The Librarian of Boone's Hollow

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Miss West frowned at the man, and he snapped his attention forward. “You will discover very quickly, Addie, that people in these mountain communities hold to a host of superstitions and unfounded grudges.”

  Another snort burst from the wagon’s driver.

  “I, personally, prefer to judge a person on his or her own merits.” Miss West raised her voice, aiming a scowl in Mr. Gilliam’s direction. “I also have a term to define superstitions as a whole. Hogwash.”

  Mr. Gilliam harrumphed and smacked the reins on the horse’s rump. The beast broke into a trot.

  Addie sucked in her lips and held back a snicker. Miss West’s graying bun and genteel appearance didn’t match the fire snapping in her grayish-blue eyes.

  “If you’re interested in my opinion, I will tell you whose offer I believe you should accept.”

  Addie cleared her throat, erasing any humor from her tone, before answering. “I would welcome your opinion, ma’am.”

  “I would choose Nanny Fay Tuckett. If you were my daughter, I would feel more assured about your staying with a single, older woman than a middle-aged, unmarried man, even if there is a chaperone residing under his roof.”

  Daddy and Mother would agree with Miss West. “Then I’ll make arrangements with Mrs. Tuckett when we reach Boone’s Hollow.”

  “The arrangements can wait until tomorrow. I’ve prepared a pallet for you in my living quarters for tonight. As for Mrs. Tuckett”—Miss West produced a handkerchief from her sleeve and patted her throat with it, sighing—“I’m sure she’ll prefer you call her Nanny Fay, the same as everyone else in town does. The people of Boone’s Hollow don’t stand on many city conventions.” She returned the handkerchief to the cuff of her sleeve. “If it proves too difficult for you to board with her, you can always take a room at the hotel or in one of the boardinghouses in Lynch.”

  Something in the woman’s expression sent a prickle of unease across Addie’s scalp. “Is there a reason why staying with her would be difficult?”

  Miss West gripped her hands in her lap. She gazed over the edge of the wagon’s side. “I’m not a talebearer, Addie. I’ll allow you to draw your own conclusions.”

  Boone’s Hollow

  Addie

  “AN’ HERE YOU ARE, ADDEL-ADE Cow-herd. Welcome to Boone’s Holler.”

  Why had Mr. Gilliam’s attitude taken such a turn? Midway up the mountain, he had seemed to cloak himself in derision. His tone now dripped with ridicule. The way he spoke her name—in choppy syllables, as if trying to flay her—made her cringe.

  “If people are unkind, kill them with kindness.” Mother’s directions to her when she suffered bullying on the schoolyard played in Addie’s memory. She injected warm appreciation into her voice. “Thank you, Mr. Gilliam.”

  He snorted.

  Addie shifted to her knees and peered over the wagon’s edge. The rattly conveyance rolled slowly along an uneven dirt street. She blinked several times, certain the heavy shadows were hiding the actual town. But no matter how many times she cleared her vision, the sight remained the same. A wide dirt road with thick bushes and trees lining both sides spread in front of her. A spattering of wooden buildings were tucked beneath the branches overhanging either side of the road. She counted three places of business on the right—a tiny wooden building marked Post Office-Telephone Office, a rambling log structure with Belcher’s Genral Merchendice painted on its false front, and a huge barn. On the left were an equal number of houses, constructed of logs or planked wood. The first house’s door bore a doctor’s shingle. She searched both sides again. Where was the library?

  Mr. Gilliam drew the wagon to a stop in front of the barn, set the brake, and hopped down. He stomped to the rear of the wagon and yanked the back gate free. He leaned the gate against the wagon wheel and scowled at her. “End o’ the road. Come on outta there now.”

  Addie glanced at Miss West, who was glowering at Mr. Gilliam the way a schoolteacher disciplined an unruly student. Apparently, she was bothered by the man’s unpleasant demeanor, too, which told Addie it was out of the ordinary. She must have done something to bring it about. But what?

  She unfolded her stiff legs and rose. The wagon rocked slightly, making her feel unstable. Using the wagon’s side as a handrail, she moved to the end and then sat on the edge of the bed. Mr. Gilliam stood a few feet away, hands on overall-clad hips, observing her. She waited for a few seconds, hoping he would offer a hand of assistance, but he didn’t. She slid out, grimacing when her skirt caught on the rough wood.

  Addie helped Miss West alight, then turned to Mr. Gilliam. His stormy expression warned her to keep her distance, but she needed his help. “Sir, would you please retrieve my suitcases?”

  He blew out a breath that spoke unquestioningly of aggravation and climbed into the wagon’s bed. He handed her the cases one by one with much more gentleness than he’d used putting them into the wagon. She smiled, aware of her quivering lips, and thanked him. Without replying, he hopped down and made a wide berth around her. He grabbed the gate, took the same path on his way back to the wagon, and smacked the gate into its frame. She gripped the handles of her suitcases. Why was the man who’d offered to let her sit on the driver’s seat beside him now acting as if she had leprosy? She bit the inside of her lip, heart aching.

  Mr. Gilliam gave a brusque yank on his hat’s brim, which she interpreted as a farewell, then clomped to the front of the wagon. Without a word, he began removing the horse’s traces.

  Miss West took the smaller case from Addie’s hand. “Come along, Addie. I’ll show you to the library.”

  Addie eagerly trailed Miss West away from the wagon and Mr. Gilliam’s dark countenance. She needed a library’s sweet sanctuary to soothe her hurt feelings. She considered asking her new boss what she’d done to upset the driver, but the woman’s breath emerged in laborious huffs. Perhaps Addie shouldn’t tax her by expecting her to answer questions.

  A chorus of crickets serenaded them as Miss West led her through lengthy gray shadows to the opposite side of the street and then away from the livery barn. Addie’s gaze swept her surroundings, her heart sinking a bit more with each step. Had she really imagined buying a soda in a drugstore or browsing a dress shop? How could they even call this gathering of mismatched structures a town? Although the appearance disheartened her, a sweet smell that reminded her of the flowering vine on the fence at her childhood home permeated the entire area. She inhaled the scent, and it eased some of her apprehension.

  They rounded a cluster of thick bushes growing beneath a huge tulip tree near the road, and Miss West stopped in front of a log building approximately twice the length of its width. Addie hadn’t noticed it when they entered Boone’s Hollow. Shielded by the tree’s branches and fronted by the bushes, it was half-hidden from sight. A door constructed from upright planks held together with rusty iron bands created a dark rectangle against the building’s coat of white paint.

  “Here we are, Addie.”

  Addie gave Miss West a startled look. “Here we are…where?”

  “The library.”

  Addie’s jaw dropped. Library? Why, this was nothing more than a…than a…She couldn’t find a suitable description.

  Miss West crossed to the door and pulled a leather string that emerged from a small hole. A scraping noise intruded against the crickets’ singing, and the door swung open on creaky hinges. She glanced at Addie, a slight frown creasing her forehead. She released a heavy sigh. “Come along now.”

  Addie gave a little jerk that set her feet in motion. Yellow light flickered behind the small front window and then flowed out the doorway and across the sandstone block serving as a stoop. She stepped inside as Miss West lit a second lamp and blew out the match. Oil lamps, not electric. But their glow sufficiently lit the small space, giving her a full view of the building’s—the library’s—contents. Such as
they were. Dismay flooded her belly. How could anyone call this place a library? To do so was an insult to every other library she’d visited. She’d find no soothing sanctuary here. Except…

  A savory aroma, very different from the one permeating the town’s street, filled her nostrils, and her stomach growled. She pressed her hand to her belly. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  The woman chuckled. “I suppose the smell of smoked meats, particularly ham, has that effect on most people.”

  Addie sniffed, and memories of Sunday breakfasts and Easter dinners rolled in her mind. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m smelling. Ham.” Miss West must have had ham for lunch earlier.

  “I had the same reaction each time I entered this building for the first few weeks. The scent saturates the interior surfaces due to the building’s previous service as a smokehouse, but eventually you’ll adjust to it and won’t smell it at all.”

  Addie looked up. Thick, smoke-blackened beams, one still holding an iron hook, formed an evenly spaced row beneath the peaked ceiling. A library in a former smokehouse. Even her active imagination couldn’t have conjured such a thing.

  “You’re likely tired after your day of travel. Let’s get you settled.” Miss West picked up one of the lamps and carried Addie’s suitcase to a wall of blankets. She used her elbow and pushed one flap aside. “It will be quite crowded with both of us in here, but for one night we should manage fine.”

  Addie moved to the opening between the blankets and peeked in. A little squeak left her throat. “This…You…” She gaped at the librarian.

  A sad smile curved the woman’s lips. She placed Addie’s suitcase in a tiny slice of open floor between a round iron stove and a full woodbox. “You must remember, Addie, you’re not in the city anymore.” She set the lamp on top of a rickety little bedside table next to a knee-high cot covered by a red-and-white patchwork quilt, then turned to face Addie. “As dreary as this may seem to you, it’s nicer than many of the cabins or shacks the hills people call home. You’ll discover that truth as you travel your delivery route.” She withdrew her handkerchief and patted her throat and chin, sighing. “And I must tell you, despite their lack of education and their seemingly backward way of living, they are proud people. You’ll need to school your expression.”

  Addie gulped. “What do you mean?”

  Miss West dropped the rumpled handkerchief on the stand next to the lamp. “Distaste and sympathy are warring on your face right now. Neither will endear you to the folks you encounter in and around Boone’s Hollow and Tuckett’s Pass. You’ll find it challenging enough to fit in here without them thinking you’re either looking down your nose at them or viewing them with pity.”

  Had something in her expression turned Mr. Gilliam against her? Mother and Daddy had taught her to treat others the way she wanted to be treated. Her status as an orphan had earned her pitying looks from some, while others treated her with contempt, as if her parentless status made her unworthy of their attention.

  She gripped her hands together and shook her head, sending the remembrances away. “I’d never want to shame anyone.”

  Miss West’s expression turned tender. She reached out and took hold of Addie’s hand. “I don’t mean to scold you. In some ways, you may feel as if you’ve stepped into a foreign land. But I can see you’re an intelligent, compassionate young woman. Perhaps even a little self-reliant? I sensed it when you refused Mr. Gilliam’s offer to help you into the wagon.”

  Addie laughed, hanging her head. How many times had Mother thrown her hands up in defeat at Addie’s insistence to do things her own way? A leftover habit from being in the orphanage, where everyone over the age of three took care of him or herself. “Maybe.”

  Miss West squeezed her hand and let go. “Each of those characteristics will serve you well here. Be patient with yourself as you adjust to living more simply, and be patient with the folks of the communities as they get to know you.” She sighed again, this time even deeper and longer than any before. “All will be well.”

  She gestured to a narrow pallet lying on the floor in front of a four-drawer bureau and stretching almost to the edge of her cot. “I hope you’ll be comfortable tonight. I’ll go to the library side and give you some privacy while you change into your nightclothes. I have biscuits, hard cheese, and dried apples in tins, so while you’re changing, I’ll make a plate for you.” She moved through the gap in the blankets and swished them together, sealing Addie in the tiny living space.

  Addie gazed down at the stack of folded blankets. A pallet on the floor. A cold supper. A library in a smokehouse. So different from what she’d expected. But she’d adjust. Mother’s and Daddy’s well-being was worth any amount of discomfort she had to endure.

  Bettina

  BETTINA PLOPPED THE tin plate of grits, biscuits, and fried eggs in front of Pap, then sat across from him with her bowl of grits. Pap dug right in to his breakfast, not even looking at her. Back when Maw was alive, Pap prayed before they ate. Bettina suggested it once about a year ago, and Pap told her to mind her own business if she knew what was good for her. She knew, so she didn’t ask again. But she missed the days when Maw was there and Pap prayed, before life got so ugly.

  Pap jammed a chunk of biscuit in his mouth, then pointed at Bettina with his fork. “You be sure an’ tell that new book gal two dollars a week for stayin’ here.” He talked with a mouthful, and little pieces of bread sprayed out.

  Bettina stirred butter into her grits and tried not to think about where that chewed food might’ve landed. “I will.”

  “Tell her nobody else’ll put her up an’ feed her for less’n that.” He slurped from his coffee cup, dark eyes glaring at Bettina over its rim.

  “I’ll tell ’er, Pap. Two dollars for a room an’ meals.” She wished she had the courage to ask why she had to give up her room to the new book gal. Pap could sleep in the barn as easy as Bettina could. Easier maybe. He ended up out there some nights when he got himself too pickled to find his way to the house anyway. Didn’t seem fair, having to hand over so much of her pay and now not even get to sleep in her own bed.

  Bettina filled her spoon and blew on it. She hated burning her mouth on the first bite. “Since you ain’t askin’ a lot o’ pay, mebbe she can help some with cookin’ an’ cleanin’, too. Earn some of her keep.”

  Pap’s fist came down on the table so hard the coffee cups bounced and Bettina tossed her spoonful of grits down the front of her overalls. She hissed through her teeth.

  Pap jammed his finger at her. “Don’t you say nothin’ to that gal except what I told you to say.”

  She dabbed at her front with the rag she’d used to wipe the table before they sat to eat. “All right, all right, I just thought—”

  “You don’t do the thinkin’ in this house. You ain’t got brains enough to do the thinkin’.”

  She clenched her teeth so tight her jaw ached. She flicked every bit of grits from her clothes, not caring at all that it landed on the floor, where it’d get stepped on and ground into the dirt.

  Pap shoved his plate aside and stood. “I gotta go or I’ll miss the wagon. Make sure you get these dishes washed an’ your room spiffed up before you leave. Don’t want that gal thinkin’ we ain’t clean people.”

  Bettina bit back a laugh. Clean? Pap could shower every day at the Lynch bathhouse if he wanted, but he only went in on Fridays. At least Bettina used a bucket and cloth every night before she went to bed. She couldn’t hardly stand feeling all sweat itchy. She put a little dab of Maw’s lily-o’-the-valley water under her armpits every morning, too, to cover up the body odor.

  It’d be a heap harder to keep herself halfway clean once she was sleeping in the barn every night. But Emmett shouldn’t wait too much longer to start courting her. When she and Emmett got married, they’d have a real bathroom in their house, with a flush toilet—no more stinky outhouse—and a
genuine tub, and she’d sit in bubbles up to her chin every night so she’d be sweet smelling for him when she crawled under the covers.

  “Girl, are you listenin’ to me?”

  Bettina jumped. Was Pap still here? Her face blazed hot, and she nodded. “I’m listenin’.”

  “You best be. An’ you best do as I said.”

  Had he said something more? She didn’t dare ask. “I will, Pap.”

  He grabbed the bucket lunch Bettina had packed for him and walked out, slamming the door.

  She picked up her bowl, no longer hungry, and scraped the food into the slop pail. She scrubbed the dishes and put them away, made her bed, and changed into a blouse and dungarees. She tossed the mucked-up overalls into her clothes basket, then picked it up, intending to carry it out to the barn. But she froze in place, a worry holding her captive. If the new girl took over Bettina’s room, that girl would bring in her own clothes. All of Bettina’s clothes—what few she owned—had to go out. Including the beautiful dress she’d bought from the company store.

  “I can’t keep my weddin’ dress in the barn!”

  Bettina hung her head and moaned. What was she gonna do?

  Addie

  UNFAMILIAR SOUNDS—THUMPS AND SCRAPES—WOKE ADDIE from a restless sleep. She sat up, then blinked in confusion, pulse racing. Strange shadows surrounded her, and the smell of ham hung heavy. Where was she? Ah, yes. She hugged herself, willing the panicky feeling to ease. She was in the Boone’s Hollow library…which wasn’t really a library at all.

  She squinted across the narrow space, her eyes adjusting. Miss West’s cot was empty. All the noises coming from the other side of the blanket barrier must be the librarian preparing for the day. Addie should rise and help. She was on the payroll now, so she needed to earn her wages.

  She flopped aside the colorful quilt Griselda Ann had given her as a going-away gift and dug through her suitcase for clean underclothes and a dress. She put them on, then ran her brush through her hair, bemoaning the absence of a mirror. She’d looked for one last night, but Miss West told her the person who set up the living quarters hadn’t provided one. Some of the hills people thought a mirror’s reflection could steal the reflected one’s soul, so mirrors were in short supply. Addie found a ribbon in her suitcase and tied her hair into a tail at the base of her skull. She hoped she looked somewhat presentable since she’d be meeting many Boone’s Hollow residents today. First impressions were important, Mother always said. Not that Mr. Gilliam had been terribly concerned about the impression he’d made last night.