The Librarian of Boone's Hollow - Kim Vogel Sawyer Page 0,51
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.”