The Librarian of Boone's Hollow Page 10

  She drew the mule within arm’s length of the railing and held out the fishing-boys book.

  The old woman’s face lit up like candles on a Christmas tree. “Oh, a Mark Twain story.”

  Bettina recalled Miz West calling Mark Twain a famous author. She imagined repeating the comment. She’d say it real casual, like it was common to her. But wouldn’t she sound important, talking about authors, making people think she knew things others didn’t? She’d say it sometime. Maybe to Emmett. But not to Nanny Fay.

  Nanny Fay traded the Mark Twain book for one with a plain blue cloth cover and some gold letters stamped on its spine. Bettina dropped the blue book in the empty side of the pouch and gave the reins a little tug.

  “Bye, Bettina. Have a good day now, y’hear?”

  Bettina poked Mule with her bare heels and made him trot out of the clearing. She couldn’t stick around here and chat. Pap’d have her hide, maybe even make her quit taking books around to folks if he found out. If she didn’t have this job, how would she get money to buy pretty things to wear or be able to stay away from her cabin for hours at a time? No, she couldn’t risk it. But it seemed sad to leave the old woman standing on her porch with nothing more’n a book keeping her company.

  Emmett

  EMMETT WALKED DUSTY TO SCHOOL Tuesday morning. His brother had pouted all through supper the night before because Emmett went into Lynch instead of going with him to the one-room schoolhouse yesterday morning. “There’s only four days left ’til we’re all done for the year. You wanna miss ’em all?” he’d said with his lower lip poked out. All the explaining in the world hadn’t made a bit of difference to the eight-year-old. Dusty considered himself more important than any old job, and that was that. So even though Emmett wanted to visit every place of business in the low-lying communities near Black Mountain, he carved out time to walk his little brother to the schoolhouse where Emmett had spent so many hours in his younger years. He even carried Dusty’s lunch pail.

  Dusty jabbered nonstop, pausing now and then to pick up a stone and throw it into the trees or pluck a fresh green leaf and twirl it. Time slid backward as Emmett walked the familiar path, swinging a battered cracker tin and squinting against the morning sun. For more than forty years, kids from Tuckett’s Pass and Boone’s Hollow had come together at the one-room mountain school, but for only a few months of the year. Then when Emmett was eight or nine years old, Mr. Halcomb came and insisted the school should be open a full nine months, same as in the big cities. It took three years before everybody in Boone’s Hollow and Tuckett’s Pass sent their kids for all nine months. These folks resisted change the way a criminal resists arrest, but Mr. Halcomb had won, finally. But there was one battle he was still fighting. Tuckett’s Pass parents continued to insist that their kids sit apart from Boone’s Hollow kids. How many generations would be taught to follow the old feud?

  Emmett had asked Dusty if he’d made friends with Tuckett’s Pass kids, and Dusty stared at him as if he’d said something foul. Funny how the old rivalry between the two little towns, so close in proximity but so far apart in friendliness, stayed strong generation after generation. Maw and Paw said it’d been that way their whole lives and their folks’ lives and before them, but they couldn’t honestly say what had started the conflict. All Emmett knew was if a fellow came from Boone’s Hollow, he snubbed the folks from Tuckett’s Pass. Pretty silly.

  The sound of children’s hoots and laughter carried from ahead, and Dusty gave a little hop. “They’re playin’ dodge-the-ball!”

  Emmett chuckled. “Now, how can you know that when you can’t see—”

  Smack!

  “Ouch! Hey, that hurt!”

  Laughter rolled.

  The sounds carrying from the other side of the trees proved Dusty’s theory and brought a rush of memories. Emmett winced, recalling how much it’d stung when the large rubber ball connected with his side or legs.

  Dusty grabbed his wrist. “C’mon, Emmett, hurry or I won’t get to play!”

  Emmett jogged the remaining distance with Dusty but then passed the rings of children—a smaller group on one side of the yard and a larger group, to which Dusty ran, on the other—and entered the unpainted clapboard building. He set Dusty’s pail with others cluttering the long bench in the narrow cloakroom, then entered the classroom. The same desks and benches, cloudy slate boards, and smell of coal oil greeted him. A strange sensation gripped him, something his college professors would probably call déjà vu. He crossed the creaky floorboards slowly, observing the teacher, who sat behind his desk with his head low, his hand moving rhythmically between an inkpot and a sheet of paper. The scritch-scritch of his pen seemed loud in the otherwise quiet room.

  Even though things hadn’t worked out the way Emmett expected after earning a college degree, affection rolled through him. He’d never known, and might not ever know, a more dedicated person than Mr. Halcomb. He stopped midway across the floor and slid his hands into his trouser pockets, watching, waiting, remembering.

  Mr. Halcomb set the pen aside, sat up, and met Emmett’s gaze. A smile broke over his face. He stood and rounded his desk, hand already reaching. “Why, Emmett Tharp…”

  Emmett shook his teacher’s hand. The man looked a little older but no less scholarly than Emmett recalled. With Mr Halcomb’s neat goatee, short-cropped gray hair, black suit, and string tie, he’d blend right in with the college teachers. “Hello, Mr. Halcomb. Good to see you.”

  “Please, call me Ralph.”

  Emmett smiled. He’d never be able to call his teacher anything but Mr. Halcomb.

  “Dusty said you were back, but I thought he might be makin’ up a story.”

  Emmett raised his eyebrows. “Making up stories?”

  The teacher chuckled. “He has an active imagination. I suspect when he got to missin’ you too much, he’d pretend you were home, and his pretendin’ got carried away. He’s never a spiteful liar.”

  Even so, Maw would have a conniption fit if she knew Dusty’d been spewing falsehoods. He’d have a talk with Dusty after school.

  Mr. Halcomb gave Emmett’s hand a squeeze, then let go. “I reckon you’re only home for a visit, though. Unless you’re plannin’ to start your own business here on the mountain.”

  He’d need more imagination than Dusty possessed to come up with a business that would sustain him in the small town. “After being away so long, I wanted some time with my family. But I plan to find a job in a city somewhere. I’m still…” How could he speak the truth without disappointing the man who’d held such high hopes for him? “Exploring.”

  Mr. Halcomb clapped Emmett on the shoulder. “Someone with your intellect and drive will be successful wherever you land. I’m proud of you, Emmett, and I’m sure your folks are, too.”

  Emmett wasn’t so sure about Paw. He seemed to have trouble looking Emmett straight in the face. But Maw was proud, so Emmett could nod without being untruthful.

  Shrill, angry shouts exploded from the play yard. Mr. Halcomb leaned sideways and peered past Emmett, frowning. “I need to bring the children in.” He gave Emmett a rueful grin and started for the door. “I’d like to talk more, though. Get caught up with you. How long will you be in Boone’s Hollow?”

  Emmett fell in step with his teacher. “I don’t honestly know. But I’m pretty sure Maw won’t mind if you come to dinner one night. I’ll check with her and have Dusty let you know which evening she says.”

  “That sounds fine, Emmett, real fine. We’ll talk at length then.” He yanked the frayed rope attached to the small brass bell hanging in the cupola on top of the building, and the bell clanged its call to study.

  The children swarmed the porch. Emmett worked his way down the stairs, getting bumped from every angle. Dusty flung himself against Emmett’s middle for a quick hug before darting around him and disappearing inside. Emmett retraced his
steps from the schoolyard to the road. As he rounded the trees, a mule emerged from the brush. Bettina Webber straddled the animal.

  Her freckled face lit. When she smiled, she really was pretty, even while wearing a pair of men’s overalls over a long-sleeved pink flowered blouse and with no shoes on her dirty feet. But in a flash, her smile turned flirtatious, and just as quickly, unease attacked Emmett.

  She rode up close to him, then reined in. “Hey, Emmett. What’re you doin’ out here?”

  The mule snuffled his shoulder, and he scratched its prickly chin. “Dusty wanted me to walk him to school. I’m heading back home now.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Betcha you’re awful glad to be done with that place. I couldn’t hardly wait ’til Pap said I could quit.”

  Emmett had noticed Bettina’s struggles. Pretty hard to miss when students of all ages shared a single room. The same sympathy he’d often experienced during their school days tiptoed through him again. He stepped free of the mule’s probing nose. “Did you graduate?”

  “Nah.” She tossed her head. “I stopped goin’ halfway through my ninth year. Maw died that winter, an’ Pap said he needed me at home. An’ since I—” She looked sharply aside and clamped her lips so tight they turned white. She sat that way for several seconds, then faced Emmett again. Her self-assured smile returned. “I got as much book learnin’ as I need to be a good wife an’ maw. Don’t see no reason to be sittin’ in that classroom anymore.”

  Maybe she was right. His mother had gone through only five years of school, and she did fine. But Maw didn’t have the struggles Bettina did.

  She sighed and patted the leather bag draped over the mule’s neck. “Well, it’s real good to see you, an’ much as I’d like to stay an’ talk, I got books to deliver. Bye for now, Emmett.” She waggled her fingers at him, then kicked the mule into motion.

  He watched her disappear into the brush, and then he set off for home. Why had Bettina not been able to absorb what she called book learnin’? The girl wasn’t dim witted. Even Emmett could tell that. So why did learning come so hard for her? The question still plagued him when he reached his family’s cabin, and he asked it of Maw when he stepped through the open doorway.

  She paused at the washstand, hands in sudsy water, and gave him a thoughtful look. “Do you recall Bettina’s maw?”

  An image of a quiet, sweet-faced woman formed in Emmett’s memory. He nodded.

  “Me an’ Rosie growed up together. A kinder, gentler soul was never born.” She took up the soapy rag and used it on a plate while she talked. “Handy with a needle? Oh, law, that girl made the prettiest hankies you ever did see, with cutwork an’ fine stitches on the hems or little flowers embroidered on all the corners. Still have the one she give me to carry on the day I married your paw. But she never did no samplers.”

  Emmett took a cup from the drainboard and put it on the shelf. “Samplers?”

  Maw grinned. “Why, with all your learnin’, you don’t know what a sampler is?”

  He chuckled. “I reckon they didn’t teach that at the university.”

  She laughed, the sound merry. “All little girls learned their ABCs by stitchin’ them in a row on cloth.” She dipped the plate in a pan of filmy water, her brows pinching into a V. “Rosie’s letters…they were always every which way.”

  Emmett took the plate and placed it on the drainboard. “Don’t most kids turn letters every which way when they’re first learning?”

  Maw nodded. “When they’re first learnin’, sure. But poor Rosie never learned how to turn ’em the right way. They stayed all mixed up until her dyin’ day.” Tears swam in her eyes. “How her maw used to switch her…left welts on her little legs that lasted for days. But none o’ that whippin’ ever made a ounce o’ difference. Rosie never did learn to read.”

  Her hands stilled in the water, and she stared out the window, as if drifting off somewhere. “I often ponder if that’s why she married Burke when she was so young. She said she loved him, but she was only fourteen when she pledged herself to him. Still a little girl. I think it’s more likely she wanted to get away from her maw an’ not hafta go to school no more, an’ Burke was her escape.”

  “But Rosie was…bright?”

  Maw jerked her attention to Emmett. Indignation burned in her eyes. “Bright as a new penny.” Then she slumped her shoulders, sadness clouding her face. “Not that she ever saw herself that way. I reckon whatever kept Rosie from understandin’ letters an’ such got passed on to Bettina. But what is it that keeps ’em from learnin’? I wish I knew. I’d try to fix it. Too late for Rosie, but Bettina’s got lots of livin’ left to do. An’ it’s a downright shame she has to go through life feelin’ as disgraceful as Rosie always did.”

  Emmett leaned down and kissed his mother’s cheek. “You’re a kind soul, too, Maw.”

  She blushed and flicked soap suds at him. “Oh…”

  He grinned. “But I don’t think you need to worry about Bettina. She seems pretty sure of herself. Even told me she knows enough to be a good wife and mother.”

  Maw’s eyebrows shot up. “She told you that? When?”

  “On the road by the school this morning.”

  “That girl…” She clicked her tongue on her teeth and shook her head. “She’s droppin’ hints, Emmett. She’s wantin’ out o’ her pap’s house, same as Rosie wanted out. ’Less I miss my guess, she’s set her sights on you.”

  Heat attacked his face. “Well, she’d better look in another direction. I don’t intend to marry Bettina Webber. I’ll come right out and tell her so if I need to.”

  Worry pinched Maw’s forehead. “Be careful. And be kind. She ain’t nearly as sure of herself as she acts.” She returned to washing dishes. She kept talking, but Emmett got the feeling she was speaking to herself more than to him. “I’m glad she got one of them WPA jobs. I keep prayin’ she’ll squirrel away the money she makes an’ use it to get herself out o’ Boone’s Holler, away from Burke. Rosie deserved better. An’ so does her daughter.”

  Emmett

  EMMETT CHANGED FROM THE SHIRT and dungarees he’d worn for his walk with Dusty into his suit. He grimaced at the slight fraying on the cuff of his right sleeve. As soon as he got a paycheck, he needed to buy a new suit. This one had about worn out its use. Of course, it depended on what kind of job he got. He might not need a suit if he ended up being a shelf stocker or a cashier or a janitor. Whatever job was open, he intended to apply for it. Or beg for it.

  With his hat covering his getting-too-long hair and determination squaring his shoulders, he walked to Gilliam’s Livery and asked to rent a horse from the livery owner.

  Kermit Gilliam smiled big, showing a wad of chewing tobacco where his bottom teeth used to be. “Sure thing, Emmett. Where you headin’?”

  “Lynch first. Then I might ride to Benham. Kind of depends on how things go in Lynch.”

  The man sauntered to a stall and slid the gate open. “I’ll give ya Red, then. He ain’t one to dawdle, an’ he can keep goin’ fer a piece without wearin’ out. Yessir, he’s a fine one.”

  Emmett fingered the coins in his pocket. He’d earned pocket money by tutoring other students in mathematics, but he’d spent most of it on train fare to get home. If he didn’t find a job soon and start earning a wage, he’d have to ask Paw for help. He hoped he wouldn’t have to stoop so low. A man with a college degree shouldn’t need to borrow money from his paw. “How much?”

  “For the whole day? Two bits.”

  Emmett counted out two dimes and a nickel and dropped the coins into Kermit’s grubby hand.

  The man pocketed the money quick and thrust the horse’s reins at Emmett. “If you come back before noon, I’ll give ya ten cents o’ that back.”

  Emmett didn’t expect to be back before noon. Maybe not even by suppertime. “That’s fine, Kermit. Do you have a saddle?�
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  “Sure do.”

  “Is it extra?”

  “Sure ain’t.” He spit into the straw at his feet. “But you gotta saddle him up your own self. Saddles an’ blankets in the tack room. Take your pick.”

  Emmett chose the least mouse-chewed blanket and saddle from the smelly, windowless room in the back corner of the barn. He hadn’t saddled a horse in at least four years, but he managed it fine and couldn’t deny a sense of satisfaction at having remembered how to cinch the girth so the knot was tight and lay flat against the horse’s belly. He figured Red would appreciate his know-how, too.

  He stuck his foot in a stirrup and swung himself onto the leather seat, then tugged Red’s reins. “All right, big fella, let’s go.”

  Red carried Emmett from the shadowy barn into the shaded street. Emmett aimed the horse for the road, his mind running ahead to Lynch’s business district and the possible places he could find a job. The door to the Blevins’ old smokehouse was propped open with a brick, and a lantern burned behind one of the newly added windows.

  An idle thought trickled through his mind. The government had hired a librarian, and she’d hired some book deliverers. Maybe she needed another person to help keep the library functioning. There was no harm in asking.

  “Whoa there, Red.” The horse obediently halted. Emmett slid from the saddle and led the horse to the smokehouse. He peeked inside. The older woman Bettina had pointed out the night of the singing sat at a large table in front of the window, applying blue cloth tape to the binding of a book. “Morning, ma’am.”

  She shifted her attention to him. “Good morning to you, young man. May I help you?”

  Emmett looped Red’s reins around a branch on the closest bush and stepped over the threshold, removing his hat. Bettina’d been right—the place smelled like ham. “Maybe. I’m Emmett Tharp. My family lives here in Boone’s Hollow.”

  She angled her head and seemed to examine him. “Are you Emil and Damaris’s older boy?”