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“I like to read novels.”
“In English or Italian?” Miss Cavendish’s question was as pointed as a sharpened pen nib.
Martina shifted in her seat, her voice guarded. “English. I’ve lived here most of my life.”
Suddenly, Avis wished she’d brought aspirin instead of tea. Weren’t introductions supposed to help people feel more comfortable with one another?
“I like fairy stories,” a small voice piped up. The little girl on the floor behind Martina’s chair poked her head out, and Avis couldn’t help smiling.
“My daughter, Rosa,” Martina said, looking apologetic, “and my son, George.”
“Gio,” he corrected, thin arms folded across his chest. “I don’t like to read anything.”
“I see” was all Avis could think to say. “Well, we have a very large selection of books—including many collections of fairy stories—in our children’s section upstairs. Ginny, would you lead our young guests there?” Sweet as the little girl was, it would be better to have them out of the way. You could never tell what children would say.
“C’mon.” Ginny prodded Gio with her foot. “I’ll race you.” That set him off, taking the stairs two at a time to the second-floor balcony, Rosa trailing behind them.
This, while gaining a glare of disapproval from Miss Cavendish, at least took Ginny out of range for any snide comments during Miss Cavendish’s introduction, which Avis prompted politely.
“I am Louise Cavendish.” She folded her gloved hands, ever the lady of the manor. “This association library was startedby my father as a project for the betterment of the town where he and my mother spent summers all their lives.”
And you’re willing to give it up, Avis couldn’t keep from thinking, but if Miss Cavendish realized the irony of her proud statement, she didn’t show it.
“I have a particular interest in nonfiction, as well as poetry.”
Really?Avis tried not to let her surprise show. They’d have to find some poets to read, though she couldn’t think of any titles offhand.
The pause stretched too long before Avis realized it was her turn. “And I’m Avis Montgomery.” Perhaps she ought to add more for Martina’s sake. “My brother was the head librarian here for several years, and I’ve...”
Pretended to fill his role for the past three months.
“...carried on while he’s serving in the army. I enjoy any book with wit, warmth, and characters who feel like friends.” That, she’d decided, was a good line, even if it was a bit insincere. With what she hoped was a cheerful smile, she held up her copy ofMrs. Miniver. “Speaking of which, shall we discuss the book? I hope everyone had a chance to read it. I know it was short notice.”
“I read the interesting bits,” Ginny put in, rejoining them without Martina’s children in tow, “which, to be honest, wasn’t much.”
Martina made a faint choking sound, and Avis’s smile faltered. “Oh” was all she could manage, staring blankly at her supposed ally. “I’m sorry you felt that way.”
“Before we begin, oughtn’t we have someone take official minutes?” Miss Cavendish asked, giving a pointed look at Avis’s open notebook.
For comments like Ginny’s? Those were better off unrecorded. But of course, Avis couldn’t say that. “Certainly. I’ll be happy to do so.”
“As for me,” Miss Cavendish went on, “while I felt the proseleaned too far to sentimentality, it gave me a greater respect for what our British cousins endured in the days when America refused to acknowledge the impending conflict.” She looked at Avis as if she expected the full comment to be transcribed and attributed immediately.
That prompted a snort from Ginny. “Those Minivers owned a weekend cottage, took holidays in Scotland, and hired servants to prepare meals. If that’s what you call enduring suffering, I’m a fried mackerel.”
Forget the air raid sirens of the Blitz, Avis could feel alarms going off all around her. Why had she ever thought this would be a good idea?
She pictured Anthony in one of the empty chairs next to her, grinning at the show, delighted that a book could excite such strong emotions.“This had better be worth it,”she said to him in her mind, as if he could hear her from wherever he was trooping across the European countryside.
“Never fear, sis, books are meant to spark discussion. Just let it happen.”
As if she had any choice. Taking a deep breath, she looked down at her notebook and began to write.
Notes from the Blackout Book Club—April 18, 1942
Taken by Avis Montgomery, Head Librarian and Book Club Secretary
For the record: I was nominated for this secretarial position against my will.
