strange. “You’ve been through a lot. You’ll be close enough here to visit him whenever you want to. This’ll be a good place for you.”
“You haven’t asked about the baby’s father.”
“You’re right.”
“Don’t you want to know?”
“Not unless you want to tell me.”
Cristy stopped walking. “My baby’s father is a man named Jackson Ford, and he’s the one who put me in prison.”
Samantha didn’t respond, so Cristy continued.
“I don’t want Jackson to see or hold or speak to Michael. Not ever. Because a man who could do what he did to me is a man who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt a child.”
“Does he know where Michael is?”
“I’m sure he does. Jackson can get anything he wants.”
Samantha didn’t try to soothe her fears. Cristy was surprised that she seemed to believe her. Instead Samantha asked, “You’re not worried about the baby’s safety?”
“Wayne will be sure Michael stays safe. He’s not a violent man, but he does believe in country justice.”
“Country justice?”
“You live outside town, the law’s not there to take care of you or make sure things are fair or right. Out in the country people take care of themselves, and they don’t put up with a lot.”
“Then Wayne’s watching for trouble?”
Cristy told Samantha one of the few things in life she was still convinced was true. “Wayne Bates will never let trouble sneak up on him. And because he won’t, he and Berdine have my son.”
* * *
Georgia knew that her daughter disapproved of fast food and didn’t feed it to Edna, at least not very often. Samantha knew her mother would respect that decision, so on the rare occasions when she didn’t, neither of them made a big deal out of it.
Which was why a happy Edna was just finishing a chocolate shake and a small order of fries as they finished the climb up Doggett Mountain to the Goddess House.
Between sips Edna was delving into philosophy. “How can something that makes me feel so good be bad for me?”
“That’s a question you’ll ask yourself a million times in the next ten years, kiddo. Just remember that something that makes you feel good in the short-term might be a problem in the long-term. That’s why you have to think things through.”
“Like I could gain too much weight or my cholesterol could go up, only worse.”
“Exactly.”
“I wonder if taking the diamond ring made Cristy feel good until they put her in jail.”
Georgia and Edna had already talked about Cristy Haviland. Samantha had told her daughter the facts—that Cristy had been caught shoplifting a very valuable ring. She had served time in prison for it, and now that she was out, she needed a place to stay.
“I think, in that case, justice was pretty swift. I think your mom said she was caught outside in the parking lot. So I doubt she had any time to enjoy what she’d done. In fact, I imagine the moment she did it, she was terrified somebody would catch her.”
“But why didn’t she figure out ahead of time that she was going to get caught? It seems pretty obvious, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know. Does it?”
“A ring’s not like a pack of gum or a candy bar. If something is valuable, it’s sure to be missed immediately.”
“Then it sounds like something she did on impulse, don’t you think? Without thinking or planning?”
“Maybe it was just a mistake. Maybe she set the ring on the counter and somebody knocked it into her purse, or wherever they found it when they searched her.”
Georgia wasn’t sure whether Edna wanted to think the best of Cristy, or whether for her this was just an interesting mystery to solve.
“I imagine the authorities considered that possibility and discarded it,” she said. “They must have had a pretty good idea she did what they accused her of before they took the case to trial.”
“I don’t know.” Edna didn’t sound convinced. “I guess we’d have to know her to figure that out. I mean, I know people who always do impulsive things. Like they blurt out whatever they’re thinking, and afterward you can tell they wish they’d stayed quiet. There’s this one kid in my class who’ll take any dare, even if it’s impossible, and he’s always getting in trouble. Once he got stuck in a tree on the playground, and the custodian had to bring the longest ladder in the school to get him down.”
“Maybe that kind of behavior’s been a problem for Cristy.”
“Maybe so, but if it hasn’t? Isn’t stealing a ring when you’re sure you’ll get caught more than impulsive? Maybe it’s...what do they call it? A cry for help?”
Georgia could tell Edna wasn’t going to let go of this. She was reaching the age when the things she did or would do really mattered, and she knew it. Her mother had almost destroyed her own life at seventeen, something she candidly discussed with her daughter, and while Edna was only twelve, she was mature beyond her years. So Cristy, and what she had and hadn’t done, had made an impression on her, even though they hadn’t yet met.
“I can tell you this much,” Georgia said. “If she needs help, we’ll try to be sure she gets it.”
“Mom said she had a baby when she was in prison. I don’t know which would be worse, going to prison or having a baby you can’t keep.”
Georgia thought of her own mother, whoever she was, who hadn’t given birth to her in prison. That her mother had given birth in a hospital was one of the few things Georgia did know about the woman.
They fell into an easy silence for the rest of the trip. It was past five when the twisting road straightened and dipped, and they followed swiftly flowing Spring Creek into the township of Trust.
Township was another word for nowhere. Trust was nothing more than a spot where two roads met, where an attractive general store with a part-time restaurant had sprung from the foundation of an old one, where a covered bridge gave ammunition for jokes about the “bridge” of Madison County. Some grateful soul had built a thimble-size roadside chapel here and dedicated it to St. Jude. But other than houses nestled on gravel roads and plenty of fresh air, there wasn’t much else to the place. As they turned toward Luck, an even smaller destination, Georgia tried to imagine what it would have been like to grow up in this part of the state.
The Goddess House was located somewhere between the two townships. Theoretically it might be inside one and not the other, but nobody really cared. Analiese Wagner, who was a minister in Asheville, had decided that the house was at the crossroads, and everybody liked that, although no roads actually crossed here. But the women they hoped to help would probably be standing at very real crossroads in their
