The Librarian of Boone's Hollow - Kim Vogel Sawyer Page 0,9

Surprise registered on her face.

“Why, Addie, I didn’t realize you were on the schedule today.”

“I’m not. I n-needed to talk to you.” The stutter surprised her. Perhaps this conversation would be more difficult than she’d originally imagined.

A frown creased Mrs. Hunt’s forehead. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Her legs suddenly felt shaky. She wished she could sit, but the only other chair in the room was in the corner, which would put far too much distance between them. Addie forced her feet to carry her over the unstained maple floorboards. She stopped on the opposite side of the desk, sucked in a fortifying breath, and blurted, “My daddy lost his job. He couldn’t pay my tuition bill, so I can’t finish the semester. He and Mother moved into a boardinghouse, and there isn’t room for me there. Thus, I need to secure a job in Lexington. May I hire on here full time?”

Mrs. Hunt stared at her blankly for several seconds, eyeglasses glinting from the bulbs in the chandelier hanging above her desk. Then she abruptly rose, rounded the desk, and gripped Addie’s upper arms. “My dear, I wish I could say yes. You’ve been a very dependable worker. But my operating budget has been cut twice in the past three years. This economic depression—it affects so many things, you know.”

Yes, Addie knew. She offered a weak smile. “I understand.”

The library director released Addie and folded her arms over her chest. “I would happily write you a recommendation for any potential employers if that would be helpful.”

Given the woman’s fine reputation in town, her recommendation was worth a great deal. Addie nodded. “Thank you, ma’am, I would appreciate that very much.”

Mrs. Hunt started around the desk, her steps brisk. “Then I shall write it this afternoon and give it to you tomorrow at the end of your shift.” She stopped and aimed a mild frown in Addie’s direction. “You do intend to continue your part-time position here until the end of the month, as originally planned?”

“Yes, ma’am. I made a commitment, and Daddy says we should always honor our commitments.” Not to mention she needed the money.

A smile softened the woman’s expression. “You have a wise daddy who raised a fine, responsible daughter.” Mrs. Hunt settled in her chair and linked her hands on top of the open journal. She angled her head and fixed a solemn look on Addie. “I’ll be honest. Most young women, if faced with your situation, would wallow in self-pity or spew with anger. I’m proud of the way you’re approaching the problem. I’m sure your parents are proud of you, too.”

A knot filled Addie’s throat, hindering her from speaking. She gave a quick nod, which she hoped Mrs. Hunt would interpret as a thank-you. She turned toward the door.

“Addie, just a moment.”

Addie looked back.

“Whatever decent employment opportunities exist in Lexington will be listed in the classified section of the Lexington Herald.”

“Yes, I planned to buy a paper and look through the classifieds for a room to let.” Panic tried to attack. The dormitories would close after graduation. Only one week away. Where would she go if she couldn’t find a place to live? “Your daddy and I are praying for you…” Part of Mother’s letter whispered in Addie’s memory and encouraged her to remain hopeful. “I’ll search the help wanted section, too.”

“Well, please make use of the library’s copy rather than unnecessarily spending a nickel.”

Addie wouldn’t argue about saving her money. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll do that.” She left Mrs. Hunt’s office and returned to the reading room.

Those poring over books seemed so peaceful. Temptation to go down to the first floor and retrieve the copy of The A.B.C. Murders tugged hard. She’d find blissful escape in an Agatha Christie mystery. How she needed an escape from the harsh reality that had befallen her like an unexpected thunderstorm. But Mrs. Hunt had called her responsible. A responsible person would see to business first and pleasure second. Setting aside the selfish desire, she tiptoed between tables to the door that opened into the periodical room.

One quarter the size of the reading room, crowded with freestanding shelves and sporting only one overhead chandelier above the center of three tables jammed end to end, the periodical room seemed gloomy—much like Dean Crane’s office—in comparison. She’d take the newspaper to the reading room for examination. She hurried to the rack of stained dowel rods, where the latest issues of the five newspapers purchased by the library could