The Sabbathday River by Jean Hanff Korelitz Read Free Book Online

she mused. Marble versus granite. Well, what did you expect? In New Hampshire the mountains had nothing to hide; like their appointed spokesman, the Old Man himself, they showed their plain faces to the wind. She supposed it was time for her to show her face, too.
    She pulled into the mill’s driveway, the right wheels of her station wagon dipping violently into a ditch—a remembrance of mud seasons past—as she rolled toward the front door, and the motion made her bite her tongue. Cursing softly, if gingerly, she stamped up the steps and across the porch, then went inside.

    â€œLet’s call Ashley,” Naomi said. “We’ve got to get that ditch filled. And the banister to the attic is jiggling again.”
    Mary Sully at the front desk was nearly obscured by mail, but not quite enough to hide her stare. “Uhkay. But … Miss Roth?”
    Naomi, she almost said. But she had given up. “Yup?” She set down her bag and automatically began turning over the order forms: Hawaii, Arizona, Connecticut. South Dakota—a first. There was a message from Heather, still down with stomach flu, who would need an extra week with her orders.
    â€œIs it true? About you and that baby?”
    Naomi’s face fell. “Yeah. My luck, eh?” Mary looked horrified. Naomi, in defeat, could practically hear her remark ricochet around the town. “I mean, it was terrible. God, I was sick about it yesterday. Couldn’t eat a thing.”
    â€œI couldn’t imagine.” Mary shook her head, the faintest ripple in her full, pale cheeks.
    Naomi couldn’t either, despite the fact that it had happened to her.
    â€œWas it … I mean, the paper didn’t say. Was it a boy?” Mary asked, her voice thick with dread. She had two herself—one in school, the other still in diapers.
    â€œNo,” Naomi said with a thin smile, happy, at least, to deliver this wisp of good news. “A little girl.”
    There was the briefest instant of relief on the woman’s face. Then she summoned her horror again. “What’s going to happen?” Mary said. “What are they going to do?”
    Naomi fell into the nearest chair and grimly eyed the dust beneath Mary’s desk. Behind her, the murmurings of women had given way to blaring silence. Whatever she said next, she knew, would have to be loud enough for everyone to hear.
    â€œI don’t know any more than anyone else, Mary,” Naomi said. “You know, it was only chance that I was there. It doesn’t give me any special insight into what it means or what’s going to happen.” In the stillness, they waited for her to go on. “I do know,” Naomi said firmly, “that the police are taking it very seriously, as they should. The D.A. I met, well, he’s very determined. He came down from Peytonville to run the whole thing, and I don’t doubt that he’ll do whatever he feels is necessary. I’m sure he’ll find the …” She glanced at Mary’s face, tight with keen, if guilty, interest. “The one, you know, who put her there.”

    â€œThe murderer, you mean.”
    Naomi looked up. Ann Chase was in the doorway. A half-completed rug featuring a dopey spaniel hung limp from her wrist, rendering her own harsh expression vaguely comical by association. Ann, once lithe and blond, had let age both thicken her and darken her hair and was now, blandly, “of certain years” and an indeterminate hair color. She wore pants the hue of river mud and a white sweater. She was glaring at Naomi.
    â€œI suppose.”
    â€œSuppose, hell. She murdered that baby.”
    â€œShe,” Naomi managed. “Meaning?”
    â€œWhat are you, dense? That baby wasn’t just put in the river. What I heard, she was cut up like a pumpkin. The mother—”
    â€œNow you don’t know that!” Naomi’s voice rose in alarm. “You have no way of