The Librarian of Boone's Hollow Read online

  “One moment, miss.”

  Addie tapped her foot and sent surreptitious glances over her shoulder while she waited for a connection. When she thought her chest might burst from impatience, a voice crackled in her ear. “Georgetown. Your number, please.”

  Addie recited her family’s number and pressed the phone tight against her ear while shifting from foot to foot. She willed Mother to answer quickly and ease her fears, as she’d done since Addie was a child of six. Even though she hadn’t been born to Penrose and Fern Cowherd, they’d always treated her as if she had. How she loved and appreciated them for taking in a sad little orphaned girl and giving her such a grand life.

  “Miss?”

  Addie groaned. The operator’s voice again. Which meant the line must be busy. Sociable Mother was probably talking to one of her many friends.

  “That number is not in service.”

  Addie drew back and frowned at the telephone. Had she given the wrong series of numbers? Granted, she hadn’t called for quite a while, but surely she hadn’t forgotten her parents’ number. She closed her eyes and searched her memory. No, she’d been correct. “Are you sure you connected it properly?”

  A huff met her ear. “Yes, miss, I’m sure. The number is not in service.”

  Maybe the telephone was broken. Telephones could break, couldn’t they? Addie took a slow breath, forcing her racing pulse to calm. Daddy would be at the bank. Although she hated to bother him at work, this was an emergency. “All right, then, please dial Georgetown Citizens Bank.” She gave the number and gnawed a hangnail on her thumb, her pulse galloping.

  “Citizens Bank. May I help you?”

  Addie didn’t recognize the man’s voice, but she’d been away long enough to forget many of her father’s coworkers. At least she’d reached the right place. “Yes. I’d like to speak to Mr. Cowherd, please.”

  “Penrose Cowherd?”

  How many men with the surname Cowherd worked at the bank? “Yes, Penrose Cowherd.”

  “He’s no longer employed here, miss.”

  Addie’s legs turned to jelly. She slumped against the wall and slid down until her bottom met the narrow bench. She clung to the telephone receiver the way a drowning man gripped a life preserver. “What do you mean he isn’t employed there? He’s been employed there my whole life.” Except for the two-year period when the bank was forced to close its doors. But the moment they’d opened again, the president had put Daddy back to work.

  “Am I speaking to Addie?”

  She managed a raspy yes.

  “Addie, this is Mr. Bowles.”

  Oh, yes, Mr. Bowles—a middle-aged man with coal-black hair and a mustache to match. He’d given her clove-flavored candy sticks on visits to the bank when she was a little girl. She could speak freely with him. “Mr. Bowles, I don’t understand. Why is Daddy not employed there anymore?”

  “The bank got bought out. The new owner let go any man older than fifty-five. Your daddy’s in his sixties, so…”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Last October.”

  “October?” She squawked the word. Seven months ago? How could she not have known? Yes, Daddy had been home her entire Christmas break. But when she asked why he wasn’t going to work, he kissed her cheek and said, “I’d rather spend the time with you, sugar dumplin’.” She’d never suspected he wasn’t telling the full truth. “They probably can’t afford to keep the telephone connected.”

  She didn’t realize she’d spoken the thought until Mr. Bowles’s voice rumbled in her ear. “They lost the house a month ago. According to bank gossip, they took a room in Mrs. Fee’s boardinghouse.”

  Addie envisioned the huge clapboard building on a rise at the edge of town. With peeling paint, missing spindles on its porch railing, and a dirt yard dotted with weeds, the Fee boardinghouse was the saddest looking dwelling Addie had ever seen. Even sadder than the ramshackle orphans’ home where she’d spent a dismal nine months before Mother and Daddy adopted her. Tears pricked, and she bit the inside of her lip—the tactic she’d used since childhood to prevent herself from crying.

  “I can give you the number there, if you want it.”

  She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the wooden barrier. Her chest ached. She could hardly bear to think of her beloved parents residing in a room in the Fee boardinghouse.

  “Addie? Do you want the boardinghouse’s number?”

  If she didn’t say something, Mr. Bowles would think she’d hung up. She swallowed a knot of agony and forced her tight vocal cords to speak. “Yes. Thank you.” She didn’t have anything on which to write, but she chanted the number to herself as she hung up and then hooked her finger in the dial.

  But she didn’t turn it. She stared at the wall, puckering her brow.

  Why hadn’t Daddy let her know things were so bad? Why hadn’t Mother told her they’d moved? Anger churned in her belly. She wasn’t a child to be coddled anymore. They should have been honest with her. How cruel to let her find out on her own. She expected better from her ordinarily loving parents. Even if they couldn’t call, they could have written. They should have—

  She jolted. Maybe they had written. When had she last visited her mail cubby? She cringed. Six weeks ago, at least. Caught up in sorority activities, studying, and other end-of-year programs and events, she hadn’t even thought about checking for letters from home.

  Guilt chased away the anger. She smacked the receiver into its cradle, bolted from the telephone booth, and headed for the mail cubbies.

  Addie

  HOLDING HER BREATH, ADDIE LEANED down and peered into her mail cubby. Three letters waited in her box. Her breath burst free on a little cry of regret.

  She pulled them out. A quick glance confirmed all were from her parents. She pressed the envelopes to her aching chest and bit the inside of her lower lip. Hard. Punishingly hard. When they hadn’t received a reply to their missives, Mother and Daddy must have thought she didn’t care at all. And they were right to make such a presumption. How could she have been so neglectful?

  She arranged the envelopes in chronological order according to the post office date stamps but then impulsively slapped the most recent one, sent the third of May, on top. She would read it first, although she already surmised what she would find inside, given her conversations with Dean Crane and Mr. Bowles.

  Likely, the letter would confirm no money was coming. She wouldn’t be allowed to take her final examinations. The entire semester, all the studying and completed assignments, was wasted. Sadness—or was it anger?—struck with force. Facing Dr. Crane and admitting that her parents were unable to pay the bill would require courage. Maybe she wouldn’t meet with him after all. What was the use?

  With the letters gripped firmly in her hand, she set a straight path for Patterson Hall, ignoring the winding sidewalks and crossing the recently mowed grass instead. Students were discouraged from treading upon the lush lawns, and she’d always made use of the established walkways. But she wasn’t a student any longer, and therefore, the rules didn’t apply to her. Besides, if she didn’t reach her room quickly, she might not be able to hold back the tears pressing for release. She’d nearly bitten through the tender skin behind her lip, and it wasn’t helping. If she was going to cry, she would do it in private.

  She reached the women’s dormitory, trotted through the foyer, clattered up the staircase, then burst into her room. Felicity leaped up from the desk in the corner and spun toward the door, her blue eyes wide and her slender hand pressed to her lace bodice.

  “What are you doing here?”

  They asked the question at the same time. Felicity sounded confused, but aggravation tinged Addie’s tone. She tamped down the unwelcome emotion and spoke more kindly. “Why aren’t you in class?”

  “Professor Dunbright had a toothache and canceled. So I
decided to study for my biology examination, even though the subject positively bores me to tears.” Felicity perched sideways on the chair, draped her hands over the chair’s ladder back, and rested her chin on her knuckles. “Tell me about your meeting with Dean Crane. Was his office as dark and spooky as my guys say?” Felicity always referred to the half dozen boys who regularly ran in their circle of friends as her guys. Sometimes Addie found it endearing, and other times childish. In her present mood, the reference rankled.

  “It was dark but hardly spooky.” Addie plopped onto the corner of her unmade bed, sliding the letters from Mother under the rumpled sheets. “I keep telling you not to listen to the guys. They like to exaggerate.”

  “I know.” Felicity wrinkled her nose, giggling. “But they’re so cute. I can’t ignore them.”

  Addie lowered her head and fiddled with the envelopes, stifling a sigh. How had she and Felicity formed such a tight bond, given their many differences? Felicity was an active member of the arts-and-theater sorority, while Addie had pledged the literary sorority. Felicity was flighty and prone to giggles, but Addie—having been raised by loving but older, no-nonsense parents—rarely indulged in giggling or impulsive behavior. If thinking before speaking was a sport, Felicity would always be at the bottom of the heap. Even so, Addie had grown to love her roommate as a sister, and she didn’t doubt Felicity felt the same way about her. Could she trust her with this recent, unsettling news?

  She looked up and started to speak, but Felicity was bent over the desk again, apparently studying. Knowing how difficult it was for the girl to stay focused for any length of time, she chose not to disturb her. She slid the latest letter from beneath the sheets and carefully opened the flap. After stretching out on her side with her back to Felicity, she removed the sheets of Mother’s flowered stationery from the envelope and unfolded them.

  Our dearest Adeladybug…

  The childhood nickname took her back to rosy days of love and laughter. How writing this letter must have pained Mother, whose kindness was such that she couldn’t even swat a fly without feeling guilty for ending its life. Tears filled Addie’s eyes, and she blinked to clear them.

  I’m sorry to send so many dismal missives. We are sure you are reeling and uncertain how to respond. Yet your daddy and I believe you are old enough to accept these realities and need to be aware of how our lives have so rapidly changed. Or perhaps not so rapidly, as we have been on a slow descent for quite some time.

  You likely noticed the new address on the envelope. We no longer have our house on Briar Drive. The bank foreclosed on it. We are sad, but we aren’t bitter. After all, we had many happy years there, and the bank is only doing what it must to recover its money. If we’d more prudently used our reserve when Daddy lost his job in ’30, perhaps things would be different, but one cannot go back in time. So we choose to move forward and look for the blessings.

  Addie smiled. So many times she’d heard Mother say, “Look for the blessings, Addie.” Mother believed the promise in Romans 8:28 that all things—even the hard things of life—worked for the good of the believer. Mother was the most steadfast believer Addie knew. She’d taught Addie to pray and instilled in her the habit of reading from God’s Word at the start of the day. Maybe when Addie grew up all the way, she would be as strong in faith as her mother.

  Her smile faded, though, when she reread, “If we’d more prudently used our reserve when Daddy lost his job in ’30…” During those two years, when the bank’s doors remained locked and Daddy was without a job, they had continued to pay for her ballet and piano lessons, allowed her sweets from the candy shop every Saturday, bought her new dresses each season. Had they not indulged her, would they have had the funds to save the house? Guilt nibbled at her, and she lifted the letter again.

  Our biggest concern now is for you. Our room here at the boardinghouse is spacious enough to accommodate our bedroom furniture and our favorite chairs from the parlor, so we have a sitting area in which to relax. With photographs and a few favorite pieces of bric-a-brac surrounding us, we’ve made it a cheerful place, but it is only one room. If you were a little girl, we could tuck a cot in the corner for you; however, you’re far too grown up to share a room with your parents. The boardinghouse is full—we were fortunate to secure this room. My tears flow as I write, but I don’t know where you will stay when you return to Georgetown.

  Daddy is searching for employment, and you know how determined he is. As soon as he is working and we’ve been able to save a little money, we will move into a house with a second bedroom for our sweet little ladybug. You haven’t been cast out forever. (Daddy says to assure you that the books from his study, all your belongings, and the furniture from your room are safely stored in the loft of Preacher Finley’s barn. We sold many items from the house, but Daddy adamantly refused to sell your beloved books or anything else of importance to you, and I agreed with him.)

  An image formed in her head of her parents—gentle Mother, proud Daddy—carefully saving the things that mattered to her but selling their furniture and personal effects to strangers or, even worse, to their neighbors. The indignity of such an event…Why had God allowed them to suffer so? Tears filled her eyes again. She bit down until she tasted blood, but no amount of biting on her lip could stem the tide. A sob broke from her throat, a second burst out behind it, and she dissolved into a wailing mess.

  Feet pattered on the floor, and warm arms surrounded her. “Addie, Addie…” Felicity rocked her the way Mother had when Addie was small and frightened by a storm. “What is it, dear one? Did Dean Crane say something to frighten you? Oh, I should have paid more attention to you than to my silly biology book. I’m so sorry.”

  Her parents were burdened with a guilt they shouldn’t have to bear. She wouldn’t leave Felicity to suffer self-recrimination. She pulled loose and wiped her face with the corner of her sheet. “It isn’t your fault. Of course you need to study. I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re more important to me than any old test ever could be.” Felicity pushed a strand of hair from Addie’s cheek, then caught hold of her hands. Her full lips formed a sympathetic pout. “I’ve never seen you cry. Something must be horribly wrong. Please tell me. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  Addie sniffed hard, her lower lip wobbling. “I doubt there’s anything you can do, but I’ll tell you anyway.” She relayed her conversations with the dean and Mr. Bowles and details from Mother’s letter. As Addie spoke, Felicity’s mouth fell open and her eyebrows shot so high they nearly disappeared beneath her carefully coiffed bangs. Her explanation complete, Addie hung her head and shrugged. “So, there you have it. I’m…expelled, and I have nowhere to go.”

  “Barred from class and even from the cafeteria? How uncivilized! What do they expect you to do, starve to death?” Felicity bolted to her feet and paced back and forth in the narrow space between the beds, waving her arms. “The dean of students is supposed to defend students, not defeat them. If Ol’ Ichabod won’t do his job, then I’ll start a petition. I’ll organize a protest. I’ll paint banners and assign students to march in front of the administration building while calling for—”

  Addie grabbed Felicity’s arm and pulled her onto the mattress. “You’ll do no such things.”

  “But when people know what’s happened to you, they’ll—”

  “No, Felicity.”

  Felicity twisted loose and glared. “Yes, Addie. It must be done. You must be vindicated.”

  Addie took hold of Felicity’s shoulders. “Listen to me. The school can’t allow me to attend classes or eat meals for free. How would that be fair to the students who are paying?” What about the balance she still owed? How would she pay the outstanding bill? She dropped her hands to her lap and heaved a huge sigh. “It’s not Dean Crane’s fault. He’s only doing his job.”

  Fel
icity blinked rapidly. “But, Addie, you’re my best friend in the whole wide world. How can I sit here and do nothing to help?”

  Addie sent her a sidelong look. “Do you really want to help?”

  “You know I do!”

  “Then”—Addie offered a weak grin—“could you maybe sneak me a sandwich from the cafeteria? I didn’t have breakfast, and I’m famished.”

  Felicity rose so quickly the mattress bounced. “A sandwich? Oh, no, my dear, I’ll bring you something hot and hearty, even if I have to carry it out in my pockets.” She marched to the door, hands clenched into fists and arms pumping. “Wait here. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” She paused in the doorway and cast a sorrowful look over her shoulder. “I wish I had lots of money. I’d pay your bill.”

  Addie’s heart rolled over in her chest. “You’re a good friend, Felicity. Thank you.”

  With a nod, she scurried out of the room.

  Addie picked up Mother’s letter. She sniffed, cleared the moisture from her eyes with a sweep of the back of her hand, and focused on Mother’s precise penmanship.

  Your daddy and I are praying for you, asking God to comfort your aching heart and to provide for you. We remind ourselves that He is better equipped to meet your needs than we are, and we trust Him to guide and protect you. I do hope you’ll find the time to write. Even if you only want to rail at us and complain, we still want to hear from you.

  We love you forever and always,

  Mother

  Addie read the other two letters, then folded them all together. She held the stack against her bodice and eased backward until her spine met the mattress. Her feet dangling toward the floor, she stared at the painted ceiling. When she was very young, before Mother and Daddy adopted her from the orphanage, she often lay awake at night and stared out the window at the sky, searching for a falling star on which to make a wish. The wish was always the same. She whispered it now. “I wish I had a daddy and mama to love me.”