Are we on this again?’ Margery sounded sad and exasperated. She turned away from him. ‘It’s not you. I don’t want you to go anywhere. I just – I just got a lot to think about.’
‘We’ve all got a lot to think about.’
She shook her head.
‘Margery.’
And there she stood, mulish as Charley. Giving him nothing.
Sven Gustavsson was not a man possessed of a difficult temperament, but he was proud and he had his limits. ‘I can’t keep doing this. I’m not going to keep bothering you.’ She raised her head as he turned. ‘You know where to find me when you’re ready to see me again.’ He held up one hand as he walked off down the mountain. He didn’t look back.
Sophia was off on Friday as it was William’s birthday and, given they were up to date with the repairs (possibly due to Alice’s spending so much extra time at the library), Margery had urged her to stay with her brother. Alice rode up Split Creek as dusk fell, noting that the light was still on, and wondered, given Sophia’s absence, which of the librarians was still inside. Beth was always swift to finish, dumping her books and racing home to the farm (if she didn’t get there quick enough her brothers would have eaten whatever food had been put by for her). Kathleen was equally keen to get home, to catch her children’s last waking moments before bedtime. It was only she and Izzy who kept their horses at Fred’s barn, and Izzy, it appeared, was gone from the project for good.
Alice unsaddled Spirit and stood for a minute in the warmth of the stall, then kissed the mare’s sweet-smelling ears, pressing her face against her warm neck and finding treats for her when she nuzzled her pockets with her soft, inquisitive nose. She loved the animal now, knew her traits and strengths as well as she knew her own. The little horse was, she realized, the most constant relationship in her life. When she was sure the mare was comfortable, she headed for the back door of the library, from which she could still see a sliver of light through the unpapered gaps in the wood.
‘Marge?’ she called.
‘Well, you sure do take your time.’
