The Librarian of Boone's Hollow - Kim Vogel Sawyer Page 0,57

Then run.” He wrung his hands on the shovel handle the way someone might wring a chicken’s neck. Sweat broke out across his back underneath his shirt. “How often does the warning whistle blast?”

Stead’s expression turned grim. “Even once is too often.” He shrugged and gave Emmett a light tap on the arm with the clipboard. “But we’ve gone comin’ up on three months now with no cave-ins, an’ nobody’s been serious hurt for longer’n that, so don’t fret.”

The man’s statement removed some of Emmett’s worry. “Thank you, sir. I’ll try not to.”

Paw scuffed backward, lifting his hand in a farewell. “I’ll see you at lunch break. Have a good mornin’.”

“You, too, Paw.”

Paw spun on his heel and trotted off. The tunnel and its cloud of dust swallowed him up. Emmett took a good grip on his shovel. If he got paid by the ton, he’d better get busy.

Boone’s Hollow

Addie

WHILE MISS WEST recorded information in a notebook, her careful application of pen to paper reminding Addie of Griselda Ann’s slow motions at the library desk in Lexington, Addie put away the books and magazines the packhorse librarians had brought back last Friday. She’d become so familiar with the shelving system in Lexington that she could put things away in her sleep. Although much smaller and with limited resources, the Boone’s Hollow library was organized just as well. Addie easily located where every item should go.

As she placed things on the shelves, she took note of tattered pages, bent covers, water stains, and other signs of age or damage. She stayed quiet, but inwardly she seethed. Had the people who received these items treated them poorly? Such a disrespectful thing to do, especially considering the effort being made to deliver the books directly to the families. When she made her first delivery, she would give a short lecture about the treatment of precious books.

She carried a particularly tattered copy of Ladies’ Home Journal to the table and waited quietly for Miss West to acknowledge her. When the woman looked up, Addie held out the magazine. “Ma’am, this is falling apart.”

Miss West took the periodical and thumbed through it, grimacing. “Yes, this one is in particularly poor shape. It’s been popular, though, because of the recipe section. Any of the magazines with recipes are sought after by the women here.” She laid it aside and turned sideways in her chair, her gaze drifting across the shelves. “When I arrived a year ago, I brought four crates of books and magazines with me, all donated by various charity groups. Unfortunately, none of the groups donated new items. Being bounced around on horseback and passed through so many eager hands…well, they simply can’t hold up.”

Guilt tickled Addie. She’d jumped to a conclusion. An unfair one. She fingered the torn cover of the magazine. “If you have some stiff paper and glue, I could cut out the articles and such and paste them onto pages. They could be put together again into something sturdier and more usable.”

Miss West jerked her attention to Addie, wonder blooming on her face. “What a fine idea, Addie. Instead of discarding the magazines, we could make scrapbooks. Perhaps with themes, such as recipes or short stories or subjects like birds or insects. Yes, I like the idea very much.” Then her expression faded, and she seemed to forget Addie stood in the room. “But it would take a great deal of time. The girls already spend eight to ten hours on their delivery routes. It wouldn’t be fair to ask them to work on scrapbooks when they have responsibilities in their homes, as well.”

Addie waited several moments, but when Miss West didn’t speak again, she cleared her throat. “I won’t be living with a family, so I could use my evening hours to make scrapbooks, if you’d like.” As soon as the idea left her mouth, she realized she’d offered the only time she would have to work on her writing projects. The notebooks and pens in the bottom of her suitcase begged to come out, to record the ideas that filled her imagination and tell the stories residing in her heart. But she wouldn’t retract her offer.

Miss West turned to Addie, brows pinching into a thoughtful frown. “I appreciate your willingness. It’s a fine idea. Truly. I wish I’d thought of it myself. And I will give it more thought and seek a means of implementing it.” She rose and slipped her hand through the bend of