The Giver of Stars(45)

‘You’re not really helping.’

‘I’m sorry. Look, come to my house before you go to the library. I can find you some fresh clothes so you can at least get home without causing a commotion.’

They walked in silence the last hundred yards, peeling off the main road up the track to Fred Guisler’s house, which, being behind the library and set back from the road, Alice realized she had barely registered until now. There was a light on in the porch and she followed him up the wooden steps, glancing left to where, a hundred yards away, the library light was still on, only visible from this side of the road through a tiny crack in the door. She pictured Sophia in there, hard at work stitching new books out of old, humming along to the music, and then he opened the door and stood back to let her in.

Men who lived alone around Baileyville, as far as she could make out, lived rough lives, their cabins functional and sparsely furnished, their habits basic and hygiene often questionable. Fred’s house had sanded wood floors, waxed and burnished through years of use; a rocker sat in a corner, a blue rag rug in front of it, and a large brass lamp cast a soft glow over a shelf of books. Pictures lined the wall and an upholstered chair stood opposite, with a view out over the rear of the building and Fred’s large barn full of horses. The gramophone was on a highly polished mahogany table and an intricate old quilt lay neatly folded to its side. ‘But this is beautiful!’ she said, realizing as she did the insult in her words.

He didn’t seem to catch it. ‘Not all my work,’ he said. ‘But I try to keep it nice. Hold on.’

She felt bad, bringing this stench into his sweet-smelling, comfortable home. She crossed her arms and winced as he jogged upstairs, as if that could contain the odour. He was back in minutes, with two dresses across his arm. ‘One of these should fit.’

She looked up at him. ‘You have dresses?’

‘They were my wife’s.’

She blinked.

‘Hand me your clothes out and I’ll douse them in vinegar. That’ll help. When you take them home get Annie to put some baking soda into the washtub with the soap. Oh, and there’s a clean washcloth on the stand.’

She turned and he gestured towards a bathroom, which she entered. She stripped down, pushed her clothes out through a gap in the door, then washed her face and hands, scrubbing at her skin with the washcloth and lye soap. The acrid smell refused to dissipate; in the confines of the warm little room, it almost made her gag and she scrubbed as hard as she could without actually removing a layer of skin. As an afterthought she poured a jug of water over her head, rubbing at her hair with soap and rinsing it, then rough drying it with a towel. Finally she slipped into the green dress. It was what her mother would have called a tea-dress, short-sleeved and floral with a white lace collar, a little loose around the waist, but at least it smelt clean. There was a bottle of scent on top of a cabinet. She sniffed it, then sprayed a little on her wet hair.

She emerged some minutes later to find Fred standing by the window looking down at the illuminated town square. He turned, his mind clearly lost elsewhere, and perhaps because of his wife’s dress, he seemed suddenly shaken. He recovered himself swiftly and handed her a glass of iced tea. ‘Thought you might need this.’

‘Thank you, Mr Guisler.’ She took a sip. ‘I feel rather silly.’

‘Fred. Please. And don’t feel bad. Not for a minute. We’ve all been caught.’

She stood for a moment, feeling suddenly awkward. She was in a strange man’s home, wearing his dead wife’s dress. She didn’t know what to do with her limbs. A roar went up somewhere in town and she winced. ‘Oh, goodness. I haven’t just made your lovely house smell awful but you’ve missed Tex Lafayette. I’m so sorry.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s nothing. I couldn’t leave you, looking so …’

‘Skunks, eh!’ she said brightly, and his concerned expression didn’t shift, as if he knew that the smell was not the thing that had so upset her.

‘Still! You can probably catch the rest of it if we head back now,’ she said. She had started to gabble. ‘I mean, it looks like he’ll be singing a while. You were quite right. He’s very good. Not that I heard a huge amount, what with one thing and another, but I can see why he’s so popular. The crowd does seem to love him.’

‘Alice –’

‘Goodness. Look at the time. I’d better head back.’ She walked past him towards the door, her head down. ‘You should absolutely head back to the show. I’ll walk home. It’s no distance.’

‘I’ll drive you.’

‘In case of more skunks?’ Her laugh was high and brittle. Her voice didn’t even sound like her own. ‘Honestly, Mr Guisler – Fred – you’ve been so very kind already and I don’t want to put you to more trouble. Really. I don’t –’

‘I’ll take you,’ he said firmly. He took his jacket from the back of a chair, then removed a small blanket from another and placed it around her shoulders. ‘It’s turned chilly out there.’

They stepped onto the porch. Alice was suddenly acutely aware of Frederick Guisler, of the way he had of observing her, as if looking through whatever she said or did to assess its true purpose. It was oddly discomfiting. She half stumbled down the porch steps and he reached out a hand to steady her. She clutched at it, then immediately let go as if she’d been stung.