The Librarian of Boone's Hollow - Kim Vogel Sawyer Page 0,107
little while to get this cleaned up, and I can’t bring the crates in until it’s done. Would you ask Kermit if they can stay on the wagon until tomorrow afternoon?”
Preacher Darnell crossed on tiptoe through the maze of books and put his hand on Emmett’s shoulder. “I’m sure sorry about all this, Emmett. You reckon somebody’s upset about the new book gal?”
Somebody was upset, all right. He nodded.
The preacher hung his head. “These feuds an’ fear gotta end. Nanny Fay’s a fine Christian woman. But the people in town have blinders on when it comes to her. I—”
Emmett gave a start. “You think somebody did this because Addie stays with Nanny Fay?”
Preacher Darnell aimed a frown at Emmett. “Isn’t that what you’re thinkin’?”
Emmett licked his dry lips, his gaze drifting across the carnage. “I don’t know for sure.” Righteous indignation filled him. “But I can tell you one thing. When I find out who did this, no matter who it is, I’ll file charges of vandalism and destruction of government property. I won’t be turning the other cheek.”
* * *
EMMETT SAT ON the edge of one of the crates sent from Georgetown and stared at the stacks of books and magazines covering the table. He needed to open the crates and organize the new materials so he’d have packs ready for the girls to take tomorrow, but his heavy heart held him in place.
He was pretty sure Preacher Darnell’s fiery sermon about letting God be the judge instead of taking retribution into one’s own hands was a last-minute switch, but his words had poured as eloquently as if he’d practiced them for weeks. A part of the man’s emotional talk roared in Emmett’s memory.
“ ‘Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.’ Feuds and violence have no place in the Christian’s heart or actions! Repent of your hateful attitudes, an’ if you’ve wronged a neighbor, seek their forgiveness an’ ask how you can make things right!”
After the service, Emmett had expected half the congregation to flood to the back pew, where Nanny Fay and Addie sat together, but not a one of them even looked their way. A few came to him, though, and pointed their fingers of blame.
Barney Shearer clapped Emmett on the shoulder. “Heard about the mess. Prob’ly someone from Tuckett’s Pass done it. They don’t got a lib’ary over there, an’ the ol’ green-eyed monster convinced one of ’em to ruin ours. You know how them Tuckett folks are.”
Baylus Landrum shook his gray head and puckered his lips in a sorrowful frown. “Sure sorry ’bout what happened to them books, Emmett, but reckon it shouldn’t come as a surprise. I can’t figure why that ol’ woman don’t take herself to Tuckett’s Pass an’ let Boone’s Holler have some peace.”
Even Juny Faulkner, the doctor’s wife, approached with her nose in the air. “Just goes to show those hills people don’t appreciate anything they’re given. If I was you, I’d close the doors an’ let ’em find a way to buy books for themselves an’ their youngsters. That would teach ’em.”
They needed teaching, all right. As did nearly every person who called Boone’s Hollow home. He puffed his cheeks and blew, wishing he hadn’t lost Addie’s story. He didn’t know a single person from the area who didn’t enjoy a good tale—well, except Paw, who didn’t have patience for storytelling. That’s why some who weren’t exactly religious showed up at church every Sunday. Preacher Darnell had a way of weaving biblical truths into story form. Even Jesus told parables, which were the same as stories. If Emmett picked an evening and made it read-aloud hour at the library, he’d get swarmed. And if he could have read Addie’s tale, maybe experiencing ostracism through the eyes and feelings of a book character would finally reach the stubborn, prideful folks.
But sitting here ruminating wouldn’t get his work done. He rose and grabbed the hammer he’d borrowed from Kermit and pried the lid off the first crate. As the nails screeched from the wood, someone tapped on the doorframe. He didn’t need one more piece of unsolicited advice. He hollered, “Library’s closed.”
“It’s me, Emmett—Addie.”
He dropped the hammer and bounded to the door. He flicked the latch and swung the door wide. She’d changed from the pretty yellow-and-white-striped dress she’d worn to church into her overalls, and she held a squat jar of purple