Archie closes his eyes and shakes his head, as if he can’t believe he is having this conversation. “What does Margaret say?”
“She’s in no condition to say much of anything.”
If what Mrs. Cowley said about the risk of infection is true, then amputating the leg is the only logical choice. But Sally worries Archie won’t see it that way.
“I feel sure she’d want me to try to keep the leg,” he says, confirming her worst fears.
“But at what cost?”
Archie doesn’t answer the question, just plows ahead. “I doubt she wants to be a cripple for the rest of her life.”
“Given the alternatives—”
“She’ll be immobile.”
Sally knows Margaret will struggle mightily in the months and years to come—that, in fact, some aspects of her life will always be a struggle from here on out. But Margaret is the woman who came to Marysville afterRobert’s death and spoon-fed Sally bone broth, until she could convince her to get out of bed and eventually to dress for dinner. When Sally told her she didn’t see the point in living if Robert was dead, Margaret took her chin in her hands and said, as sternly as she could, “You listen to me, Sally Campbell. There is always a reason to live.”
“Margaret isn’t like most people,” she says. “I know she’ll make the best of things. That she’ll find a way to cope.”
A bell tolls, and Archie turns toward the noise.
“Archie, listen to me. I watched her jump out of that window. She didn’t have to do it. Many women—women who knew that jumping was their only salvation—didn’t. But Margaret is strong and bold and brave, and she jumped out of that window because she wanted to live.”
“I can’t believe this,” he says, more to himself than to her, and she backs off. It’s not the right time to push him. So, she turns to Joe and says, “Will you gather all the vinegar we’ve got, and any alcohol, too? Ask Effie if she can put her hands on some bolts of linen.” She tries to think of anything else Mrs. Cowley might need. Extra quilts, spare shifts, another set of shears. “If there’s any laudanum, pack that, too.”
Joe promises he’ll see what he can find, and makes toward the house, where Margaret’s children must be beginning to stir. Through a window, she can see Joe’s wife, Effie, pacing the parlor with Archie and Margaret’s youngest boy, Robert, on her hip. Sally still remembers the words Margaret used when she wrote to her, mere months after Robert’s death, to announce the child’s arrival.We have decided to name him Robert, after his uncle, and hope he will grow up to possess half of Robert’s goodness and light.
“Where does Mrs. Cowley live?” Archie asks as Sally turns to follow Joe into the house, and it occurs to her that if she tells him, he will take off running before she has a chance to so much as change her boots, let alone clean herself up and eat something.
“I’ll take you.”
“I want to go now,” he says sharply. “Tell me where she lives.”
Sally can’t risk Archie and Dr. Foushee powwowing without her. “Give me a half hour.”
“I won’t. Not when she needs me.”
This is the last straw. “Needs you?” Sally spits. “Where were you last night, then? That’s when sheactuallyneeded you!”
He squeezes his eyes shut and begins to shake his head. “It was so dark,” he whispers. “I couldn’t see.”
“Yes, I know. Neither could I.”
Sally has never seen her brother-in-law so agitated, and she tries to recall the man Robert introduced her to on the eve of their wedding. He was funny and kind, and Sally loved listening to the brothers’ easy banter. At the luncheon, which Sally’s mother held on the lawn at Red Hill, Archie was the first to raise a glass to the happy couple. “Take care of each other,” he said.
“Forgive me,” he pleads now.
“It’s not for me to—”
Archie is on his knees, clutching at her skirt. “Will she? Forgive me?” he asks, and the whole thing is so miserable she feels almost sorry for him.
What can Sally possibly tell him? That the question is not whether his wife will forgive him but whether she will live to one day contemplate the concept of forgiveness. “I think,” says Sally slowly, “that if Margaret lives to lord your failures over your head, you should consider yourself a very lucky man indeed.”
CECILY
Cecily finds the boathouse easily.From the spot where she and her mother parted ways, it’s just a short hike upriver, until she can no longer see the Price family’s mill perched at the edge of the falls.
The structure is nestled in the curve of some silver maples that line the north bank of the James, and in the gray dawn of morning, it hides in plain sight. It is not much more than a shack, really. Just a bunch of logs with no chinking and a shingle roof that has begun to rot. The air smells foul—like mildew and bat droppings and maybe something dead—but Cecily is so relieved to be out of the wind, she scarcely notices.
