The Librarian of Boone's Hollow Page 31

  The library door was open, but she didn’t walk right in. She sneaked up next to the stoop and peeked around the corner. Then she whisked back out. Nanny Fay was in there with Emmett. The two of them were sitting at the table, talking soft and chummy. Her palms started to sweat. Bad enough to face Emmett, but if he started hollering and Nanny Fay heard it all, Bettina’d run to the hills and never come back.

  She pulled in a big breath of the morning air, smoothed her hands down her rumpled britches—she didn’t have no clothes to put on except the ones she’d worn yesterday and slept in last night, since nobody’d let her go to her cabin—and gave her head a little toss. Somehow the gesture didn’t perk her like it usually did. She puffed her cheeks and blew out the air, then zipped around the corner and pasted on a big smile. “Mornin’.”

  Emmett and Nanny Fay both turned. Both smiled. Emmett patted the back of Nanny Fay’s hand and stood. He leaned down to the old lady. “I’ll be praying.” Then he headed for Bettina.

  She instinctively shrank a little, but he stopped a couple or so feet away and slid his hands into his pockets.

  “Addie took your route today, so you’ll be cutting flower pictures from the magazines for a scrapbook. Before you get started, though, you’ve got a visitor.” He nodded his head toward Nanny Fay. “I’ll let you two talk.” He went out the door.

  Bettina gawked after him, her heart pounding like a woodpecker driving its beak into a tree. Why’d he go and leave her all alone with the old witch lady? Was he getting even by letting Nanny Fay cast a spell on her? She stayed frozen in place, afraid to move in case something bad happened.

  Nanny Fay screeched the second chair from the table, and Bettina near jumped out of her britches. “Come sit down, Bettina. I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

  She sure talked soft. Nice. The way she did on her porch when Bettina brought her books. The way Damaris Tharp talked. The way Maw had talked. The remembrances urged Bettina across the floor, but she gave a wide berth and slid into the chair’s seat from the opposite side. She pressed her palms together and jammed them between her knees, then hunched her shoulders, making herself as small as possible. She cleared her dry throat. “Whatcha want with me?”

  Nanny Fay fixed her pale blue eyes on Bettina. They looked watery. Sad. “I wanna tell you I’m sorry.”

  Bettina jerked. She scrunched her eyebrows. “Sorry…for what?”

  “For havin’ your maw’s dress in my hands when you come in yesterday. I reckon that gave you a real start.”

  It sure had. “Where’d you get it, anyway?”

  “It got left at my cabin one night.”

  Bettina eyeballed the woman through squinty eyes. “That don’t make sense. Why would my maw go to your cabin?”

  Nanny Fay wiggled around in her chair and put her hands on the table. She laced her fingers together, and if she didn’t for all the world look like she was fixing to pray. “Bettina, you might not wanna believe this, but me an’ your maw was real good friends.”

  Bettina shot her eyebrows high. “What? Nuh-uh.”

  The old lady chuckled. “Oh, yes. She was just a little bitty thing, not even half your age now, when she come to my place the first time. She’d took a fall, skinned up her knees an’ the heels of her hands. She was bleedin’, an’ she was upset an’ scared.”

  Probably scared ’cause she’d come face to face with a witch.

  “I cleaned her wounds an’ put some soothin’ oil on ’em, then bandaged her up. When I did, I noticed…I noticed…”

  The water in her eyes started dripping down her face. Tears. Was she crying? Bettina gulped and hunched a little lower, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Nanny Fay’s tears.

  “I noticed she had marks. Bruises, Bettina. She had bruises.”

  Cold shivers attacked. Bettina’s arms broke out with gooseflesh.

  “Some old, some newer. Somebody’d hurt her again an’ again. Like to broke my heart.”

  “Who done it?” Bettina didn’t even realize she’d spoke aloud until she heard her voice.

  Nanny Fay tipped her head to the side, like she was all of a sudden too weary to hold it up. “Honey, her mama did it. But I didn’t find that out for a long time, ’cause Rosie—your maw—didn’t want me to know.” She sighed, looked down at her hands for a few seconds, then set her watery gaze on Bettina again. “But after that day, she kept a-turnin’ up at my place. Not every day. Sometimes not for weeks at a time. But I’d be doin’ my chores or sittin’ on my porch readin’ my Bible, an’ there she’d be. For years she come visitin’. Even after she married your pap. Even after you was born she came.”

  Bettina shook her head. “She couldn’ta done that. Pap, he wouldn’ta let her.”

  Two more tears went rolling. And Bettina knew without a doubt this lady wasn’t no witch. Everybody knew witches were too dried up to shed tears. Pap’d been wrong.

  “You’re right that your pap didn’t want her seein’ me. That’s why when you got big enough to put words together, she quit comin’. She was scared if you said where she’d been, there’d be trouble. But you got big enough to go to school. When you was at the schoolhouse an’ your pap was at work, she’d come. Her an’ me, we made blueberry jam together.”

  More goose bumps popped up, but these were a different kind. She whispered, “Blueberries…”

  Nanny Fay unfolded her hands and touched Bettina’s wrist with one finger. Hardly a touch at all, like a butterfly lighting, but it made Bettina go warm all over. “When I seen them bruises on you yesterday, I remembered your maw. I remembered her bruises. I remembered her mama wasn’t the only one who hurt her. An’ I knew I had to tell you somethin’.”

  Without even meaning to, Bettina leaned closer to the woman. “Tell me what?”

  “You’re loved, Bettina. You’re loved by God, who wants to be your Father. You’re loved by the Savior, who wants to forgive your sins. I know you’re huntin’ for love. I’ve seen you lookin’ for it, tryin’ to earn it from your pap, tryin’ to coax it out o’ Emmett. An’, honey, you don’t gotta keep earnin’ or coaxin’. All you gotta do is look to heaven an’ ask Jesus for it, an’ it’ll be yours.”

  Bettina stared into Nanny Fay’s teary eyes. Something glowed in there. Something Bettina hadn’t seen in four years…love. Then she couldn’t see very good anymore because her own eyes were all watery.

  She sniffed and rubbed her nose. “Ain’t no way God loves me. Not like He did Maw. Or He does Emmett or…or Addie.” Or maybe even Nanny Fay. “I’m too stupid an’ clumsy. I ain’t worth—”

  “You’re worth everything to God, Bettina, an’ don’t you forget it. He wove you together in your maw’s womb, an’ in His eyes you are wonderfully made. You don’t have to believe me. You can see it in the Bible your own self.”

  Bettina hung her head. She could look at the words, but they wouldn’t say nothing to her. They never had.

  A warm hand cupped her chin and lifted her face. Her gaze met Nanny Fay’s tender smile. “Honey, I know you have the same trouble your maw did. Letters, they didn’t make no sense to her. But I read those words to her when she was a little thing, an’ she believed ’em. I want you to believe ’em, too.”

  Bettina swallowed. She nodded.

  “An’ somethin’ else. Your maw’s gone, but a part o’ her is livin’, an’ if I can, I wanna help her little gal.” Nanny Fay’s hand dropped away. “If you’ll let me.”

  Bettina wrapped her arms over her middle. Her stomach was jumping like a whole creek full of frogs was inside there. “Whadda you wanna do?”

  “You shouldn’t stay with somebody who hurts you. I got room in my cabin. I want you to move in with me. I ain’t young anymore, an’ I don’t know how long I got ’til the Lord calls me home. I don’t got children to pass my cabin an’ plunder to, but I loved your maw—loved her like she was m
y own little gal—an’ I’d like you to have those things when I’m put in the ground.”

  Bettina’s mouth fell open. “Why would you go an’ give me your cabin? I never did nothin’ nice to you. Never really talked to you or…or…” She hung her head. If she’d known Nanny Fay had been so good to Maw, would she have treated the old lady better? Shame fell over her. No. She wouldn’t have risked having the townsfolk look at her the way they looked at Nanny Fay. The way Pap looked at her, like she wasn’t even worth seeing.

  Nanny Fay put her hand on Bettina’s arm. “I want you to have it, Bettina.”

  Bettina hunched her shoulders so tight she thought she might close up like a pill bug. “I don’t deserve you bein’ nice to me.”

  “I don’t deserve God bein’ nice to me, but He is. He sent me your maw when I was needin’ a child to love. He’s give me lots o’ grace. Least I can do is show grace to you.”

  Bettina lifted her head. “What’s that mean—grace?”

  “Grace is what God does best. It’s showin’ love an’ forgiveness, even to folks who don’t deserve it.”

  Bettina fiddled with a new tear in her sleeve. She probably got it last night when she was pushing Mule through brambles and trees. Her insides felt all tore up, too. But somehow, what Nanny Fay said made her feel like maybe some things inside were mending. Why hadn’t she ever noticed how kindly Nanny Fay was? Most folks talked bad about her, wouldn’t give her so much as a howdy-do, but if somebody was ailing and needed help, she gave ’em her cures. Nanny Fay gave grace. And she’d loved Maw.

  Bettina looked up into Nanny Fay’s eyes. “I wanna come stay with you.”

  Nanny Fay made a happy gasp, and she pressed her palms to her heart. “Oh, honey…”

  Maw used to call her honey. The name made Bettina go all warm inside. She wanted to help Nanny Fay feel that way, too. She’d said lots of mean things, but she could fix at least one of ’em.

  “Nanny Fay? That blueberry jam didn’t taste like dirt. It tasted like happiness.”

  Black Mountain

  Addie

  “YOO-HOO IN THE HOUSE!” ADDIE held tight to Mule’s reins and kept him at the edge of the woods. She’d learned not to enter people’s yards unless they invited her. But a person was allowed to holler for attention. Mother wouldn’t approve of a lady yelling across a yard, but things were different here in the hills.

  The cabin door creaked open, and Mrs. Hinson stepped out. A teenage girl and two little boys came, too. The littlest boy climbed the railing and clung to the post cut from a sapling’s trunk. He reminded Addie of a little monkey. Mrs. Hinson’s hands went to her hips. She was a big-boned woman, and the pose gave her a fierce appearance.

  “You again? Didn’t I tell you not to bring no books here?”

  “Yes, ma’am, you did. And I didn’t bring you books.”

  The little boy on the railing hopped down and stomped his foot. “Aw, Maw!”

  She cupped the back of his head with her large hand and propelled him toward the door. “Git inside, Jamie. Mercy, Sam, you go in, too.” The children obeyed, casting curious looks toward Addie over their shoulders. The woman glared at Addie again. “Then what you doin’ here?”

  “I came to ask a question.”

  Mrs. Hinson moved to the edge of the porch. “What question?”

  Addie sent up a silent prayer of gratitude for the woman’s interest. “May I come up a little closer so I don’t have to yell?” She patted Mule’s neck. “This old fellow doesn’t much like me yelling in his ear.”

  The mule twitched his ears as if adding agreement.

  Mrs. Hinson waved her hand. “C’mon up, then, but stay on your mule’s back. I only got time for a short talk.”

  Addie grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Boone’s Hollow

  Emmett

  EMMETT PROPPED HIMSELF against the library doorjamb and watched for Mule. As soon as Addie got back, he’d drop into his cot and sleep until tomorrow morning. Well, he’d sleep after he had a chance to talk with Addie. She needed a warning before she returned to Nanny Fay’s.

  Mule—being ridden and not led—came clopping from around the bend at the head of the road. Addie sat on his back, as regal as a princess on a tasseled litter. She must have spotted him, because she raised her hand high and waved, smiling big. The corners of his lips tugged upward of their own accord, and he stepped off the stoop and met the mule on the patch of ground outside the library.

  Addie handed him the bulky pack. “Were you worried about me?”

  “Not so much worried as curious.” He flopped the pack over his shoulder. The thing was heavy. He patted it, offering her a sympathetic grimace. “Did you bring ’em all back?”

  She laughed and slid to the ground. “Sort of. I brought back some of what you sent today, but I retrieved some that had been delivered previously.”

  He jolted in surprise. The motion unbalanced him, and he took a stumbling sideways step, gaping at her. “Some folks traded with you?”

  She nodded, smiling so big her cheeks were like rosy apples. “Mm-hmm!” She slipped her hand through his elbow and guided him to the library, jabbering as animatedly as Glory or Alba did with the other. “Mrs. Hinson swapped with me, which made her little Jamie turn cartwheels. Mrs. Woodward and Mrs. Petty wouldn’t let me come in their yards, but Mrs. Retzel, Mrs. Grimes, and Mrs. Harp all traded with me and agreed to help me with my project.”

  Emmett emptied the pack onto the table. “Project? What project?”

  Addie’s eyes sparkled like a firefly’s flash at midnight. “When you showed me the story I’d written about Nanny Fay this morning, I was so thrilled. Her life, her ability to overcome hardship, is such an inspiration.” She paced back and forth, her hands stirring the air. “I started thinking…every life is a story. And the lives of these folks who live on Black Mountain are so unique, so rich in tradition. Someone should record the stories for future generations. It was almost as if God bopped me over the head and instructed me to use my love of writing to benefit the community.”

  He followed her with his gaze, listening not only to her words but also to her passion. Seeing not only her enthusiasm but also her heart.

  She spun to face him and threw her arms wide. “Think of it, Emmett. The collected memories of the folks who call Boone’s Hollow and Tuckett’s Pass their home could be compiled in a book and kept here in the library. Friends, neighbors—enemies, even—could read one another’s stories and learn from them. If they understand one another, won’t they be more accepting? More compassionate? More…” Her arms fell to her sides. Her smile faded. She scuffed to a chair and plopped into it. “You think it’s silly, don’t you?”

  Her question stole his ability to remain upright. He yanked out the second chair and sat. “No. No, Addie, not at all. Why would you say that?”

  “You’re staring at me as if I’ve suddenly broken out with green spots.”

  He laughed. “Green spots are good. Especially on that one dress you have. Or is it a green dress with white spots? I don’t remember now. But you’re really pretty in it.” He must be overly tired to let something like that come out of his mouth. He grinned at the pink flush climbing her cheeks. He took her hand. “Addie, I don’t think it’s silly. I think it’s a wonderful idea. I’d actually considered the benefit of hosting a weekly story night. At the time, I was bemoaning the absence of the story you’d written about Nanny Fay.”

  She tipped her head and examined him. “Really?”

  “Really. I’d like to talk more about it with you, but right now I’m very sleepy and trying hard to stay awake.”

  She stood. “I should go, then. But may I start writing down people’s stories?” She cringed. “I probably should have asked that before I brought it up to the folks on Bettina’s route. I guess I got carried away.”

  He
tugged her hand, and she sat again. “You said it seemed as if God gave you the idea. He’s a much higher authority than I am, so you need to heed His directions.”

  She blew out a breath, and her smile returned. “Oh, good. Mrs. Retzel, especially, was excited to tell me about her family. That’s why I was late coming in. She wanted to start right away.”

  “Then I think you should.” He yawned and idly ran his thumb back and forth on her knuckles. “You know, Addie, this library program was started to give jobs to people who were having a hard time finding them because of the country’s financial hardships.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  “Which means…” He hoped he could keep his thoughts together long enough to get them all said before he fell asleep. She was starting to look fuzzy around the edges. “When the economy improves, the program will end. This economic depression can’t last forever.”

  “I should hope not!”

  He held up his hand in a mute bid for her silence. “But there are a little over a hundred families living in and around Boone’s Hollow and Tuckett’s Pass. If you plan to write all their stories, you might need to stay here even after the library program closes.”

  She bit the corner of her lip and stared at him, her expression pensive.

  “You might need to make Boone’s Hollow your home. Or at least have a tie to it that brings you back again and again, until all the memories are collected.” He put his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” His eyelids felt as heavy as a filled book satchel. They refused to stay open. “What I’m saying, Addie, is…” He yawned. “Is…”