The Giver of Stars(59)



She snapped out of her thoughts, gasping quietly as she splashed the icy water on her face and hurried into her many layers. The librarians were riding a half-day today, to allow them all some time for Christmas shopping, and a small part of her had to fight her disappointment at the prospect of time away from her routes.

She would see Jim Horner’s girls this morning. That helped. The way they would wait at the window for the sight of Spirit making her way up the track, then bolt through the wooden door, bouncing on tiptoe until she climbed off the horse, their voices bubbling over each other as they clamoured to find out what she had with her, where she had been, whether she would stay for a little while longer than the last time. The way they would hang casually around her neck while she read to them, little fingers stroking her hair or planting kisses on her cheeks as if, despite the slow recovery of the little family, they were both desperate for feminine contact in some way they could barely understand. And Jim, his expression no longer hard and suspicious, would place a mug of coffee at her side, then use the time she was there to chop wood or sometimes, now, just sit and watch, as if he took pleasure in the sight of his girls’ happiness as they showed off what they had learned to read that week (and they were smart; their reading was way ahead of other children’s, thanks to lessons with Mrs Beidecker). No, the Horner girls were consolation indeed. It was just a shame that girls like them would have so little in the way of Christmas gifts.

Alice wrapped her scarf around her neck and pulled on her riding gloves, wondering briefly whether to put on an extra pair of socks for the ride up the mountain. All the librarians had chilblains now, their toes pink and swollen from the cold, their fingers frequently corpse-white from lack of blood. She looked out of the window at the chill grey sky. She no longer checked her reflection in the mirror.

She pulled the envelope from the side, where it had sat since the previous day, and tucked it into her bag. She would read it later, once she’d done her rounds. No point getting worked up when you had two silent hours on a horse facing you.

She looked at the dresser as she made to leave. The dolls were still staring at her.

‘What?’ she said.

But this time they seemed to be saying something quite different.

‘For us?’ Millie’s mouth had dropped so far open Alice could almost hear Sophia warning that bugs would fly straight in.

She handed the other doll to Mae, its petticoats rustling as it was pulled swiftly into the child’s lap. ‘One each. We had a little chat this morning and they told me in confidence that they’d be much happier here with you than where they’ve been living.’

The two girls gawped at the angelic porcelain faces, and then, in unison, their heads turned towards their father. Jim Horner’s own expression was unreadable.

‘They’re not new, Mr Horner,’ Alice said carefully. ‘But where they come from has no real use for them. It’s … a house of men. It didn’t seem right to have them sitting there.’

She could see his indecision, the I don’t know … forming on his lips. The air in the cabin seemed to still as the girls held their breath.

‘Please, Pa?’ Mae’s voice emerged as a whisper. They sat cross-legged, and Millie’s hand absently stroked the shiny chestnut curls, letting each one spring back into place, her gaze flickering from the painted face to her father’s. The dolls, having for months seemed sinister, rebuking, were suddenly benign, joyful things. Because they were in the place they were meant to be.

‘They’re awful fancy,’ he said finally.

‘Well, I believe all girls deserve something a little fancy in their lives, Mr Horner.’

He rubbed a rough hand over the top of his head and looked away. Mae’s face lengthened, fearful of what he was about to say. He motioned towards the door. ‘Would you mind stepping outside with me a moment, Mrs Van Cleve?’

She heard sighs of dismay from the girls as she followed him to the back of the cabin, her arms wrapped around her to keep out the cold, mentally running over the various arguments she would employ to try to change his mind.

All little girls need a doll.

They would likely be thrown away if the girls didn’t take them.

Oh, for goodness’ sake, why must your wretched pride get in the way of a –

‘What do you think?’

Alice stopped in her tracks. Jim Horner lifted a piece of hessian sacking to reveal the head of a large, somewhat threadbare stag, its antlers thrusting into the air three feet to each side of it, its ears stitched haphazardly to its head. It was mounted on a roughly carved oak base, which had been painted with pitch.

She stifled the strangled noise that emerged unbidden from her throat.

‘Shot him over at Rivett’s Creek two months ago. Stuffed and mounted him myself. Got Mae to help me send off for them glass eyes on the mail order. They’re pretty lifelike, don’t you think?’

Alice gaped at the deer’s glassy, overlarge eyes, the left of which had a definite squint. The stag looked faintly demented and sinister, a nightmare beast, conjured in fever dreams. ‘It’s … very … imposing.’

‘It’s my first go. Figured I might set up a trade in them. Do one every few weeks and sell them in town. Help keep us going through the winter months.’

‘That’s an idea. Maybe you could do some smaller creatures too. A rabbit, or a ground squirrel.’

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