by Pamela Morsi
“Maybe that’s my problem,” Scott said with a laugh. “Once burned, twice shy.”
“It was the luck of the draw,” Amos assured him. “You’re older, wiser now. And the test driving can be important...as well as entertaining.”
“Test driving wasn’t that much of a help last time,” Scott pointed out. “And I’m not sure how well this town would tolerate a lot of test driving among the populace.”
Amos managed a genuine smile at that. “Couldn’t you try to stir up a scandal,” he suggested. “I’d see it as a personal favor. Otherwise the talk this summer will be nothing but wheat, wheat, wheat.”
Scott grinned. “Todd Philpot was in here late yesterday on his way back from the elevator. His moisture content tested at twenty-two.”
Amos nodded. Moisture content, the amount of water held within the grain was the scientific determinant for harvesting time. So many factors affected it and none of them were within the farmer’s control.
“It’s pretty dry out there this morning,” Amos said. “But I saw some clouds bunching up out to the west. They’ll bring in humidity if nothing else.”
“And if they don’t,” Scott pointed out, teasing, “it’ll be nothing but wheat, wheat, wheat.”
“Now you’re plainly being mean.”
Scott laughed.
“I honestly look forward to the harvest,” Amos said. “I simply prefer doing the work over talking about it.” He finished his cup and stood to leave. “Speaking of work, that’s my cue. I need to be in Hadeston by ten, so I’d better get on the road.”
“Hmm, the road to Hadeston. Talk about your wheat, wheat, wheat.”
Six
129.9 Origin and Destiny of Individual Souls
Vivian Sanderson walked across the cemetery with the new librarian’s dog trailing on a leash. She was pretty sure that dog walking wasn’t allowed, but this was the only place she wanted to walk. And she figured if somebody called her on it, she could drag out her best “ditz” persona and claim total ignorance. She was utilizing “ditz” a lot lately. A fact her husband, John, wouldn’t have been pleased about.
“Why should a bright, intelligent woman go around pretending that she’s an idiot?” he’d asked her early on in their time together.
“The world is simply an easier place when people think you’re too dumb to understand it,” she explained. “When people see that you know what you’re doing, they have no qualms about second-guessing or offering critique.”
Still, because John hated it, through the years she’d tried to be more true to herself. But now... well, when a woman needed to hide her motives, it was always best to appear too stupid to have one.
Viv stopped at the most familiar tombstone and used the excuse of dust to run a loving hand across the top of the granite.
“Good morning, darling,” she said. “I’m back with the pruning shears for these moss roses. I knew I should have planted perennials, but I thought it might be a waste.” With a hand on the stone, she dropped to her knees. “I brought someone with me.” Glancing over at Dew she added, “I’m hoping he won’t take it into his mind to poop on you.”
The dog, apparently seeing her move to the ground as an invitation, hurried over, tail wagging, to sit right beside her. He rolled over on his back, offering his tummy for her attention.
“Silly mutt,” she said. “I wasn’t talking to you.” Still, Viv obliged him with a belly scratch. Enough so that the dog’s eyes closed in rapt appreciation and his right leg moved in concert, as if attached to her fingers with a string.
She couldn’t keep from grinning. “He’s not my dog,” she assured the stone. “I’m just walking him.” She urged the dog to his feet. She unhitched his leash and shooed him away. “Go! Play!” she ordered. “And try not to dig anybody up.”
As if following her directive explicitly, Dew tucked his body low to the ground and began racing around the cemetery in large circles. Stopping suddenly to gaze at her before taking off again. It was almost as if he were daring her to chase him.
Viv laughed. “He’s a funny little dog,” she said. “And he seems smart, too. He belongs to the new librarian, of course. I nearly choked when she asked if a pet would be welcome in the accommodations. I’m too much like my mother, I suppose, but I’ve always believed that animals should be outside or in barns. Even that dog we got Scott lived in his doghouse or on the porch. It’s like inviting dirt and fleas right into the living room! But I knew from the sound of her voice that if I said no pets she simply wouldn’t have come.”
Viv retrieved her scissors from her bag and began to deadhead the blossoms that were past their prime and trim up the leaves that were growing so well they threatened to obscure the name and dates chiseled into the granite.
“I guess it could be worse,” Viv said. “She could have a big old cat. That’s like buying a billboard to say, ‘I’m an old maid!’ A dog at least indicates that a woman still craves affection.”
Trimming the moss rose was a two-minute task. She stretched it into five and then spent another five carefully cutting the grass that grew nearby with the precision of a haircutter. The fine-bladed Bermuda had spread over the grave like a scab on a wound until the hard-packed earth beneath it was almost completely hidden. The memory, however, was still fresh for Viv. She had come here every day since her husband had been buried. She intended to keep doing that until she lay beside him again.
“His name is Dewey, Melvil Dewey,” Viv continued, glancing over at the dog as he made mad dashes around and around. “That’s kind of clever, don’t you think? It shows some creativity and a bit of humor. I mean she could have called him Rover or Blackie. Anyway, she’s certainly attractive enough and she seems to be smart, I just want her to be fun.”
Perhaps hearing his name or simply tiring of his game of circles, the dog trotted over to sit beside her. He wormed his little fluffy head under her hand, almost forcing her to pat his head and rub him behind the ears.
“Remember the fun we used to have,” she said wistfully to the carved granite. “That’s what I want for Scott. He’s far too serious and responsible. I want him to have a life full of shared laughter and private jokes. I want him to have... what we had.”
She continued to scratch the nape of Dew’s neck as he perched his nose up on her knee.
“Remember sitting in all those Chamber of Commerce meetings where Baldo Schultz would make one of his crazy suggestions for turning Verdant into a tourist destination? You’d be sitting up there on the stage looking at him all respectful and serious. You could never meet my eyes, cause we both knew that you were about to bust out a big guffaw.” Viv shook her head. “Oh, Lord, do you remember when he thought we should try a ‘Welcome Aliens’ sign, hoping that space creatures would make us some crop circles and drive more business onto Main Street?”
Viv began to chuckle and once she started, she couldn’t stop. She was laughing until she was crying. And then she was simply crying. Her body began to quake with weeping, and she struggled to keep quiet as the grief welled up inside her. The tears, however, would not remain in her eyes. They ran in rivulets down her face as she bit on her lower lip in an attempt to hold them back.
Within the aching, painful silence of her mourning, a small noise penetrated. Beside her the little terrier whimpered sympathetically. Viv found the reality of that so startling that it caused the blackness enveloping her to momentarily recede.
The little dog sat beside her, his back straight, his big dark eyes gazing up at her soulfully. At first, she dismissed the empathy she saw there as simply her imagination. But the sounds of distress were so obviously generated to reflect her own hurt, she could not ignore them.
“Oh, no, puppy, it’s all right. It’s all right,” she cooed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She ran her fingers lovingly along the shiny curls of his coat. “Nothing for you to be sad about. I’m so sorry. I’ve tried to hide it. I’ve tried to hide it from everybo
dy. But I didn’t even think to hide it from you.”
The dog climbed into her lap and began licking at the wetness still fresh on her cheeks. Viv had never allowed a dog so close to her and was initially startled by the rough feel of his tiny tongue on her skin. But the canine compassion, strangely, made her feel better. In a moment she was smiling again.
“You are quite a clever little dog, Mr. Dewey,” she told him as she dragged a tissue from her pocket. “My son sees me a couple of times a week and never suspects a thing. But you figure me out in one morning’s walk. Well, I hope I can trust you to keep it to yourself.” She laughed as Dew’s face, now openmouthed, seemed to be grinning at her, his tongue hanging out slightly to one side. “I’ve got a plan for Scott, you see. John is helping me. But it would be good to have you on my side, as well.”
Dew leaped to the grass directly in front of her. He lowered his front paws and, with his hindquarters in the air, he wagged his tail enthusiastically.
Viv took that as a yes.
Seven
140.4 Philosophical Schools of Thought
D.J. would not have said that her first day on the job was an unqualified success. The tour of her new domain revealed the dark, dismal catacomb of stacks, threadbare rugs in the children’s section and a teen book collection so woefully out of date that the only vampire novel available was by Bram Stoker.
She found her office on the second floor of the barred enclosure, accessible only by a very narrow flight of spiral stairs. The desk was literally buried in the library’s Books-By-Mail program. For those who because of age, disability or distance could not get to the main library or one of the bookmobiles, a delivery service utilizing the post office was a great idea. Unfortunately, a quick glance indicated that request fulfillment was apparently nobody’s priority.
D.J. attempted to talk to Miss Grundler about it.
“I do it as the schedule permits,” the woman answered, her tone superior and snide.
“It doesn’t look as if the schedule has permitted much lately.”
“The schedule is the second and fourth Thursdays,” Miss Grundler replied. “Suzy is in-house those days and can man the circulation desk while I take care of the requests.”
“Twice a month? You only take time for this twice a month?” D.J. was incredulous. “What about the days that Amos is not on the road. He could man the desk.”
Miss Grundler sniffed. “Not very well,” she said. “Besides, those are the days where I do interlibrary loan.”
D.J. was unpleasantly surprised to hear that. An extra two weeks on a service that typically took a fair amount of time under the best of circumstances, seemed like not a “service” at all, but an excuse for one.
Deciding that priorities had to be a first priority, D.J. cleaned off her desk, moved enough books to give her a view of the activity downstairs and began making a map of what the library was attempting to provide and the route and personnel currently utilized to accomplish that.
Her progress, however, was repeatedly halted by visitors braving the narrow winding stairs to meet the new librarian. Marianna Tacomb, Nina Philpot, Claire Gleason, Helen Rossiter. The names began to blend together. D.J. smiled and smiled until she thought her face might break. Everyone seemed to want to know everything about her. She would have been happy to talk about the library, but her guests weren’t actually patrons.
“I never come here,” Claire Gleason said. “Who wants to waste time in this dusty old place?”
D.J. secretly ground her teeth as she did her best imitation of not being offended. But the library was becoming personal to her. She wanted the community to love it, but she reminded herself that a good relationship had to be mutual. The library needed to love its community.
Since Mrs. Sanderson had assured her that Dew had been out on a long walk, D.J. took the opportunity of her lunch break to return the moving trailer. Checking on the internet, she found the nearest rental location to be Vern’s Feed & Tractor out on the highway.
A couple of guys unhitched her car, disconnected the brake lights and removed the temporary bumper hitch. Her paperwork was in order and it all seemed very straightforward.
“Hey there, you must be the new librarian.” The low, modulated voice behind her seemed small and feminine, but when she turned, she found herself facing a hefty woman with a buzz cut and overalls.
D.J. held out her hand. “Hello. Yes, I’m the new librarian. Dorothy Jarrow.”
She shook her hand and gave her a broad smile. “Vernice Milbank,” she introduced herself. “Everybody calls me Vern.”
D.J. recovered quickly enough not to make a fool of herself—when she’d heard about Vern’s, she’d assumed she would be meeting a man. Though now that she’d met her, she could see the name suited the thickset, rather masculine-looking woman. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“My sister, Nina, told me she was going to stop over and introduce herself this morning.”
“Oh, yes. She did visit me.”
“She takes the kids up there from time to time. I’m not much of a reader, myself. Can’t sit still long enough to get through a book.”
D.J. had heard that kind of thing many times before. “The library is not just about books anymore,” she told Vern. “We loan out movies and music and games. Audiobooks. We provide online access. It’s truly a ‘something for everybody’ institution.”
Vern chuckled as if that were funny.
“So, how’s your first day going?”
“Busy,” D.J. answered.
“Yeah, I bet every knothead and numbskull in forty miles would be nosing into your business,” she said. “But that’s a small town for you. Best get used to it.”
“Verdant seems like a lovely place,” D.J. said. “I’m not really a city girl. I’m originally from Wichita.”
Vern’s brow furrowed. “Wichita’s not some wide spot in the road. It’s the biggest city in Kansas.” She raised her hand up as if anticipating argument. “I know, I know. If you add up those Kansas City suburbs or claim any part of Missouri, you’ve got a much bigger metropolis. But that doesn’t mean that Wichita hasn’t grown faster than goat grass in a wheat field.”
Vern appeared to love her own analogy and slapped her thigh in celebration of it.
“Verdant is surely no place for strangers,” she warned. “You’re going to be put under a microscope, and everybody is going to have an opinion. I don’t envy you and that’s for dang sure.”
D.J. thought that Vern was undoubtedly overstating the case, but being a woman with a rather masculine appearance in a small conservative town like this certainly might make one touchy about those... less precise about minding their own business.
D.J. thanked her for her concern.
“Lots of folks are going to be asking what you’re doing here,” Vern said. “They’re going to make up stuff in their head about what might motivate you to come to Verdant.”
“I’m motivated to improve your library system.” Vern nodded. “Which brings up the other question,” she said. “What on earth motivated the library committee to show any interest in making improvements? They haven’t done a gall-darn thing in twenty years. Why now?”
Because it's high time, D.J. thought. But she didn’t say that aloud. She knew from her own experience that libraries were usually the last taxpayer-funded institution to get support. It was hard to argue a book budget against overcrowded schools, hungry seniors and transportation for the disabled. Virtually the entire country had put libraries on hold as they waited for better economic times.
“Whatever the reason,” D.J. said, “I’m very grateful and I’m up for the challenge.”
Vern smiled thoughtfully. “Of course, there is always Stevie’s theory.”
“Stevie?”
“My partner,” Vern explained. “She thinks Viv brought you here for Scott.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Viv Sanderson has had no luck finding the right girl to marry her
son. Stevie thinks Viv has plotted to bring some new blood to town to see if she could tempt him toward the altar.”
“Well, that person is certainly not me,” D.J. assured her.
With a bit of careful maneuvering, D.J. managed to turn the subject of the conversation to more mundane matters. In a few moments she was able to plead much work on her desk and make an exit. Though her stomach growled in protest, she made the decision to get back to the library without bothering with the sandwich. She had a lot to do and she was eager to get to it. She hoped that the afternoon would not be as full of interruptions as the morning had been.
In fact, there were almost no interruptions at all.
Miss Grundler spent the entire afternoon sitting at the circulation desk and whispering on the telephone. A number of people came in, most of them looking up toward D.J.’s office, but after a discussion with Amelia, they left without climbing the stairs.
D.J. assumed that the woman was running interference for her. If so, the whole personnel-management thing might end up being easier than it first appeared. Feeling upbeat and encouraged, she made excellent progress on her operations map—until a little after four when Suzy returned from her bookmobile route. With barely a word past greeting, she came straight up the stairs and shut the door behind her.
“Did you have lunch today with Vern Milbank?” Suzy asked in a shocked whisper.
D.J. raised an eyebrow. “I saw her while I was on my lunch break,” she clarified. “I was returning my moving trailer.”
Suzy let out a long, relieved sigh and dropped into a nearby chair.
“I knew it was something like that,” she said.
“Actually, I missed lunch completely,” D.J. said, regretting having forgone the sandwich. “Is there some reason I shouldn’t eat with her?”
“Miss Grundler is telling anyone who’ll listen that on your first day in town, you met Vernice for lunch.”
“So?”
