The Librarian of Boone's Hollow - Kim Vogel Sawyer Page 0,132
of woodsmoke from fireplaces hung on the air—a pleasant aroma. Other than the crunch of leaves beneath their feet, the world was completely silent. One of them should say something. She’d be in Georgetown for almost two weeks, enough time to help Mother and Daddy settle into the two-bedroom bungalow they’d found to rent. Her folks couldn’t afford telephone service yet, which meant she wouldn’t be able to even make a telephone call to Boone’s Hollow. Shouldn’t she and Emmett take advantage of the minutes together now? Why didn’t he—
“Addie?”
She released a little squeak of surprise. “Yes?”
“How many stories do you think you’ve written so far?”
She wouldn’t have chosen the topic of her memory collecting. They could talk about it anytime. Shouldn’t alone time be for something more personal? But at least he’d spoken. She shrugged. “Twelve so far. And thirty-eight more families are waiting their turns.”
“So…” His tone sounded musing. “Two stories per month? Is that the pace you’re keeping?”
Mathematically he was correct. She nodded. “Yes. I could probably get more covered if I was writing all day, but using only the evening hours slows me down.” Her own story writing had been set aside, but she didn’t regret it. These people’s histories were more important than her fictional characters’ tales.
They broke through the trees into the clearing around Nanny Fay’s cabin. The familiar glow behind the windows and a curling line of smoke from the rock chimney beckoned Addie, but Emmett maintained a slow, leisurely pace. She matched it.
“Would you like to do the writing full time?”
She frowned up at him. “I can’t do that. I have to earn a wage.” Although she’d paid her college bill, Mother and Daddy would need her help in covering the expenses of their new little house. Daddy also wanted her to start a savings account, setting aside some funds with the hope of finishing her degree someday.
He placed his hand on her spine and guided her to the porch, to the bench Eagle had built for Nanny Fay, and he sat. He patted the open spot, and she perched next to him, puzzled by the serious expression on his face. “Did you know that the WPA has hired photographers to make a pictorial account of the nation’s hardships?”
She hadn’t heard, but she liked the idea. Someday, when things were easier, people would need to remember the hardworking folks who survived these difficult times. Pictures would personalize what they’d had to overcome.
“Pictures are good, but they need words to go with them.” Emmett’s blue eyes, lit by the lamplight behind the glass, remained fixed on her face. “As well as you write, I think you should consider submitting some of your family stories to the committee in Washington. They might very well hire you to record the history of the folks living on Black Mountain. Then you could commit your full days to it, and when all was done, you’d have a publishing credit to your name.”
Being paid to write these families’ histories stirred excitement in her chest. But at the same time, worry nibbled. “If I was hired, though, I’d have to give up working at the library. No more…working alongside you.” She swallowed. “Is that what you want?”
“What I want is for you to fully use the abilities God has given you.” Fervency glowed in his eyes. “You have a special gift for words, Addie. You’re spending so many hours recording these stories, and it would be nice if you were recompensed for your effort. If you were writing full time, you could complete more than two a month. At the rate you’re going, it’ll be more than a year before you can write the one I really want to read.”
“Which one is that?”
His lips curved into a sweet smile. “Ours.”
She drew back, raising her eyebrows. “Ours?”
He nodded. “Think about it while you’re in Georgetown. And when you come back, I’ll ask you again about creating a you-and-me story.”
Her heart pattered, and eagerness thrummed in her veins. “Why don’t you ask me now?”
“It wouldn’t be fair. You haven’t been home with all the things the city offers. You need to know for sure that your story belongs here in these hills with me.” He reached through the folds of red velvet and took her hands. “Go home. Have time with your parents. Do a lot of praying and thinking. And when you come back, we’ll talk. All right?”
Always the businessman, wanting to plan first and act later. She