The Librarian of Boone's Hollow Read online

  He shoved the list aside. “I should’ve stayed put, gone to the mines, like Paw said.”

  “What was that, ol’ bloke?”

  Emmett jerked sideways in the chair and looked over his shoulder. His roommate stood in the open doorway, grinning like the hills men did after sampling too much of their homemade corn liquor. Emmett gritted his teeth. How long had Spence been standing there watching him?

  “ ’Fraid you’ll need to repeat it. I didn’t catch it the first time.”

  “Never mind. Was talking to myself.” Embarrassment gruffed Emmett’s voice.

  Spence caught the edge of the door with his heel and sent it into its frame. “Talkin’ to yourself’s fine. So long as you don’t ask questions and then answer yourself. That’s plain loco.” He dropped his armload of books on the bed and shrugged out of his suit coat. He tossed the coat on top of the books, then ambled to the desk.

  Spence leaned on the corner, crossed his arms, and frowned at Emmett. “Studyin’ again? You put the rest of us to shame, y’know, with your read, read, read. You’ve gotta be more ready for next week’s final exams than any other fella on the whole campus. Why not let up on yourself some, Tharp?”

  Emmett fiddled with the corner of the page where he’d recorded the list of jobs. “Wasn’t studying. More like thinking. Planning.” And coming up empty.

  “Plannin’ what?”

  Emmett tilted his head and met Spence’s grin. The color of his roommate’s eyes, eyebrows, and hair matched the reddish-brown freckles dotting his entire face. Even though Spence was twenty-two years old, same as Emmett, all those freckles made him look a lot younger. He acted younger, too. Or maybe Emmett acted old. Sometimes he sure felt old.

  Spence bumped Emmett’s shoulder with his elbow. “Hey, I asked a question. Plannin’ what?”

  Even if Emmett told Spence how bleak the future looked, the other man wouldn’t understand. His family lived on a horse ranch outside Lexington, and he’d confessed early on that he only enrolled in college to get out of working all day in the stables. He said he’d rather take tests than take care of the thoroughbred quarter horses his daddy raised. Did he know how lucky he was to have a family business he could step into? Probably not.

  Emmett shrugged. “It’s not important.”

  Spence stared hard at Emmett for several seconds, then pushed off from the desk. “Well, I’m fixin’ to get some supper.” Grinning, he rubbed his flat belly. “Skipped lunch so I’d have plenty of room. Friday night fish fry in the cafeteria. My favorite. You ready to go?”

  If Spence’d had to gut and scrape scales from fish as often as Emmett had while growing up, he might not find the weekly fried fish so appealing. Besides, the dismal opportunities written in black pen on white paper had robbed Emmett of his appetite. He waved his hand. “Go ahead. I’ll see you later.”

  Spence gave him a hearty smack on the shoulder and took off toward the door. “Suit yourself. You’re goin’ to the bonfire later, though, aren’t you?”

  Emmett had forgotten about the traditional end-of-year bonfire, when students burned old reports or tests or whatever else they took a mind to. Students loved the bonfire, loved the chance to blow off steam before the pressure of finals week. They made it a rowdy affair. The whole thing seemed silly to him, but he went because his fraternity organized the event. This year he’d served as secretary for Delta Sigma Phi, so it’d look plenty funny if he didn’t show. He gave a weak nod. “I’m going.”

  Spence saluted. “Good! See you there, then.” He sauntered out, leaving the door open behind him.

  Emmett slumped low in the chair and pinched his chin. If he already had his diploma, maybe he’d burn it. Seemed a fitting act, considering how worthless the sheepskin was turning out to be.

  Addie

  WHY HAD SHE let Felicity talk her into attending the bonfire? Addie stood well away from the crackling flames and the milling throng of laughing, shouting, celebrating students. She’d wanted to post her letter to her parents, but Felicity had said she could walk to the post office any old time, but when else could she attend the end-of-year bonfire? The question had stung. Unless Daddy found a good-paying job quickly, she might never return to the university.

  Felicity had encouraged her to try for a scholarship, and she appreciated her friend’s confidence in her, but she couldn’t bank on receiving one. Not when so many students applied and only a few were awarded. No, she needed to accept the probability that there would be no more classes, no more sorority get-togethers, no more bonfires. So she’d accompanied Felicity to the sporting arena. But she found no joy in the celebration. Maybe she should return to her room, where it would be quiet, and read some more chapters from the Christie novel.

  The desire for escape won. Inching sideways around the periphery of the group, she searched the crowd of revelers for Felicity. Her roommate’s shining cap of hair should be easy to spot, even under the moonlight, but Addie made a complete circle without spotting her. Well, she’d given it her best try. She turned in the direction of the women’s dormitories, but a young man stood in her way. He seemed oblivious to her presence, his focus locked on the bonfire. She started to excuse herself and step around him, but something about him seemed vaguely familiar.

  She tipped her head and examined him from head to toe. Short-cropped brown hair—or maybe closer to blond—shone with oil and lay combed away from his forehead. His square, clean-shaven face wore a solemn, almost-melancholy expression as he peered beyond her. Attired in brown trousers and a matching double-breasted suit coat with a white shirt, no tie, he resembled any number of male students on campus. Except those attending the bonfire had shed their jackets and piled them in a heap at the edge of the field. This student held a formal pose, as if removing his jacket and joining in the fun were beyond his ability.

  Her gaze landed on the scuffed toes of his lace-up shoes, then traveled slowly upward again. When it reached his eyes, it collided with his intense scrutiny. Heat completely unrelated to the roaring flames a few yards away seared her face. She took a single step to the right, eager to flee.

  His brows pulled into a puzzled frown. “Do I know you?”

  She paused. “I…I don’t think so.” His question gave her permission to stare into his eyes. Firelight bounced on his face, giving her sporadic glimpses of his features. She couldn’t be sure if his eyes behind the glass of his round wire spectacles were green or blue, but his attention was unwavering. She almost squirmed beneath it. Within seconds she’d determined he wasn’t in any of her classes. She was equally certain she’d never seen him at any of the combined sorority and fraternity gatherings, nor in the cafeteria.

  Suddenly, he gave a little jolt and snapped his fingers. “I know where I’ve seen you. You were at—”

  Her mouth fell open, realization dawning. “The library,” she chorused with him.

  A smile broke over his face, completely transforming him. “You were there reading today, weren’t you?”

  She nodded. And he was the creep who’d stolen the most important part of the newspaper. Or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe someone else had taken it before he got to it. Maybe he wasn’t a creep after all. He didn’t seem like a creep, with firelight rippling across his face and tall, solid frame.

  “I’m Emmett Tharp.”

  “I’m Addie Cowherd.” Addie extended her hand, and his warm fingers encased it for only a brief second—a perfect gentlemanly handshake, Mother would say.

  “It’s nice to meet you.” He slipped his hands into his jacket pockets, as if settling in for a lengthy chat. “I didn’t know you were a student here.”

  Given the size of the campus and the number of students attending classes, she wasn’t surprised their paths hadn’t crossed before. What did surprise her was the niggle of regret settling in her chest. Here they were at the end of the year, and she most likely would
n’t return next year. And somehow she’d failed to make his acquaintance earlier. Getting to know him now presented a challenge for more reasons than the short amount of time remaining in the semester. The bonfire, with all its noise and revelry, made a less-than-ideal setting for conversation.

  She linked her hands behind her back and raised her voice. “I’m a junior in the College of Education.”

  “You want to be a teacher?”

  She shrugged. The courses offered the best preparation for becoming an author, but she hadn’t shared her dream with anyone besides her parents and a trusted teacher or two, and she certainly wouldn’t open up that secret part of herself to someone she’d recently met, no matter how kind and charming he appeared. “What degree are you seeking?”

  An odd look creased his face—half frustration, half sorrow. “I’m a senior, graduating with a bachelor of science in commerce.”

  A senior. So he wouldn’t be back next year either, although for a different reason. She wanted to ask whether he intended to open his own business, but a rousing cheer rose from the crowd behind her. He angled his frame slightly and peered past her, and she turned around.

  The crowd was separating, forming a circle around the dying flames. They slung their arms around one another’s shoulders and gently swayed to and fro. A male voice began to sing, “ ‘Should auld acquaintance be forgot…’ ”

  Dozens of others joined. “ ‘And never brought to mind?’ ”

  A lump filled Addie’s throat. Was it too late to join the circle? She wanted the kinship the others were experiencing. Did Emmett Tharp also wish to join in? If he went, she would go, too, and they could become part of the singing and swaying. She glanced over her shoulder, hoping to see the same longing that twined through her reflected in his expression.

  But he wasn’t there.

  She spun and surveyed the area. Finally, in the waning shadows, she spotted his retreating figure. With his hands still in his pockets, his head low and feet scuffing through the grass, his dismal posture increased the sadness settling in her heart.

  Addie

  “HURRY NOW. WE DON’T WANT to let in any flies.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Addie held one suitcase in front and the other behind her, watching both front and back as she crossed Miss Collins’s back door threshold. If she bumped the doorjamb, she might damage what appeared to be a recent coat of white paint. Miss Collins was kind enough to allow Addie to stay with her temporarily, so she’d strive to be the best houseguest ever.

  She entered a small kitchen, and Miss Collins snapped the door closed behind her. Addie placed her suitcases on the shiny clean linoleum floor. A sigh of relief eased from her throat. Carrying the packed cases the entire half-mile walk from the university to Miss Collins’s little bungalow on South Upper Street had taxed her muscles. She might not be able to lift so much as a magazine come Monday morning. At least her walk to work would now be cut in half.

  Miss Collins stepped past the suitcases and faced Addie, hands on her hips. “Are you all checked out at the dormitory?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And you made your way here with no problems?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Addie blinked several times, wincing. An uncovered bulb hung from the center of the papered ceiling on a strand of brown twisted wire. Its light glared off the white painted cabinets, white enamel stove, and white electric refrigerator. Were it not for the mottled-green linoleum covering both the floor and countertops and the green gingham curtains gracing the single window, the room would have no color at all. So different from Mother’s cheery red, yellow, and blue kitchen at home.

  Home…She no longer had a home. She swallowed a knot of sorrow.

  “I imagine it feels good to be done with another school year.”

  Addie contemplated an appropriate response. She couldn’t honestly say she felt good. After all, a half year’s efforts were lost, she had no idea when or if she’d be able to return to school, and her entire future looked bleak. Felicity had fussed at her, claiming Addie would wither up and die if she didn’t do something fun, but she’d avoided closing activities. Instead, she’d spent the last days of the school year seeking a place of employment. And failing. What would she have done if Miss Collins hadn’t offered to host her for a while? Her active imagination painted pictures in her head, and she shuddered. “I really appreciate you taking me in. I promise I won’t be a nuisance.”

  The woman laughed. “If I’d feared such, I wouldn’t have offered you a room. Let me show you where you’ll stay.” She turned and moved at a brisk pace.

  Addie grabbed the handles of her suitcases and straightened, stifling a groan as her arm muscles complained, and followed the librarian into a sparsely furnished dining room. A wide doorway on the opposite side of the room revealed a parlor with a sofa and pair of chairs, all upholstered in a dreary green velvet. The walls were papered, but the paper was so old the color had nearly faded away, leaving behind only muted smudges of what Addie surmised had once been flowers. Although the rooms appeared drab in comparison to her childhood home, she didn’t spot a speck of dust anywhere. She’d need to be extra fastidious and not offend her hostess.

  Miss Collins entered the opening of a narrow hallway, then came to a halt and turned a rueful grimace on Addie. “There are only two bedrooms in my house. When my mother passed away, bless her departed soul, I moved the sewing machine from the corner of the dining room to her bedroom. I confess there isn’t a great deal of space in there. You’ll be crammed in tight as a cork in a bottle.”

  Memories of her spacious bedroom in the house on Briar Drive in Georgetown flooded Addie’s mind. She forced herself to smile. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

  Miss Collins patted Addie’s arm. “Anything’s better than a cot at the YWCA, hmm?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And as for calling me ma’am, for the duration of your stay, I’d prefer you use my given name, which is Griselda Ann.” The woman’s dark eyebrows lowered. “When we’re not at work, of course.”

  “Of course.” Addie wouldn’t have guessed the plain woman living in a plain house would have such a lovely name. “Thank you, Griselda.”

  “Griselda Ann.”

  “Griselda Ann,” Addie repeated, commanding herself not to chortle. The only time anyone used her own full name was when she’d been up to mischief, which wasn’t often. She was willing to wager Griselda Ann never got up to mischief.

  “Well, come along now, Addie.” Griselda Ann entered the dark hallway and turned right. Addie trailed her to a closed door. Her hostess opened the door, revealing a shadowed space. She reached inside, a click sounded, and the room lit up. Griselda Ann plastered herself to the wall and held her hand in invitation for Addie to enter the bedroom-turned-sewing room.

  Addie inched sideways to the doorway, suitcases bouncing against her legs, then stopped. Her mouth fell open, and she gawked, hardly able to believe her eyes. Color—every color imaginable—exploded from all corners of the room. She took a stumbling step forward, gaze darting from ceiling-high stacks of what seemed to be articles of clothing to the sewing machine, which held a partially completed quilt, to a basket overflowing with fabric pieces, to a table wedged in the corner at the foot of the bed and weighted down with…something. Curiosity coiling through her, Addie placed her suitcases on the multicolored patchwork quilt covering the bed and edged her way around to the table. Quilt tops. Dozens of them, all folded and stacked like a tower of pancakes.

  She turned an astounded look on Griselda Ann. “You made these?”

  Pride glimmered in the woman’s tawny-brown eyes. “Indeed, I did.” She crossed the threshold but remained just inside the door. “Folks from my church, and some others in town who want to be helpful, bring clothes that are too worn to wear. I cut the clothes into pieces, then sew the pieces together again. About once a
month, I take the tops to church, and a group of women put batting between pairs of them, bind them, and tie them together. Then we hand them out to people in need.”

  Addie ran her hand down the stack of tops, silently counting. “You made all of these in a month?”

  “I did.”

  Addie would never ask, but she couldn’t help wondering how someone who moved so slowly at work had accomplished such a feat. Her expression must have communicated her confusion, though.

  A grin lifted the corners of Griselda Ann’s thin lips. “I live alone, Addie. Nobody needs my attention, so I spend nearly every waking minute that I’m not at the library sitting right there”—she pointed at the round stool in front of the sewing machine—“putting pieces together.”

  Addie gaped at the stack. Griselda Ann must stay awake most of the night. Suddenly, the woman’s sloth-like behavior at the library made sense.

  Griselda Ann sighed. “Oh, none of these quilts are works of art, not like the pretty one on the bed here that my mama made before I was born, but a person who needs a blanket to ward off the winter chill doesn’t much care what it looks like.”

  “But they are pretty.” Addie lifted the top one, unfolded it, and held it in front of her, admiring the perfectly matched squares of various fabrics. “They remind me of Joseph’s coat of many colors.”

  “Why, that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” Tears winked in Griselda Ann’s eyes.

  If she’d never heard anything kinder than Addie’s simple comment, this woman truly needed encouragement. Addie impulsively scurried across the narrow slice of open floor and gave her hostess a hug. A worry tiptoed through her heart, and she pulled back. “Will my being here interfere with your blanket making?”

  “Well, it might. Because I won’t intrude upon your privacy.” Griselda Ann sucked in her lips, brow furrowing. She peered in the direction of the sewing machine, and Addie believed she witnessed longing in the woman’s expression.