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“I’m not in the habit of saying things I don’t.” But despite herself, Louise couldn’t keep from smiling at the young woman’s widening eyes. “I’ll leave you to your work. Simply wanted you to know it matters more than you might have guessed.”
“Thank you,” Avis managed.
Louise nodded. “And do tell Anthony for me, would you?” They’d have to make sure the rebuilding was done by the time the young man came home.
On the other side of the library, Frederick waved Louise over to the back door, where the original book club members were evacuating the fiction section, a grubby Gio passing books to his mother, then to Ginny, who set them on a tarp to be packed.
“Will I be of any use?” she asked doubtfully. Some of the stacks looked heavier than she could handle.
Delphie, stationed at the end of the brigade, snorted. “They let me join in, so clearly they’re desperate.”
Louise had to chuckle at that. “Thank you, Delphie. And all of you.”
Her cook squinted suspiciously. “For what?”
“For being here when I needed you.”
Fortunately, they acknowledged her thanks with smiles andkept at the work of passing books, so she didn’t have to reveal the catch in her throat.
Silly. She’d assumed she’d cried all her tears the day before, processing what it meant to meet the son she’d thought she’d lost so many years before. But apparently there were at least a few tiresome drops left. Louise dashed them away before anyone could notice.
She took up a place next to Frederick—Samuel—as he passed along an armful of books, carrying with them the scent of smoke.
“Be on the lookout for our next club selections, now,” he said. “We might find some obscure gems in this lot.”
“So long as the last few pages aren’t burned to a crisp.”
“Might be fun for a change. Everyone can argue about how the storyoughtto have ended.”
This time when he winked, Louise smiled back at her son instead of shaking her head.
Rebuilding from ashes, especially with a war on, would be a daunting task. But she’d faced more than a few of those in her life. This library had too many people who loved it to let it die.
Louise had wasted enough time already. Best to get started.
Notes from the Blackout Book Club and Grand Library Reopening—March 12, 1943
Taken by Avis Montgomery, Head Librarian and Book Club Secretary
Members in Attendance: All, plus half of the town, at least.
Tonight’s grand reopening of the library was a smashing success. Everyone did their part, distributing flyers and arriving midafternoon to set up, so that by the time we opened the doors at six o’clock—blackout curtains drawn, of course—there was a line down the block.
Martina’s mother, who still lapses into Italian when excited, put herself in charge of the children’s gallery on the floor near our makeshift stage, a short platform constructed by Hamish from scrap wood. She stationed herself on a stool, ready to shush the little ones or keep them from toddling off.
This, thank God, was the only security precaution we needed, since Martina’s husband was caught robbing an OPA office of ration stamps several weeks ago. When I asked her if she was relieved, she said it was more complicated than that. But it’s good to see her smiling and laughing again.
We pooled our sugar rations to serve gingerbread for all, sweetened with maple syrup to make up the difference, a trick Delphie taught me. Since coffee was added to the ration list, it was a sparse offering, but no one seemed to mind, filling their plates before the official start of the performance.
After a welcome from the mayor, where he thanked the firemen and subtly took credit for the rebuilding, I read my latest letter from Anthony. In it, he thanked us for donating proceeds from the night’s performance to care packages of books for his unit, and passed along a comment from abuddy that “books are more popular than pin-up girls over here.”
Next up, Freddy and Gio gave a joint performance of the poem “Casey at the Bat,” with Gio delivering the narration perfectly from memory while Freddy pantomimed it to great applause. Everyone agreed that the spontaneous kiss Ginny planted on him after the famous strikeout made the ending much less depressing.
Mr. and Mrs. Bell delivered a selection from “Rip Van Winkle,” complete with a lengthy beard made of wool, and Mr. Maloney surprised us all by bringing us to tears with a stanza of “Evangeline.” Almost enough to make me reevaluate my opinion of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
The final performance of the night was a joint effort of the original book club members—a dramatic reading excerpted from the opening ofLittle Women, with Louise as Meg, Ginny as Jo, Martina as Beth, and myself as Amy. We offered the role of Marmee to Delphie, but she turned us down flat (“I don’t know that there’s anyone in the world less suited to it”), so Mrs. Whitson did the small part admirably.
Overall, it was a hit, despite Ginny slipping in off-script comments. Martina was frightened to death to be in front of everyone and never spoke a line above a murmur, but that was in character for Beth, so it was all right. And I got a good laugh from the crowd over the running gag of mispronouncing words, which was quite satisfying.
Best of all, halfway through, Russell slipped in the back. I stared so long that Louise had to prompt me to find my place again. He didn’t think he’d be able to get leave so close to the end of his term, but there he was, directly off the train from Boston. I hurried to his side as soon as the applause ended.
This was followed by the unveiling of Louise’s painting, reminiscent of Beatrix Potter’s style, although the farmerand his wife were decidedly more friendly looking than the McGregors of the books. Afterward, examining it closer, I noticed that they resembled a certain one-eyed veteran and his sweetheart.
Hamish hung it in the restored children’s section, now with comfortable seating to encourage the younger set to visit. Come September, I’ll be spending more time there myself ... Russell and I are expecting. He was a little startled by the long list of literary names I’ve picked out for us to choose from. (Hercule and Hester, it seems, are already out, but Arthur and Elinor are still in the running.)
I ended the evening by inviting one and all to the Blackout Book Club, now meeting again in our usual location. I think everyone’s glad about that. Windward Hall did perfectly well for a few months, but we had to split into two, and then three, groups to fit everyone in the compact rooms. Besides that, Mr. Bell is allergic to poor Jeeves and sneezed his way through our discussion ofTheir Eyes Were Watching God, and Gio managed to take down a decorative sword from the hall to act out a scene fromThe Count ofMonte Cristo. Louise appreciated his zeal, but not his near decapitation of Mrs. Whitson, and has banned family heirlooms as props at future club meetings.
Must set these notes down. Most of the members have gathered downstairs to discuss next month’s book, and I want to join in.
It’s good to be home again.
