by Ashton Lee
Friends of the Library
The weather decided to cooperate on the day that had been so long in coming. To be sure, it was chilly the way early November often is, but there was no threat of rain to give people an excuse for staying inside their homes and not venturing out in “all that stuff.” Maura Beth was happy to have at least one given amid so many unknowns. For instance, would all of Connie’s lake house neighbors make an appearance as they had said they would? Would the Crumpton sisters renege after their tainted bridge victory? How many of Periwinkle’s customers who had taken flyers would be inspired either to get a library card or attend the potluck and review? What about Becca’s diligent radio promotion? Or the many businesses Maura Beth had visited personally to stir up interest?
Then there was the New Gallatin Academy field trip that Jeremy had thrown together over the last couple of days. He was still waiting on last-minute approval from the headmaster. There was also some concern on the part of a few of the parents about the overnight expenses they would incur and the matter of the school being willing to share those with them. If the final decision went Jeremy’s way, twenty-one schoolboys from Nashville would be attending the Mockingbird event as part of his inspirational “Living the Classics in the Real World” program.
In fact, Maura Beth was a nervous wreck all morning waiting for Jeremy’s phone call. She paced around her purple apartment holding her journal in her hand, having already revisited page twenty-five three different times. She truly believed that this was the most important juncture of her life to date.
When the phone finally rang, she jumped like an armadillo in highway traffic and picked up the receiver in the kitchen with great trepidation. “Hello?” she managed, her face looking as if she were tiptoeing around a coiled snake.
But it wasn’t the voice she was hoping to hear. “Hey, it’s me,” Periwinkle said. “I’ve got good news. Mr. Place is bringing his mother, Ardenia, with him tonight. She’s delightful. I treated them both to dinner a few days after I hired him.”
“I’ll look forward to meeting her, then.”
“How are you holding up, honey?”
Maura Beth knew better than to play games with her friend. “I’m about to lose it waiting for Jeremy to call me about the bus trip. I thought you might be him when you called.”
“Sorry about that. But you just listen to me. You told me that you were trying to make the transition from a Melanie to a Scarlett right after that first club meeting. So you be strong and don’t fade into the wallpaper. That’s strictly for wallflowers.”
Maura Beth managed a much-needed chuckle. “Thanks for the reminder. You’re the best.”
Another hour passed and still no call from Jeremy. It was all she could do to keep from dialing him up, but she focused on Periwinkle’s advice instead. “If you can’t sit still for this little detail, how are you going to manage the entire evening when it rolls around?” she told herself out loud as she stood in front of her full-length mirror.
Then, another phone call, producing another spurt of adrenaline. This time it was Becca.
“You won’t believe this. I’m having unexpected trouble with Stout Fella and his wardrobe,” she explained, her exasperation flowing through the line.
Maura Beth briefly held the receiver away from her face and then frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He’s acting like a prima donna today. I want him to wear the new three-piece suit I just bought him. Of course, all his old clothes just hang on him. Anyway, he wants to wear his old cowboy clothes from back when he went out line dancing three times a week at The Marina Bar and Grill. He had all of them taken in by a seamstress down at Hodge’s Department Store without even telling me. He thinks it’ll show off his new athletic frame better. I reminded him that he was still very much a married man, and he said he was just doing it to promote our show more effectively. Really, Maura Beth, there’s no one like him.”
“Look at it this way, Becca. He’ll have plenty of opportunities to wear that suit when he negotiates all those big real-estate deals of his. Meanwhile, why not go ahead and let him be Roy Rogers or Tex Ritter for the evening? Just make sure he doesn’t bring a horse into my library. I don’t have the budget for the cleanup.”
Becca’s tension immediately dissolved into laughter. “Maura Beth, you always have the right answer for everything. Cowboy shirt, boots, and jeans, it is, then. And I’ll make him keep Trigger in the stable.”
They both chuckled, said good-bye, and hung up, but Maura Beth stared at the phone for a minute or two with something that felt a lot like resentment. Was Jeremy ever going to call?
Finally, he did, and Maura Beth could tell by the tone of his “Hello, sorry this has taken so long,” that the news was not going to be good. “The majority of the parents thought it was too expensive,” he continued, “and the headmaster said we just didn’t have the money to send one of the buses down there for—his words here—a ‘glorified book report.’ Translation: That kind of travel money is reserved for the football team’s road games.”
“I’m so disappointed,” Maura Beth said. “We’re not off to a good start with our attendance.”
“Maybe if I’d thought of it a little sooner and had more time to talk to the parents. Anyway, there is a bit of good news in all this. Three of the families want their boys to attend. So they’ve ponied up for hotel rooms over in Corinth, and I’ll be driving down in a few hours with three of my students and one set of parents as chaperones. I know six is a far cry from twenty-one, but it’s better than nothing.”
There was a hint of relief in Maura Beth’s sigh. “You’re absolutely right. You went out on a limb with this ambitious project, but we’ll have a good time no matter how many people show up.”
After Maura Beth hung up, she paced around the apartment for a while, unable to sit still and calm herself. Having a good time was hardly the goal here. That could easily be done at any bar or restaurant. So much more was at stake, and she began to doubt the effectiveness of her untiring campaign with many of the local businesses. True, the first person had yet to walk through the door of the library, but she couldn’t help projecting how many actually would. Numbers flew out of her head and swirled before her eyes. Twelve? Too few. Fifteen? Still not enough. Twenty? The beginning of respectability. Thirty? Was that even possible?
No matter what Periwinkle had said, it was hard work becoming a Scarlett.
The hours leading up to seven o’clock were as unsettling as the original ultimatum from Councilman Sparks had been several months earlier. Maura Beth spent most of the time in the library lobby, arranging tables, chairs, and posters with Renette Posey and Emma Frost, but no configuration seemed to satisfy her.
“Everything has to be just right,” she was telling her clerks after the latest round of musical chairs. “And this isn’t it.”
Renette walked toward the front door and then turned around, making a frame of her hands. “It’s the same semicircle we had last time—only a little bigger. It looks just fine when you first walk in.”
But Maura Beth was still shaking her head. “I’m going by instinct here, ladies. Something tells me we need to think even bigger tonight. We only have fifteen folding chairs out there right now. Let’s double that, okay? If we have empty seats, we have empty seats. But let’s don’t get caught scrambling if we’re lucky enough to have overflow. It won’t look professional, and the last thing I want tonight is to come off like I don’t know what I’m doing.”
So the three of them dragged more chairs out of the storage closet in the back and began making a double row in front of the podium. Finally, everything was laid out so that it passed muster, and Maura Beth sat down in one of the folding chairs beside her cohorts for a breather. “I’ve already called everyone who’s bringing food and reminded them that they need to be here no later than six-thirty.” She consulted her checklist. “Let’s see, we have Becca and her grilled chicken breasts with avocado and salsa for those watching th
eir weight; Connie with her fish of the day à la Douglas and The Verdict, as she calls it; Miss Voncille and her famous biscuits and green-pepper jelly; Susan McShay with her killer potato salad that she swears by; Periwinkle with éclairs, courtesy of the culinary skills of Mr. Place; and I’m bringing my sheet cake again. Plus, we’ll have Becca’s cherry cola punch with lime. I think we’re all set.”
Momentarily, Emma Frost excused herself and headed home to her family, but Renette remained, and it was apparent to Maura Beth that she had something on her mind. She kept biting her lip and cutting her eyes this way and that but was still saying nothing.
Finally, Maura Beth decided it was time to put her at ease. “Did you have something you wanted to tell me?”
Renette straightened up a bit and exhaled. “Well . . . yes. Maybe it’s not so important now that you’ve said that the bus isn’t going to be coming down from Nashville. But the other day, Councilman Sparks came by while you were at lunch, and he asked me how things were going. I could tell he meant the Mockingbird meeting, of course. And I told him that everything was fine and that we were hoping for a big crowd.”
“So?”
“It’s just that I got a little carried away and let it slip about the field trip that Mr. McShay was working up at the last minute and that there might be a bus full of schoolboys coming down to boost our attendance. Even while I was talking to him, I could hear myself doing that singsongy thing in my head—you know, ‘I know something that you don’t know.’ But it seems I couldn’t wait to tell him. Then he got this weird expression on his face, and he goes, ‘Interesting.’ That’s when I felt that maybe I had said too much. And then today when you told me that the bus wasn’t coming, I thought I might have had something to do with messing things up.”
Maura Beth quickly reassured her with a couple of pats on the shoulder. “Believe me, you had nothing to do with it, Renette. Don’t worry too much about our illustrious councilman and his sidekicks. It’s always been up to us to keep the doors of this library open, and tonight’s the night we can make that happen. But in the future, I’d only offer to check out the councilman’s books for him—that is, if he ever comes around for that. Nothing else.”
Renette gave her boss a grateful smile. “Yeah, I’ll remember that next time.” Then she hesitated as her expression grew slightly more serious. “There was something else I wanted to tell you. It’s strictly good news, though. I’ve talked two of my girlfriends into coming with me tonight. We’ve all been rereading To Kill a Mockingbird to get ready so we don’t come off as a bunch of teenaged airheads. So I just wanted you to know that I’m doing my part.”
This time Maura Beth gave her a big hug. “You’ve always done your part, sweetie. You’re the best front desk clerk and assistant I’ve ever had. But don’t tell Emma—you might hurt her feelings.”
“No, of course not. Emma’s a dear. She’s just not a reader.”
Then Maura Beth sat back and took a deep breath. “Well, we’re just a couple of hours away from our defining moment, I think. I’d like nothing better than to clone myself so I could wish us good luck.”
Maura Beth had taken it upon herself to greet people inside the front door of the library, playing the gracious hostess starting around a quarter to seven. It was also going to be her way of keeping an accurate head count for the eventual showdown with Councilman Sparks, who was already sampling the buffet. As it happened, it was Renette and her girlfriends, Deborah Benedict and Liz Trumble, who were the first recipients of her hospitality.
“Help yourself to food and drink over there, young ladies,” Maura Beth said after the introductions. “Renette, you’ll show them the way, won’t you?”
“Of course.” Then she leaned in to whisper in Maura Beth’s ear. “I see lots of people eating and drinking already.”
“Those are all the book club members, a couple of their relatives from Nashville, and the councilmen,” Maura Beth whispered back. “Don’t get too excited yet.”
After another couple of minutes had passed, Jeremy sauntered in with his three New Gallatin Academy students and the parents who were chaperoning.
“Let me introduce these studious young men who would do any teacher proud,” he announced. “We have here just champing at the bit to express their literary insights—Mr. Graham Hartley, Mr. Vernon Garner, and Mr. Burke Williams. We also have Burke’s parents, Charles and Louise Williams, who are here to enjoy the evening.”
Maura Beth made her manners to the contingent, and Jeremy finished all the hoopla with a peck on the cheek for her. “As I told you over the phone, six is better than nothing,” he managed out of the corner of his mouth.
She pulled away slightly for her best smile. “You and I will talk later, Mr. Jeremy McShay of New Gallatin Academy.”
By five to seven, no one else had appeared, however, and the sweat began to bead across Maura Beth’s forehead. Surely the handful of people who had shown up so far were not going to be the extent of the turnout. Perhaps people were caught in traffic. She nearly laughed out loud at that one. What on earth was she thinking? There was no traffic in peaceful little Cherico. Never had been, never would be.
Seven o’clock arrived, and Maura Beth continued to grasp at straws. Maybe the rest were just going to be late. Yes, fashionably late. That had to be the answer.
Then, finally, one minute past seven, more warm bodies. In this case—the Crumpton sisters. They made a grand entrance, indeed, with Mamie leading the way as usual. They were both overdressed for the occasion in floor-length ball gowns and matching clutches—Mamie in gold and Marydell in silver— giving the unmistakable impression that they had shown up principally to preen and be admired lavishly and often.
“Why, look at all this excitement! I had no idea there’d be so many people here,” Mamie began, surveying the lobby and striking a dramatic pose just inside the front door. “I thought this would be more like our ‘Who’s Who?’ meetings. Just a few of us hardy souls with a taste for genealogy and the twists and turns of local history. But Marydell and I are pleased to alter our Sunday evening routine to lend a hand, aren’t we, sister dear?”
“Oh, yes,” came the answer, along with a predictably weak smile.
Even before Maura Beth had a chance to reply, however, Councilman Sparks stepped up to intercept the sisters by executing a pretentious little bow in front of them and then taking each of them by the arm. “May I have the honor of escorting such a delightful pair of ladies?”
“It seems you’ve assumed the honor before asking,” Mamie fired back. “But exactly where are we going?”
“To the buffet table, perhaps?”
Mamie gently pulled her arm away and looked him straight in the eye. “Durden, I believe I’d like to catch my breath first. Perhaps find a nice seat for the proceedings.”
“Then let me at least assist you with that,” he continued.
“Enjoy yourselves. Thanks so much for coming!” Maura Beth called out, watching them all move away and shaking her head. She knew quite well that Councilman Sparks was nothing if not deferential to money and social position, particularly when it lived on his street and contributed to his former campaigns.
Then, a trio of women whom Maura Beth did not recognize entered with wide eyes and a hint of confusion in their faces. One was young and slim with her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, while the other two were matronly and somewhat overweight.
The slim woman spoke up immediately. “Hi, there. I’m Donna Gordon, and these are my friends, Paula Newhouse and Bettye Carter. Sorry we’re late. First, we couldn’t locate the library, and then we had trouble finding a parking space. We had to walk here from two blocks away.”
Maura Beth quickly introduced herself, maintaining a smile while her mind raced. Of course. That was probably why people were showing up late. No off-street parking. And Councilman Sparks had turned her down two years ago in no uncertain terms when she had inquired about creating a parking lot next door.
&n
bsp; “. . . and we found out about your program because we’re all fans of The Becca Broccoli Show,” Donna Gordon was saying when Maura Beth focused in again. “Not a show went by when she didn’t mention you. We thought it might be something fun and different to do. We hadn’t thought about the library in years.”
Maura Beth beamed. “Well, I’m so pleased you decided to come. Meanwhile, if you’d like to meet and chat with Becca, she’s the short blonde standing next to the big guy in the cowboy boots over at the buffet table. And, yes, that’s her Stout Fella in all his downsized glory.”
The trio thanked her and headed over, making all sorts of excited noises under their breath.
Maura Beth began to feel more comfortable. The head count had risen to fourteen, not counting the club members and the councilmen. Could a respectable number be far behind?
In fact, a steady succession began to stream in. Terra Munrow was all possessive smiles introducing her boyfriend with the conspicuous but undecipherable tattoo on his neck. “This is my Ricky I’ve been telling you about, Maura Beth. Do you have any books he could check out about motorcycles since he’s a biker and all?”
“We sure do. I’d be happy to help you locate them any time you come in, Ricky. And by the way, Terra, we probably have a romance novel or two with guys on motorcycles in the plot.”
“Doubly righteous!” Ricky exclaimed while raising a fist in the air; then the two of them were off to the buffet table.
But nothing compared with the group of ten led by James Hannigan that showed up next from The Cherico Market. Once again, as Maura Beth had surmised, finding convenient parking spaces had been the culprit for their tardiness.
“We all ended up two streets over. I kept hoping you wouldn’t start without us,” Mr. Hannigan concluded.
“I wouldn’t have dreamed of it.”
Then Mr. Hannigan leaned in with another of his friendly winks. “Good. Because we wanted to support our Peanut Butter Cracker Lady at all costs. And it turns out I’ve got some readers in the store. They just haven’t made the time to find their way to the library before. Guess you lit a fire under ’em with your book club to-do.”
