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AVIS MONTGOMERY
JANUARY 31, 1942
DERBY, MAINE
Avis gripped the ladder as her husband climbed, a thick swath of black bunting draped over his shoulder. “Be careful, please, Russ.”
He looked down at her from under that dashing swoop of dark hair and grinned. “Careful as I always am.” Which did very little to reassure her.
Across from them, her brother Anthony climbed another rung, staring critically at the windows of the library’s east wall. “Are you sure the curtain’s going to be wide enough?”
Avis nodded to her notebook splayed on the floor, the numbers arranged in neat columns like soldiers at attention. “Of course. I measured it.”
“Three times, I bet,” Russell chimed in, giving her a teasing wink.
“Four,” she admitted.
“See? I told you.” Russell bunched a corner of the blackout cloth in his fist. “All right, old man, catch!”
“Don’t even think—” Avis began, but it was too late. Russell wound up like a pitcher on the mound and tossed the edge of the fabric, causing Anthony to wobble dangerously as he reached to snatch the hem.
If she dared to take one of her hands off the ladder, she’d be rubbing away a headache. “You’re going to fall and break your neck.”
Anthony slid the eyelet holes along the curtain rod he’d rigged up, and Russell did the same on his end. “If you’d held my ladder instead of your husband’s, you wouldn’t have to worry about me.”
“I’m fairly certain ladders were covered under my vow to have and to hold.” She smiled in satisfaction when both of them laughed, Russell’s deep and rumbling, Anthony’s breaking off in a snort at the end. Two of her favorite sounds in the world, as different as the men they belonged to. Her husband, stocky and confident, more comfortable on a fishing dock than he was at his job at the bank; her brother, gangly and warmhearted, with a quip on hand for any occasion.
At least there was no one else about to hear their nonsense. This close to closing, the library’s patrons had gone home to eat dinner and tune in to radio broadcasts about MacArthur and his boys trying to take back the Pacific.
Her hand trembled slightly as Russell climbed down.Focus on what you can control. For now, that meant measurements, regulations, and crisp right angles that matched the edges of the window frame, just as she’d planned. “A perfect fit.”
“Well done.” Russell kissed her forehead. “Miss Cavendish and the air raid warden won’t be able to find even a sliver of light.”
The periodical reading tables behind them, arrayed in two rows of three, now looked stiff and subdued in the sudden shadow.
When Anthony returned from stowing the ladders in the storage closet, a frown clouded his usually cheery face. “Grim as a funeral in here.”
“It’s wartime chic, pal,” Russell said, slapping him on the back. “Better get used to it.”
“Home décor magazines across the country will soon be touting these colors,” Avis chimed in. Already,LIFEmagazine had featured Joan Fontaine in a smart cap from a movie where she played a recruit for the British Women’s Auxiliary Air Force.
That prompted a snort from her brother. “You and your silly magazines. When will you read a real book?”
“When ‘real books’ give me tips for altering last season’s styles and a recipe for blueberry cobbler,” she fired back, a variation of her usual reply. Just because her librarian brother was a snob about books didn’t mean she had to be.
“She has a point,” Russell interjected. “Last night’s cobbler was excellent.”
Anthony shot his childhood friend a look of profound betrayal. “There’s more to reading than information, you know.”
“I’ve yet to see any proof of that.” Why, she probably learned more in a week’s worth of her reading than Anthony did in a year of paging through novels. Still, it was no good trying to persuade him. Only twenty-nine years old, but thoroughly set in his ways.
Instead of rising to her taunt, Anthony breathed in deeply. “I’m going to miss this place.”
It crept into the quiet after his words: that familiar fear that tingled through her body. For weeks, she’d pushed off the thought of Anthony’s leaving, but now, with the trip to Fort Devens only a few days away, there was nothing to be done.
Russell leaned against the shelves, strong arms folded over his chest. “What’ll Miss Cavendish do without you around here?”
