suppers.”
Addie removed the envelopes from the box and stepped outside. The door slammed behind her. Boone’s Hollow didn’t have a single lamppost to light the street, and the evening shadows made reading the dark writing on the envelopes difficult to decipher, but she recognized the handwriting. Both were from Felicity, and they would certainly cheer her as much as her chat with Mother and Daddy had. Across the street, lamplight glowed behind the library’s windows and flowed from the open doorway.
She gave a little skip that set her feet in motion toward the smokehouse building. Emmett needed to be made aware of the coming delivery.
Emmett
WHAT WAS HE GOING TO do about Addie? Emmett stared at the log of her deliveries and pickups. Except there were none. In ten days of heading out, she delivered only one item—a magazine to Jennie Barr, who wasn’t even on the route. So, of the twenty-one families to whom she’d been assigned, she didn’t deliver a book. She didn’t retrieve a book.
Every business class he’d taken had taught if an employee didn’t perform her job to expectation, she should be fired for the betterment of the organization. He rubbed his throbbing temples. Could he really fire Addie? Maybe he wasn’t cut out to be a business director after all. Which would prove Paw right. He might even start talking to Emmett again if he resigned from his position as library director.
Someone tapped on the doorjamb.
He slapped the log closed and looked toward the door. “Who is it?”
Addie peeked around the corner, her face alight. She hadn’t smiled much over the past two weeks. Not that he could blame her. Between being chased from people’s yards and facing Bettina’s criticism at every turn, she didn’t have many reasons to smile. And if he fired her, he’d wipe off the one she now wore. He prayed he wouldn’t have to do that to her.
He waved his hand. “C’mon in.”
She entered and half walked, half pranced to the table. Something had sure put a bounce in her step. “Am I disturbing you?”
“Working on some record keeping.” Her inactivity made part of it easy. He glanced at the letters she held. Maybe they were the cause of her good mood. From a beau, possibly? A beau who wanted her to return to Lexington? That’d simplify things for him. But it wouldn’t make him happy. He shook his head and dispelled the strange thought. “What’ve you got there?”
She slid the envelopes into the patch pocket of her overall bib. “Letters from a friend. But I came over to tell you some news I think you’ll like.”
He could use good news. He gestured to the second chair. “Have a seat.”
With a grin, she yanked out the chair and perched on its edge. “Miss West and I had an idea about how to make use of the magazines that are too tattered to lend. If we cut out the articles, recipes, and pictures, we could paste them into themed scrapbooks for people to check out like they do the books.”
He rested his chin in his hand, envisioning the idea. “That’s smarter than throwing them away.” He grimaced. He’d never forgive himself for losing the story she’d written. If he hadn’t thrown away the stack of worn-out magazines, she might still have it.
Addie nodded. “That’s what Miss West thought. The problem was we didn’t have any scrapbooks and Miss West said there were no funds to purchase some. So I wrote to my mother, and she and her church ladies organized a drive, and”—she flung her arms wide, triumph igniting her face—“tomorrow afternoon a crate of scrapbook materials and books will arrive at the Lynch depot.”
Emmett sat up. “It will?”
She laughed. “There might be more than one. Mother said she and her ladies collected a veritable mountain of scrapbooking items and books of all varieties. Do you think you’ll be able to borrow a wagon and go after them?”
“Kermit Gilliam has a wagon I could probably use.”
“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “I should probably go, too, since my name will be on the boxes.”
He chuckled. He’d never seen her so lighthearted. Not even at the bonfire at the university. He liked this side of her. “That seems fair.”
“Wonderful!” With a bright smile, she rose and headed for the door. “What time should I meet you here tomorrow afternoon?”
He scratched his temple. The thudding pain had departed. “Well…the afternoon train arrives at three thirty on Saturdays. So, by one? That’ll give us