Glory rubbed her arm and scowled. “Don’t seem to me it was all so special if all he did was hug you. Shootfire, anytime me an’ Shay are alone, we always—”
“We ain’t talkin’ about you an’ Shay. We’re talkin’ about me an’ Emmett.”
Glory hung her head. Her chin quivered.
Bettina sighed. She brushed Glory’s shoulder with her fingertips. “Sorry I whacked you like I did.” Although that little whop wasn’t even close to what Pap’d do if she didn’t get herself home soon. “Reckon I’m a little wrought up, seein’ Emmett after bein’ apart for so long an’ then havin’ to tell him goodbye so quick. He needed to get on home to see his folks.”
Glory peeked at Bettina. Her eyes sparkled, and a little grin curved her lips. “I get some wrought up myself when I ain’t had time alone with Shay for a while. I don’t hold no grudge against you for bein’ tetchy.” She grabbed Bettina in a quick hug. “You wait ’til Emmett sees you next. He’ll get to kissin’ you right quick.”
Bettina gave Glory a squeeze and stepped free. “An’ afterward, I’ll come tell you all about it. Every little romantic bit.”
Glory grinned.
“Glory? Glory, where are you, girl?” The warbling voice blasted from outside.
Glory aimed a frown in the direction of the lean-to’s opening. “That’s Maw. I gotta go.”
“Go, then. But don’t tell her I was here.”
Glory nodded and scuttled out, calling, “Comin’, Maw!”
“What’re you doin’ in with the donkey an’ goats? Land’s sake, girl, sometimes I—” The slam of a door cut off the rest of Mrs. Ashcroft’s words.
Bettina waited a little, then skedaddled home. She hadn’t realized Glory was doing so much kissing with Shay Leeson. Maybe she should’ve asked how Glory and Shay did it. The kissing she’d done so far sure hadn’t felt the way it looked in the picture shows.
Up there on the screen, the hero and heroine stared all dreamy like into each other’s eyes and held each other like they was made of fine porcelain. No boy had held her like she was made of porcelain. And no boy took the time to stare in her eyes, either. Just grabbed, puckered, and mashed his lips to hers. Sometimes she wanted to push whoever it was away. Probably because she’d only kissed boys who didn’t hold no piece of her heart. Emmett, though, he owned her whole heart. When they kissed for the first time, it’d be even better than anything in the movies.
Her heart danced in her chest, making her feel light as air. She’d see him at church tonight. Maybe he’d ask to walk her home. It’d be the gentlemanly thing to do, and Emmett was a gentleman. Maybe after tonight’s singing service, she’d get her first romantic kiss. Then she’d tell Pap. And she could plan her wedding for real.
Emmett
“ ‘BRINGIN’ IN THE SHEAVES, bringin’ in the sheaves, we shall come rejoyyyycin’, bringin’ in the sheaves!’ ”
Emmett’s doldrums got washed away midway through the third hymn. How could a fellow let sadness hold him captive while singing such rollicking songs? Especially when he was sitting next to Maw, who sang with such gusto the flowers on her hat jiggled. She’d donned her straw hat with the wide pink ribbon and cluster of pink silk roses sewn to the front brim—her “special day hat,” she called it. This was a special day because Emmett was home again. Even if he wasn’t home “fer good,” as she’d put it during supper, having him with her gave her joy, and her joy was contagious. So he smiled while he sang, his bass a complement to her soprano.
On his other side, Dusty sang loud. For a little fellow, he had some big lungs. He belted out every word, always about three notes off pitch. And that only made Emmett smile more. Because Dusty didn’t care a bit about whether or not he matched the notes. Paw couldn’t match the notes, so he never came to the singings. But Dusty made a joyful noise, the way the Bible said people should. His joy also rubbed off on Emmett. Even if he was only here for a short spell, he’d carry away good feelings when he went to…wherever he found a job.
From “Bringing in the Sheaves” to “When We All Get to Heaven,” “When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder,” and “There Is Power in the Blood,” the folks who’d gathered in the low Baptist church sang powerfully enough to rattle the rafters. All through his college years, Emmett had attended Sunday services regularly at a Presbyterian church in Lexington. He’d promised Maw he wouldn’t neglect gathering with believers, and he always kept his promises. But he hadn’t enjoyed singing like this since the last time he’d been in Boone’s Hollow for a Sunday evening sing. By the time they reached the fifth stanza of “Shall We Gather at the River?,” Emmett’s voice was getting hoarse, and Dusty’d lost his volume. The sing would be done soon, and he knew which hymn would end it. One that nobody’d call a toe tapper, but a perfect one to close an evening of singing God’s praise.
“ ‘Gather with the saints at the river that flows by the throne of God.’ ” The song leader’s voice carried over everyone else’s with the final phrase. Then he swung his hands upward in an invitation to rise.
Benches groaned, floorboards squeaked, rustles broke out all over the small sanctuary. The organist struck a warbling chord, and as one they sang, “ ‘Amazing grace! How sweet the sound…’ ”
Tears rolled down Maw’s cheeks, the same way they always did when she sang the old song about being saved from sin by God’s grace. Emmett slipped his arm around her narrow shoulders, and she shot him a watery smile even while continuing to sing. They held the hymn’s last word, “beguuuuuuun,” until the organ’s bellows ran out of air. Then Preacher Darnell offered a closing prayer.
At his rumbling “amen,” chatter broke all over the room, and someone—a female someone—called Emmett’s name. Was it…
Maw’s knowing grin confirmed his suspicion. “Bettina’s beckonin’ you.”
“Bettina’s hollering for me.”
They spoke at the same time.
Maw laughed. She gave Emmett a light shove on his chest. “Best go see what she’s wantin’. Prob’ly gonna ask ya to join up with her an’ the other young folks for a spell o’ talkin’ an’ such, like they do pret’ near every Saturday an’ Sunday evenin’ around here.”
Before he left for college, Emmett was always part of the gathering. Back then, Bettina was too young to join in. Some of the young folks his age, including his childhood best buddy, Shay, were still in the group. But on his former visits, a few of the fellows had made sure Emmett understood he didn’t fit in as well as he used to.
He made a face. “I’d rather go on home with you an’ Dusty.”
Dusty tucked himself against Emmett’s hip and held Emmett’s arm the way Emmett used to hold vines for swinging on. He beamed, showing the gap where he’d lost his front teeth. “Sun ain’t sleepin’ yet. Wanna shoot marbles with me, Emmett?”
A perfect excuse. Emmett grinned. “Sounds good.”
Maw clicked her tongue on her teeth and shook her finger at Dusty. “Now, listen here, your brother’s too grown up for marble shootin’. He ain’t seen his friends for a good long while. We can’t be selfish with him.” She caught Dusty’s hand and pulled him to her side. “Besides, it’s nigh on your bedtime.”
Dusty folded his arms over his chest and poked out his lower lip.
Emmett started to defend his brother, but Bettina crowded close and spoke first. “Emmett, didn’t ya hear me? I was callin’ for ya.”
Maw slipped her arm through Bettina’s elbow. “He heard ya, honey. He was just tellin’ me an’ Dusty here good night.” She tipped her head back and examined Bettina’s uncovered head. “Why, Bettina, you look real purty with your bangs pulled back in a barrette like that. Brings out your eyes right nice. An’ you smell good, too. Like I recall Rosie smellin’, God rest her soul.”
Bettina twirled a strand of her brown hair around her finger. “Rinsed my hair with my maw’s li
ly-o’-the-valley water.”
So that’s what Emmett had smelled when she jumped him earlier. His nose twitched in remembrance.
Her fingers moved to the smooth piece of silver metal pinned at the crown of her head. “But the barrette’s mine. Real sterlin’ silver. I bought it at the company store in Lynch with some o’ my WPA money.”
“I’m sure havin’ that money come in is a blessin’.” Maw kept hold of Bettina’s arm but turned to Emmett. “Bettina an’ a couple other girls work as lib’arians, takin’ books up to the mountain folk every week. Been a real good job for them, an’ it’s helpful for the hills families, too, gettin’ their youngsters some book learnin’.”
Emmett knew about various Works Progress Administration programs instituted by the president of the United States, even knew there were WPA lumber cutting and road building outfits right here in Kentucky. But one about book reading implemented in his very own community surprised him. And Bettina serving as a kind of librarian? An unusual occupation for a person who had no use for reading. How many times had she sneaked up on him during recess and yanked the book he was reading from his hands or called him a sissy for wanting to read? But he didn’t hold a grudge against her. He knew why she had no use for books.
He offered a slight nod and smile. “Good for you, Bettina.”
“It’s a heap o’ work.” She wrinkled her nose. “Takes the whole livelong day, near sunup to sundown, to visit all the houses on my route an’ get back home again.” She pointed to a short, plump gray-haired woman visiting with the preacher’s wife in the corner of the sanctuary. “That there’s Miz West, from Louisville. She runs the lib’ary, an’ she tells me an’ Glory an’ Alba what books to take where. She can’t do none o’ the actual deliverin’ ’cause she’s got some kind o’ breathin’ problem. So she stays at the lib’ary all day instead.”
Emmett frowned. “What library?”
“The one here in Boone’s Holler.”
“Boone’s Hollow has a library?”
“Why, sure we do. An’ it smells like ham inside.”
He must’ve heard wrong. “Did you say ham?”
Bettina and Maw laughed the way old friends sharing a joke do. Maw said, “Don’t see as it can help it since it was the Blevins’ smokehouse before it became our lib’ary. Now, I’m sure I wrote to you last November or so about some workers comin’ in, paintin’ up the Blevins’ smokehouse so’s the book lady the government sent would have a place to stay an’ store the books an’ such these gals cart all over the hills.”
If she had, he’d forgotten. Wouldn’t he have liked having a library to visit when he was a youngster? He rubbed Dusty’s head, tousling his brother’s thick dark hair. “What do you think about having a library? Do you check out books?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“How come? I know you like books.”
Dusty shrugged.
Bettina tossed her head, making her hair bounce. “It ain’t that kind o’ lib’ary. Folks don’t come in an’ check out books. The books get took to folks. But only certain folks.”
Emmett arched one eyebrow. “That doesn’t seem quite fair. Shouldn’t everybody be able to access the library?”
Bettina rolled her eyes. “Like I said, it ain’t that kind o’ lib’ary. Now, you wanna come to Alba’s place with me an’ the others? Miz Gilkey baked brown-sugar cookies an’ mixed up a pitcher o’ sweet tea.” She glanced toward the back of the sanctuary and grimaced. “Aw, shucks, ain’t none of ’em here now. They’ve all gone on. Prob’ly got tired o’ waitin’ on me. But”—her grin turned sly—“you an’ me can still go. I doubt Shay an’ the other fellas’ve finished off all the cookies yet.”
If Emmett escorted Bettina to Pat and Sophie Gilkey’s place, folks would take one look at the two of them setting off together and make assumptions. Incorrect assumptions. “I appreciate the invitation, Bettina, but—”
Maw squeezed his upper arm. “Go on now, Emmett. You been so busy studyin’ you ain’t had time for fun. It’ll do you good to cut up a bit. Besides, you ain’t seen your friends in a good long while. You go.” Then she winked. “But don’t stay out too late, you hear? The wagon that takes the men from here an’ Tuckett’s Pass to the coal mine leaves for Lynch real early. Shay an’ pret’ near all the other young fellers from these parts’ll need to be on it.”
Bettina caught hold of Emmett’s elbow with both hands. “Mr. an’ Miz Gilkey’ll shoo us all away no later’n half past nine. They’re always ready to have us come over, but they’re real particular about the hours Alba keeps.”
“That sounds just fine.” Maw cupped the back of Dusty’s head with her hand and herded him toward the door. “You have fun, Emmett. I’ll leave the string out so you can let yourself in.”
Bettina giggled and fluttered her eyelashes. “C’mon, Emmett. You recall the way to the Gilkeys’ place?”
The Gilkeys lived in a house east of Boone’s Hollow, up the mountain a bit, but he’d never been to their place. He shook his head.
“Then I’ll lead the way. C’mon.”
What had Maw gotten him into? Emmett gritted his teeth and willed the next hour to pass quickly.
Lexington
Addie
ADDIE SET THE scissors aside and massaged her aching fingers. If only she had enough hands to massage her lower back at the same time. How could cutting up fabric tax a person so? The pendulum clock ticking on the dining room wall showed ten minutes past nine. Nearly bedtime. Addie was ready to tumble into bed. But the rhythmic thumps and hum of the sewing machine drifting up the hallway told her Griselda Ann wasn’t ready to stop for the evening.
She sank onto a dining room chair and sighed. At home and even at the college, she’d spent Sundays resting or reading, and the day had seemed to pass more quickly than she wished. Never had a Sunday stretched so long as this one. Tomorrow’s work at the library and the fresh job search would be a reprieve after her hours of standing at the dining room table, snipping six-and-a-half-inch squares from shirts and skirts and britches. Then she’d taken the leftover pieces and cut three-and-a-half-inch squares because four smaller squares could be pieced together to create a six-and-a-half-inch square.
Griselda Ann had cautioned her about using every bit of available fabric, saying, “My mama advised, ‘Waste not, want not.’ Doesn’t it sound like something Benjamin Franklin would say? The folks who gave these items gave with the assurance that their contribution would be fully utilized. Besides, the more squares we have, the more blankets we can make.” Apparently, Franklin was a hero of sorts to either Griselda Ann or her mother, because an intricately stitched sampler with a Franklin quote—“The noblest question in the world is, what good may I do in it?”—hung on the parlor wall.
With the words from the framed admonition and Griselda Ann’s spoken instruction rolling in Addie’s brain, she was compelled to keep cutting, even though her fingers ached and a blister was rising on the inside of her thumb. She searched through the basket of discarded shreds in case she’d missed a piece large enough to create another small square. She located a scrap of yellow-flowered calico from a child’s well-worn dress and laid it flat on the table. Griselda Ann had told her to never cut against the grain or the pieces wouldn’t stay square when sewn. She aligned the edge of the smaller cardboard square with the threads’ direction, then slid the square up and down the scrap until she’d assured herself it was too small to cut a full square.
With a flick of her fingers, she sent the scrap sailing into the basket. As it landed, something touched her shoulder, and she released a squeak of surprise. A chuckle rumbled. Addie whirled in the chair and peered up into Griselda Ann’s amused face.
“Goodness, you were quite engrossed. Didn’t you hear me say your name?”
Addie’s ears still rang with the hum of the sewing machine. She shook her head and stood, stiflin
g a groan when her back muscles pinched. “No, ma’am. I’m sorry. Did you need something?”
“Yes. I needed to apologize for losing track of time. I should have let you retire to your room a half hour ago at least.” Remorse glimmered in the woman’s pale brown eyes. “To be honest, I forgot you were here.”
Considering the short time Addie had resided under Griselda Ann’s roof, she couldn’t be offended by the oversight. She offered a weary smile. “It’s all right. I made good use of the time.” She held her hand to the stacks of fabric squares, arranged by size and color. “I don’t know how many squares it takes to make one blanket, but I hope there are enough here for at least one side.”
Griselda Ann shifted her attention to the cluttered tabletop, and her jaw dropped. “Oh, Addie, you have been busy.” She touched the stacks by turn, running her thumb along the edges as if silently counting. “And it appears you were very diligent in both sizing and cutting on the grain. These will go together smoothly into a new blanket. Having them cut and so neatly organized will be very helpful to me. Thank you.”
Her sincere appreciation made the aches in Addie’s hands and back worth it. “I’m glad to have helped.”
Griselda Ann patted Addie’s arm, then released a huge sigh. “There are so many needs in this world of ours, Addie. So much suffering. Sometimes I wonder why I’m so blessed.”
Addie tilted her head. Griselda Ann had lived all her adult life with her mother, and she had no husband or children or, it seemed, friends. She spent her time either at work or at a sewing machine. Wouldn’t loneliness be her constant companion? Addie saw few blessings in the woman’s single, monotonous state.
“I have this house.” Griselda Ann spoke softly, her gaze aimed beyond Addie’s shoulder as if she’d drifted away somewhere. “I have a job that meets my needs. I’ve always had enough food to eat, and I’ve never gone without adequate clothing. I’ve been given much.”
The Librarian of Boone's Hollow Page 7
