Chap­ter 25 begins with Alice and her fel­low librar­i­ans embark­ing on a treach­er­ous jour­ney to Arnott’s Ridge, a remote and rarely trav­eled area filled with rough ter­rain and dense for­est. Their trust­ed guide horse, Charley, leads the way through the unpre­dictable paths, his steady move­ments offer­ing some reas­sur­ance amid the uncer­tain­ty of their mis­sion. Despite the bit­ter cold and the sense of unease hang­ing in the air, the women push for­ward, deter­mined to reach their des­ti­na­tion. Their goal is clear—to find the McCul­lough fam­i­ly, a reclu­sive group who might hold cru­cial infor­ma­tion that could help exon­er­ate Margery from a crime she did not com­mit. As Alice rides, she can’t help but reflect on the impend­ing changes in her own life. Soon, she will leave Ken­tucky behind, trad­ing this rugged yet beloved land for the refined streets of New York and, even­tu­al­ly, Eng­land, where an entire­ly dif­fer­ent life awaits her.

Though Alice has long pre­pared for this depar­ture, the thought of leav­ing behind the peo­ple she loves weighs heav­i­ly on her mind. Over the past months, she has built an unbreak­able bond with these women, who have become more than just coworkers—they are her fam­i­ly. She knows that no mat­ter how far she trav­els, noth­ing will com­pare to the expe­ri­ences they’ve shared: the long rides through the moun­tains, the qui­et con­ver­sa­tions by the fire, and the mutu­al trust that has grown between them. She silent­ly wish­es she could hold onto these moments for­ev­er, but real­i­ty press­es in, remind­ing her that time moves for­ward, whether she is ready or not. As they ride deep­er into the unchart­ed wilder­ness of Arnott’s Ridge, the librar­i­ans are met with the eerie silence of the for­est, bro­ken only by the sound of hooves crunch­ing against the frost-cov­ered ground. Each step brings them clos­er to the McCul­lough res­i­dence, but also clos­er to the unknown.

When they final­ly reach their des­ti­na­tion, they are met with imme­di­ate sus­pi­cion and hos­til­i­ty. The McCul­loughs, known for their deep-root­ed dis­trust of out­siders, do not take kind­ly to unex­pect­ed vis­i­tors. A snarling dog lunges toward them, bare­ly restrained by a wiry young woman, while the unmis­tak­able click of a shot­gun being cocked sends a warn­ing through the crisp moun­tain air. The women freeze, know­ing that any sud­den move­ment could lead to dis­as­ter. Alice, ever the diplo­mat, rais­es her hands in a ges­ture of peace, care­ful­ly choos­ing her words to con­vey their true inten­tions. She explains their pur­pose: to gath­er infor­ma­tion about Clem McCullough’s dis­ap­pear­ance, the very event that has led to Margery’s wrong­ful impris­on­ment. The men­tion of Clem’s name stirs a reac­tion in Ver­na McCul­lough, a pale and vis­i­bly preg­nant woman, who exchanges a wary glance with her sis­ter. There is some­thing unspo­ken between them, a hes­i­ta­tion that sug­gests they know far more than they are let­ting on.

In an attempt to ease the ten­sion, the librar­i­ans extend a small but sym­bol­ic offering—books. Though the McCul­loughs live in iso­la­tion, even they can­not deny the qui­et pow­er of a good sto­ry. One of the younger chil­dren eyes the books with a flick­er of curios­i­ty, an indi­ca­tion that per­haps not all mem­bers of the fam­i­ly are resis­tant to their pres­ence. Alice seizes the moment, gen­tly inquir­ing about Clem’s last known where­abouts. Ver­na, after a long pause, final­ly speaks: he left before Christ­mas, say­ing he was return­ing a book to the trav­el­ing library, but he nev­er came home. This detail is strik­ing, as it con­nects direct­ly to the copy of Lit­tle Women found at the scene of his death, the very piece of evi­dence that has been used to impli­cate Margery. A hush falls over the group as the weight of this rev­e­la­tion sinks in—Clem’s death may have been acci­den­tal all along.

Though Ver­na remains guard­ed, her body lan­guage betrays a mix of fear and reluc­tant relief. It is clear that she has lived under the heavy shad­ow of her father’s rule and is now grap­pling with emo­tions she has long sup­pressed. Her mut­tered words, “Good rid­dance,” do not go unno­ticed, hint­ing at a painful his­to­ry between Clem and his daugh­ters. The librar­i­ans exchange glances, real­iz­ing that they may have just uncov­ered the key to sav­ing Margery from an unjust fate. There is no time to waste—they must return to Bai­leyville with this new­found infor­ma­tion before it’s too late.

The jour­ney back is filled with a renewed sense of urgency, but also a grow­ing under­stand­ing of the pow­er of trust, friend­ship, and per­se­ver­ance. This chap­ter cap­tures not only the deter­mi­na­tion of these women in their fight for jus­tice, but also the resilience required to stand against unjust soci­etal expec­ta­tions. As Alice and her com­pan­ions ride through the Ken­tucky wilder­ness, they are no longer just librar­i­ans deliv­er­ing books—they are war­riors of truth, pro­tec­tors of the inno­cent, and a force for change in a world that too often silences those who need to be heard.