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Mack’s sure not a brooding duke or noble Southern gentleman.
But who was, really? If a girl waited for some fellow who quoted poetry, spread his coat over a puddle, or stomped moodily around the misty moors, whatever those were, why, she’d be waiting forever.
“One of these days you’ll get me fired.”
The accusing finger stretched toward her was tipped with nails raggedy to the quick.
Ginny slid off the desk and faced Avis. “Okay, something’s wrong. Don’t argue,” she added, when it looked like Avis would try. “Just tell me all about it.” She started kneading the librarian’s shoulders, the muscles tense and stiff like a salt-soaked rope set out to dry.
“It’s a tragedy,” Avis said flatly, instead of pushing her away like Ginny had expected. “You see, I’ve accidentally started a book club.”
“What’s so awful about that?”
It was like Avis had been waiting for someone to ask. Ginny knew the type from back on the island: old sea dogs, mostly, who were trapped alone after the first snowfall and could jaw your ear off come spring. She’d always been good at listening to them. Now she nodded along as Avis explained about a nursery school and her brother and the mess she’d gotten herself into.
“Let me guess: this is the same lady who keeps the best books hidden away?”
Avis nodded.
Ginny rolled her eyes. “She’s got her hooks into everything, doesn’t she?”
“Itisher building. She has a right to do as she pleases with it.”
Well, maybe that was true. Ginny knew she didn’t like rich folks on principle, except ones in books, which wasn’t exactly fair. “Don’t worry, Avis. I bet you’ll ace the book club. Why, you wouldn’t have gotten this job if you didn’t love books, right?”
From the dismayed expression on Avis’s face, her encouraging speech had clearly gotten something wrong. “Not exactly.”
“Well, at least you like people, then,” she amended. But Avis shook her head to that too. “Good golly, Avis, what do you like?”
She gave Ginny a helpless look, like the swooning heroine on the cover ofThe Sheik. “Baking?”
“Well then, do that.”
Avis tapped a finger on the desk, looking off into the distance. “I do have an excellent recipe for carrot-cake muffins.”
“There, see!” Come to think of it, that sounded pretty good, the musty old library filled up with smells of cinnamon and nutmeg. “In that case, I might even be there myself.”
“Please come. And bring a friend. Or two. The whole factory shift, if you like.”
She really was desperate. Ginny thought about the other women at the foundry, or the ones she’d met around town.
Martina. That was her best bet. She’d brought a book to read every dinner break, sitting all by herself until Ginny had plopped down next to her and introduced herself.
Ginny riffled through the stack of books next to Avis on the desk to try to find one her friend might like.
She held up one with a spangly explosion of stars on the cover.Mrs. Miniver. “Say, is this the Greer Garson movie coming out this summer? All about the Blitz over in London?”
Avis stared at her so long that she figured she must be wrong, until the librarian snatched the book away from her hand and clung to it like an overboard sailor to a life vest. “Ginny, you’re brilliant.”
“Well, sure.” Facts were facts, after all. “But ... why, exactly?”
“This is perfect for our first book club. Miss Cavendish was the head of the Bundles for Britain committee two years in a row. She’llhaveto like it.”
Ginny almost said not to be too sure and that people could surprise you with their tastes. Why, she’d met someone once who didn’t like bacon, for goodness’ sake. But seeing as that would spoil the hope in the librarian’s eyes, she kept her mouth shut.
She left the library with the date and time of the first discussion, a novel for herself calledIn the Name of Love, and the satisfaction of doing a good deed.
Did she have any idea what a book club actually was? Not a clue.
