The Librarian of Boone's Hollow Read online

  “Look for the blessings, Addie.” Mother’s sweet voice played in Addie’s memory. Tears threatened. Her lips quivered as she formed a smile. “As have I. Including being invited to stay here with you.”

  Griselda Ann zipped her focus to Addie. Affection bloomed on her round face. “I believe you’re going to prove to be a blessing to me, Addie. I’m only sorry your parents’ misfortune led to my receiving the blessing of your help and companionship.”

  “My mother would say your taking me in is God’s way of providing for me.” Addie glanced at the fabric squares stacked on the table, then at the growing blister on her thumb. The oddest thought trailed through her mind, that the blister would one day be viewed as a blessing in her life.

  “Well, let’s put these squares in the ready-to-sew basket, and then we should ready ourselves for bed.” Griselda Ann scooped up an armful of squares and headed for the hallway.

  Addie filled her arms and followed, inwardly laughing. She must be overly tired to think a blister could ever be a blessing.

  Boone’s Hollow

  Emmett

  MAYBE HE SHOULD WALK INSTEAD. It’d seemed like a good idea to get up with Paw before the sun rose and ride the company wagon into Lynch with the twenty or so men and older boys from Tuckett’s Pass and Boone’s Hollow who worked in the mine, but now Emmett wasn’t so sure.

  No one seemed too keen to have his company. Paw had snorted when Emmett came down from the loft dressed in his suit. Then he’d hurried ahead on the path, as if he didn’t want to be seen with his son. Those who were waiting, including Shay and some others who’d been at the Gilkey place last night, held their distance from him. A couple of the older men, ones who claimed Paw as a friend, spoke a greeting to Emmett and asked what he was doing out so early, but after he told them he was going to try to get a job in the offices at the Coal & Coke Company, they turned away, too.

  Emmett tried not to take offense. The folks from the hills didn’t cozy up to strangers—they never had—and he’d been gone long enough to become a stranger to most of them. But couldn’t Paw or Shay talk to him? Paw was joshing with the older men, and Shay was cutting up with the younger ones, and Emmett felt as out of place as he had his first weeks on the college campus his freshman year.

  Nervousness made his belly quiver. He shifted from foot to foot, adjusting his tie and the collar of his suit coat. “Fancy duds,” he heard one of the younger men mutter. He pushed his hands into his pockets and forced himself to stand still. No sense in calling attention to himself. He already stuck out like a daisy in a patch of thistles. But what else could he wear? His professors at the university stressed the importance of appropriate attire. One paraphrased Mark Twain’s quote about clothes making the man by adding that society has no place for those in sloppy clothing. He’d gotten to where he didn’t feel like himself unless he wore trousers and a button-down shirt.

  The crunch of wagon wheels against dirt rumbled, and a pair of small brown birds shot from a bush near the road. “Here it comes,” someone said.

  Emmett looked to the north entrance of town. A pair of white-nosed mules, heads bobbing, came through the gap in the trees. They pulled a green-painted wagon driven by a wiry little man who looked to be at least ninety years old. Everyone shuffled to the side of the road, lunch buckets clanking. The driver stopped the wagon in front of Belcher’s General Store. Paw and one of his buddies, Wiley Landrum, pulled themselves up onto the wagon seat next to the driver. The five or six men from Tuckett’s Pass already in the bed shifted to the front, and the others who’d been waiting climbed over the sides.

  Emmett crossed to the wagon and looked up at the driver. “Good morning, sir.”

  The man, his face as wrinkled as a dried plum, squinted at Emmett. “Mornin’, young feller.”

  “Do you mind if I ride along into Lynch?”

  “Ain’t no never mind to me. ’Course, it’ll depend on if you c’n squeeze in. Purty tight fit back there.”

  Muffled laughter rolled from the wagon bed.

  Emmett pretended not to hear and tipped his hat. “Thank you.” He moved to the bed and planted his foot on an iron step screwed to the wagon’s side. He pulled himself up and started to step in, but there wasn’t even space for him to plant his foot in the bed. He froze in place, one foot on the step, the other on the edge of the wagon’s warped side, hoping someone would shift enough to let him in. No one moved.

  “We need to git, young feller.” The driver’s gravelly voice seemed loud and gruff in the silence of the morning. “Climb on in if you’re goin’.”

  “Well, I…” Why hadn’t he walked to Lynch instead of waiting for the wagon? He could have saved himself this embarrassment.

  Shay, wedged in the back corner, nudged the man closest to him. “Git your big feet out o’ the way, Delmas.”

  Delmas snorted, but he pulled his heels tight against his buttocks, and Emmett placed his foot on the floor of the bed. He wriggled his other foot in, but there wasn’t enough space to sit. So he perched on the edge, holding back a grimace when the threads of his trousers caught on the rough wood. He gave Delmas a nod. “Thanks.”

  The man smirked. “Best hold tight. This thing bounces worse’n a rubber ball on a brick floor.” The others laughed.

  Emmett clamped his hands over the warped length of wood. His rear end would probably be full of splinters by the time they made it to the coal mine. The wagon lurched forward. His body jerked backward, and his hat slipped. He started to straighten it, but a mighty bump threatened to throw him. Which would be worse, losing his hat or losing his seat? He chose to keep his seat, and to his relief his hat remained in place. He gritted his teeth against the bumps and jars and prayed he’d be able to hold on until they reached Lynch.

  The men joked and bantered with one another, but none of them involved Emmett in their talk. He caught Shay glancing at him a time or two, but his old pal didn’t say a word to him. Same as he’d done last night. The twenty-minute ride down the mountain while the sky changed from gray to dusky pink seemed to take hours. Frustration built in Emmett’s chest, and stiffness attacked every muscle in his body.

  Tomorrow he would definitely walk.

  The driver guided the mules to the cave-like opening of the mine. The men leaped over the edge on both sides of Emmett’s perch, reminding him of trout escaping a net. He waited until they’d cleared the bed before straightening his stiff limbs and climbing to the ground. He reached up and straightened his hat, and a muscle in his back twinged. He groaned.

  A wry chuckle rumbled. Emmett turned his head and met the driver’s grin. The man pointed at him. “Next time ya hitch a ride, don’t be so shy about it. Jest get in. Then you won’t hafta ride the edge like you was sittin’ on a fence rail.” His face scrunched into a frown, and he scratched his head, making his few tufts of gray hair stand straight up. “You ain’t goin’ into the tunnels in your funeral suit, is ya? It’ll get all mucked up.”

  Emmett brushed the seat of his trousers with his palms. “No, sir. I’m going to talk to the mine directors about a job in the office.”

  “Ah.” The old man nodded wisely. “Well, then, you should oughta be able to stay clean. Them offices don’t open ’til eight, though, so you’re a mite early.”

  “I know. I don’t mind waiting.”

  The seven o’clock whistle blasted. Emmett clapped his hands over his ears. The pair of mules pranced in their traces, and the driver double-gripped the reins and scowled, hunching up his skinny shoulders. The whistle rang for a full ten seconds, then took another half minute or so to fade to a raspy whispering note. Even after it died, it continued to ring in Emmett’s ears. The mules snorted and wagged their heads, as if trying to shake loose the memory of the shrill attack. Emmett battled the urge to try the same tactic.

  “Hoo boy, ain’t never gonna get used to that thing. Pret’ near splits
a feller’s eardrums, an’ that’s a fact.” The driver twisted in his seat and peered down at Emmett. “Gotta switch out the wagon so’s these two ol’ beasts can be put to work haulin’ coal, but it’ll be a while before any o’ the carts come out, so I don’t gotta do it right away. You want me to ride ya over to the office buildin’? You can sit up here on the seat with me ’stead o’ ridin’ in the back.”

  “Thank you, but I think I’ll walk.” Walking would eat up some of the time, and it would let him work some of the kinks from his stiff muscles.

  “Suit yerself.” The old man snapped the reins down on the mules’ backs. The wagon groaned forward.

  Emmett followed slowly, staying out of reach of the small dust clouds swirling behind the wagon’s wheels. Even though he’d come through Lynch traveling between home and Lexington several times over the past four years, he still found himself a little awed by the town. Sure, it was small compared to Lexington, and its main street sported gaps between buildings, but it spread out a full mile’s distance, and its rock buildings were every bit as tall and showy as some on Lexington’s Main Street. He passed the two-story bathhouse, where Paw did his best to scrub himself clean before going home to Maw every evening. The US Steel Corporation must’ve invested a heap of money building this town around the mine. Everybody said the coal company intended to stay, that Lynch would become a permanent dot on Kentucky’s map. And that was good for him because he needed a job that would last through his lifetime.

  Beyond the bathhouse, a square, squat building with a shiny tin roof and a front window the size of a bed mattress sat well off the road. A pair of spindly butterfly bushes not yet in bloom guarded the front double doors. Arched gold letters as tall and broad as Emmett’s hand spelled out US Coal & Coke Company on the glass. A nervous flutter went through his stomach. This was the place.

  Emmett followed the poured concrete sidewalk to the low stoop. No lights were on inside, so he didn’t bother trying the door. He hitched up his pant legs and sat on the stoop to wait. He’d hardly had a chance to get comfortable before a tall man wearing a three-piece suit and a gray fedora, as stylish as any businessman from Lexington, came up the street. He made a crisp turn at the sidewalk and headed for the US Coal & Coke building without slowing his pace.

  Emmett quickly stood and removed his hat. The man reached the stoop, and Emmett stuck out his hand. “Good morning, sir.”

  “Good morning to you, young man.” The fellow gave Emmett a firm handshake, then reached in his trouser pocket. He withdrew a key and stepped past Emmett, aiming the key for the door lock. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, sir, I’m here to apply for a job.”

  The man clicked the lock and pocketed the key again. Hand remaining in his pocket, he faced Emmett. “The supervisor at the coal mine hires workers. You’ll want to talk to—”

  “I’m interested in an office job, sir.” Emmett cringed. He shouldn’t have interrupted, but impatience to get a job, earn money, and make use of his hard-earned degree stole his manners. He swallowed and forced a calmer tone. “That is, I’m qualified for an office job. I’m a 1936 graduate from the University of Kentucky with a bachelor of science in commerce.”

  “Did you graduate from the high school here in Lynch?”

  “No, sir. I attended the Boone’s Hollow and Tuckett’s Pass mountain school.”

  The man shook his head. “Can’t use you.”

  “There aren’t any office jobs available?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Emmett squeezed his hat, flattening the wool crown. “But I have a—”

  “Degree. Yes, I heard you.” The man gripped the brass door handle. “We give college scholarships to any young man who graduates from Lynch High School and agrees to come back here to use his knowledge in our company. We reserve our office openings for them.”

  The flutters changed to a stone weighting his gut. “You won’t consider hiring me?”

  The man’s salt-and-pepper eyebrows descended. “As I just said, our openings are for our graduates. You aren’t one of our graduates, so…”

  He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Emmett’s hope sputtered and died. He smacked his hat on his head and jammed his hands into his suit pockets. “What about in the mine? Do you reckon the supervisor would give me a job in the mine?”

  The man stared hard at Emmett for several silent seconds. Then he huffed. “Son, let me ask you the questions the supervisor will ask. First, do you have any experience in coal mining?”

  “Not firsthand, no.”

  “Do you intend to make coal mining a longtime occupation, or would you see working there as biding time until something better comes along?”

  Emmett cringed. He wished he could tell a fib, because telling the truth would surely earn him another rejection, but his conscience wouldn’t let him so much as bend the truth. “I’d rather not work the mines for the rest of my life, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “That’s what I’m asking. We train our miners not only how to extract the coal but also how to keep themselves and everyone around them safe. If we hire a fellow, we make an investment in teaching him, and we want to know our time and effort isn’t going to waste. Unless you’re fixing to stay on, to be loyal to the US Steel Corporation, we—”

  Emmett stepped off the stoop. “I understand.” He understood, but he sure didn’t like it. “Thank you for your time.”

  “You’re welcome. Good luck to you.” The man entered the building.

  Emmett stayed at the edge of the stoop and stared at the closed door. Another closed door. Another lost opportunity. “Good luck to you,” the man had said. Luck? This economic decline had stolen so much from people. Luck no longer existed.

  He stepped onto the sidewalk and sent his gaze up the street. There were other businesses. Maybe one of them would hire him. Maybe he should spend the day here, visit all the places in town, then catch a ride back to Boone’s Hollow on the company wagon. His chest went tight. He didn’t want to be ignored by the miners during another uncomfortable ride. And he didn’t want to hear another “No, thanks,” either. A fellow could take only so much rejection in one day.

  With a sigh, he turned to the road. Might as well start the long walk home.

  Lexington

  Addie

  ADDIE SET OFF for work at a quarter past nine. Her shift began at ten, and Griselda Ann—or rather Miss Collins, as Addie needed to remember to call her while on duty—said the walk from her little house to the library would take thirty minutes. Since the route wasn’t yet familiar, Addie gave herself extra time in case she got turned around somehow. Mother always said it was better to arrive early than late to social events. Addie presumed the rule applied even more stringently to places of employment. Even if her time as a library employee was quickly drawing to an end, she wanted to leave with a good recommendation, so early was better.

  She’d donned one of her most flamboyant outfits—a spring-green flared skirt that fell a modest four inches below her knees and a green-polka-dotted white blouse. Sometimes she wore the blouse tucked in, but today she’d opted to leave it out and buckled a wide black belt around her waist. Her black patent pumps, bearing a fresh coat of polish, finished the look. Felicity had once told her she looked sophisticated in the outfit, which gave Addie confidence, and she needed all the confidence she could muster. After she finished her shift at the library, she planned to revisit some of the places where she’d already been turned down for jobs. Mother’s letter claimed Daddy wasn’t giving up on finding a job, so Addie wouldn’t give up, either. Maybe they’d be more inclined to hire a girl who possessed sophistication.

  She could hope, right?

  By following the directions Griselda Ann had recited before she left the house at seven thirty that morning, Addie arrived at the library within the predicted half-hour span of t
ime. She pattered up the front steps, crossed through the building’s vestibule, and started for the little room where the time-punch machine for employees was kept.

  “Pssssst, Addie.” Griselda Ann waved her over to the main checkout desk.

  Addie changed directions and stopped on the opposite side of the desk. She smiled. “I made it just fine using your directions. Thank you.”

  Griselda Ann’s brows pinched. “I presumed you would. I have a message for you from Mrs. Hunt. She needs to see you.”

  “All right. Do you know what she wants?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Addie waited for a few seconds as Griselda Ann sat with tightly sealed lips. Addie held her hands outward. “Well?”

  The woman laughed softly. “Oh, no. She specifically said to send you to her. She’ll have to tell you herself.”

  Curiosity twined through Addie’s middle. “But—”

  “Go, Addie.”

  “Shouldn’t I clock in first?”

  Griselda Ann flicked her fingers. “Go.”

  Addie hurried toward the staircase leading to the second floor and climbed the steps. What did Mrs. Hunt want with her? Being invited to Mrs. Hunt’s office wasn’t an unusual request. The head librarian stayed involved in all aspects of the library’s operation and often delivered personal instructions or accolades or, according to some other employees, an occasional reprimand. Addie didn’t expect a reprimand. However, the last time she’d been summoned to an office, she received unexpected, distressing news. The remembrance stirred hints of apprehension, and her hand trembled slightly as she raised it and tapped on the doorframe.

  “Come in, Addie.”

  Addie entered the room and crossed to the director’s desk. The smile on the woman’s face diminished the uncertainty that had gripped Addie. She smiled in response. “Grisel—Miss Collins said you wanted to speak to me.”