Page 91 of The Frozen River

Alice White is startled to hear this but doesn’t say so. “Of course. Busy day for her. She’s in her room with the baby now. I’ll get her. Please, have a seat.”

I take one of the two polished wooden chairs before the window and tuck my satchel underneath. There is whispering in the other room. Urgent. Possibly frustrated. But I can’t make out the words. After a moment Alice slips back out.

“She’ll just be a moment,” she says. “Don’t mind me.”

There is nowhere for the older woman to retreat, so she picks up her knitting, goes to the kitchen table, and makes a show of spreading out her yarn and needles.

Sarah White lives with her parents, still sleeps in the same bedroom she occupied as a child. Only now there is a cradle against the wall and a general aura of sadness permeating the house. After a few minutes she comes out, baby tucked into the crook of her left arm, as she tries to button her blouse with her other hand.

She joins me at the window while Mrs. White knits a pair of socks and pretends not to listen.

“It is good to see you,” Sarah says.

“And you.” I lift the plump little girl from Sarah’s arms and fold back the blanket from her face. “You both look well.”

“Forgive me for taking so long. I was nursing.”

“I thought you might be.”

“She eats so much. All the time! But it doesn’t seem to matter. I am still making more milk than one baby can consume. It’s”—she waves a hand in the air—“relentless.”

“Consider yourself blessed. I’ve known more than one woman to go dry long before a baby is nine months. Nurse her for as long as you can. It will do the both of you a world of good.”

Typically, I give this advice for the baby’s health and also to help a young woman regain her figure. However, it does not appear that Sarah is struggling in that regard. Her dress reveals the same hourglass figure she sported before, if not a bit heavier on top.

Sarah looks at me, large eyes curious. “I heard about Cyrus. It’s outrageous, what happened. Is he all right?”

Though I hate that news of his arrest has spread, I am encouraged by her interest.

“He’s as well as can be expected. The jail yard is difficult in winter. So few hours between sunup and sundown. Hard to put in a full day’s work. But I’m certain the charges will be dismissed. Cyrus had nothing to do with Burgess’s murder.”

She lowers her voice to a near whisper so her mother cannot hear. “You are certain it was murder?”

“I am.”

“Good,” she says, then smiles fondly at her daughter. “Good riddance to him.”

“Sarah.” I shift the baby in my arms and lean closer. “Did you ever have trouble with Joshua Burgess?”

“No more than anyone else. He could never keep his eyes to himself. But there was one time that he…” She blushes and turns to the window but looks more angry than embarrassed.

“He what?”

“Offered to pay me. So I’d go to bed with him.”

My stomach twists into a knot. “Oh God. The fee you paid me last month…?”

“No. I refused him of course. But he was steaming mad. Said I was a whore now and couldn’t afford to be picky.”

“Having a child out of wedlock doesn’t make you a whore.”

“I know that. And told him as much.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“No. But if I was in town, he had a habit of being there. Always watching. It scared me. So I wasn’t sad when I heard that he’d been killed. Less sad when I heard that you’d called it murder.”

“You aren’t alone in that.”