“Just the little bit. Oh, that’s fine, then,” said Fred.

Bennett shot him a look. “Tempers were high. Pa just . . . Well, he’s not used to a woman sassing him.”

“So what’s he going to do next time Alice opens her mouth?”

Bennett turned and squared up to Fred. “Hey, Guisler, you want to butt out of this? Because, far as I can see, this ain’t no business of yours.”

“It’s my business when I see a defenseless woman get beat to a pulp.”

“And you’d be the expert on how to manage a wife, huh? Because we all know what happened to your wife—”

“That’s enough,” said Alice. She stood slowly—sudden movements made her head throb—and turned to Fred. “Can you leave us a moment, Fred? . . . Please?”

His gaze darted from her to Bennett and back again. “I’ll be right outside,” he muttered.

They stared at their feet until the door closed. She looked up first, at the man she had married just over a year ago, a man, she now realized, who had symbolized an escape route rather than any genuine meeting of minds or souls. What had they really known about each other, after all? They had been exotic to one another, a suggestion of a different world to two people who were each trapped, in their own way, by the expectations of those around them. And then, slowly, her difference had become repugnant to him.

“You coming on home, then?” he said.

Not I’m sorry. We can fix this, talk it out. I love you and I’ve spent the whole night worrying about you.

“Alice?”

Not We’ll go somewhere by ourselves. We’ll start again. I missed you, Alice.

“No, Bennett, I’m not coming back.”

It took him a moment to register what she had said. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not coming back.”

“Well . . . where will you go?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“You—you can’t just leave. It doesn’t work like that.”

“Says who? Bennett—you don’t love me. And I can’t . . . I can’t be the wife you need me to be. We are making each other desperately unhappy and there’s nothing . . . nothing to suggest that is going to change. So, no. There’s no point in me coming back.”

“This is Margery O’Hare’s influence. Pa was right. That woman—”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake. I know my own mind.”

“But we’re married.”

She straightened up. “I’m not coming back to that house. And if you and your father drag me out of here a hundred times, I will just keep on leaving.”

Bennett rubbed the back of his neck. He shook his head and turned a quarter away from her. “You know he won’t accept this.”

“He won’t.”

She watched his face, across which several emotions seemed to be competing with each other, and felt briefly overwhelmed by the sadness of it all, at the admission that this really was it, the end. But there was something else in there: something she hoped he could detect too. Relief.

“Alice?” he said.

And there it was again, this bizarre hope, irrepressible as a spring bud, that even at this late hour he might take her in his arms, swear that he couldn’t live without her, that this was all a hideous mistake and that they would be together, like he had promised. The belief, engraved deep within her, that every love story held, at its heart, the potential for a happy ending.

She shook her head.

And, without another word, he left.

 

* * *

 

• • •

Christmas was a muted affair. Margery didn’t celebrate Christmas traditionally, it being associated with not one good memory for her, but Sven insisted and bought a small turkey that he stuffed and cooked, and made cinnamon cookies from his mother’s Swedish recipe. Margery had many skills, he told her, shaking his head, but if he relied on her to cook, he’d be the width of that broom handle.

They invited Fred, which for some reason made Alice self-conscious, and every time he looked across the table at her he managed to time it to the exact second she glanced up at him so that she blushed. He brought with him a Dundee cake, baked to his mother’s recipe, and a bottle of French red wine, left in his cellar from before his father died, and they drank it and pronounced it interesting, although Sven and Fred agreed that you couldn’t beat a cold beer. They didn’t sing carols or play games, but there was something restful about the easy companionship of four people who felt warmly toward each other and were just grateful for good food and a day or two off work.

That being said, all day Alice feared the knock on the door, the inevitable confrontation. Mr. Van Cleve was a man used to getting his own way, after all, and there were few occasions more guaranteed to heat the blood than Christmas. And, indeed, the knock did come—though not as she had expected. Alice leaped up, peering out of the window, fighting for space with a giddy and frantically barking Bluey, but it was Annie who appeared on the stoop, as cross-looking as ever, though, given it was a holiday, Alice couldn’t really blame her.

“Mr. Van Cleve asked me to bring this,” she said, the words popping from her lips, like angry bubbles. She thrust an envelope at her.

Alice held onto Bluey, who wriggled to be free and jump up to greet this new visitor. He was the most hopeless of guard dogs, Margery would say fondly, all sound and no fury. The runt of the litter. Always stupidly glad to let everyone know how happy he was just to be alive.

Annie kept one wary eye on him as Alice took the envelope. “And he said to wish you a merry Christmas.”

“Couldn’t get up from the table to say it himself, though, huh?” called Sven, through the doorway. Annie scowled at him and Margery scolded him quietly.

“Annie, you’d be most welcome to stop for a bite to eat before you head out,” she called. “It’s a cold afternoon and we’d be happy to share.”

“Thank you. But I have to get back.” She seemed reluctant to stand close to Alice, as if by mere proximity she risked being infected by her predilection for deviant sexual practices.

“Well, thank you anyway for coming all the way out here,” said Alice. Annie looked at her suspiciously, as if she were making fun at her expense. She turned away and increased her pace back down the hill.

Alice closed the door and released the dog, who immediately leaped up and started barking at the window, as if he had completely forgotten whom he had just seen. Alice stared at the envelope.

“What d’you get then?”