The Librarian of Boone's Hollow - Kim Vogel Sawyer Page 0,14
She couldn’t honestly say she felt good. After all, a half year’s efforts were lost, she had no idea when or if she’d be able to return to school, and her entire future looked bleak. Felicity had fussed at her, claiming Addie would wither up and die if she didn’t do something fun, but she’d avoided closing activities. Instead, she’d spent the last days of the school year seeking a place of employment. And failing. What would she have done if Miss Collins hadn’t offered to host her for a while? Her active imagination painted pictures in her head, and she shuddered. “I really appreciate you taking me in. I promise I won’t be a nuisance.”
The woman laughed. “If I’d feared such, I wouldn’t have offered you a room. Let me show you where you’ll stay.” She turned and moved at a brisk pace.
Addie grabbed the handles of her suitcases and straightened, stifling a groan as her arm muscles complained, and followed the librarian into a sparsely furnished dining room. A wide doorway on the opposite side of the room revealed a parlor with a sofa and pair of chairs, all upholstered in a dreary green velvet. The walls were papered, but the paper was so old the color had nearly faded away, leaving behind only muted smudges of what Addie surmised had once been flowers. Although the rooms appeared drab in comparison to her childhood home, she didn’t spot a speck of dust anywhere. She’d need to be extra fastidious and not offend her hostess.
Miss Collins entered the opening of a narrow hallway, then came to a halt and turned a rueful grimace on Addie. “There are only two bedrooms in my house. When my mother passed away, bless her departed soul, I moved the sewing machine from the corner of the dining room to her bedroom. I confess there isn’t a great deal of space in there. You’ll be crammed in tight as a cork in a bottle.”
Memories of her spacious bedroom in the house on Briar Drive in Georgetown flooded Addie’s mind. She forced herself to smile. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
Miss Collins patted Addie’s arm. “Anything’s better than a cot at the YWCA, hmm?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And as for calling me ma’am, for the duration of your stay, I’d prefer you use my given name, which is Griselda Ann.” The woman’s dark eyebrows lowered. “When we’re not at work, of course.”
“Of course.” Addie wouldn’t have guessed the plain woman living in a plain house would have such a lovely name. “Thank you, Griselda.”
“Griselda Ann.”
“Griselda Ann,” Addie repeated, commanding herself not to chortle. The only time anyone used her own full name was when she’d been up to mischief, which wasn’t often. She was willing to wager Griselda Ann never got up to mischief.
“Well, come along now, Addie.” Griselda Ann entered the dark hallway and turned right. Addie trailed her to a closed door. Her hostess opened the door, revealing a shadowed space. She reached inside, a click sounded, and the room lit up. Griselda Ann plastered herself to the wall and held her hand in invitation for Addie to enter the bedroom-turned-sewing room.
Addie inched sideways to the doorway, suitcases bouncing against her legs, then stopped. Her mouth fell open, and she gawked, hardly able to believe her eyes. Color—every color imaginable—exploded from all corners of the room. She took a stumbling step forward, gaze darting from ceiling-high stacks of what seemed to be articles of clothing to the sewing machine, which held a partially completed quilt, to a basket overflowing with fabric pieces, to a table wedged in the corner at the foot of the bed and weighted down with…something. Curiosity coiling through her, Addie placed her suitcases on the multicolored patchwork quilt covering the bed and edged her way around to the table. Quilt tops. Dozens of them, all folded and stacked like a tower of pancakes.
She turned an astounded look on Griselda Ann. “You made these?”
Pride glimmered in the woman’s tawny-brown eyes. “Indeed, I did.” She crossed the threshold but remained just inside the door. “Folks from my church, and some others in town who want to be helpful, bring clothes that are too worn to wear. I cut the clothes into pieces, then sew the pieces together again. About once a month, I take the tops to church, and a group of women put batting between pairs of them, bind them, and tie them together. Then we hand them out to people