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She picked her way through the maze of crates, careful not to catch her skirt on the rough wooden edges. Yes, the full dozen had arrived.
Hamish, as always, slipped soundlessly out, but Freddy lingered in the doorway. “Do you need help shelving the books, Miss Cavendish? There are an awful lot here.”
“I rather doubt you’d understand my system.” It didn’t mimic the library’s. Heavy volumes on the bottom, most usedat eye level, collector items on the top, all of them vaguely grouped by subject.
“It’s no trouble,” he insisted, twisting his gardening cap in his hands. “Actually, I wanted to speak to you, if it’s a good time.”
She turned away and lifted one of the crate’s lids. “I’m sorry, Frederick, but it will have to wait until later. Besides, Delphie is planning another day of food storage with the pressure canner, and she’s demanding a steady supply of nonacidic vegetables.”
He offered a small smile. “Well, I wouldn’t dare get between Delphie and her string beans.”
“Pity the fool who would.”
Alone once again, Louise eyed the boxes warily. With something to set her hands to, she’d hoped she’d be filled with a burst of industry.
Everything was going more or less to plan. She’d been to the library the day before, seen the stacks of boxes labeled for the Victory Book Campaign, the shelves half bare, aClosedsign in the window. Avis insisted she needed to devote all her time to sorting, and besides, who would want to weave through the maze to find a title that might not still be there?
All of it was said with the resignation of someone who, after a series of devastating battles, was seeing that the end of the war might be surrender, not victory. She’d even reluctantly agreed that the club should start meeting at Windward Hall.
It would be crowded, perhaps, having all the regulars in her small drawing room. Windward Hall was designed as a summer getaway, not a mansion equipped for entertaining large groups. But if she moved out the piano and brought in another settee...
It won’t be the same.
There was something comforting about being surrounded by shelves, the way the tall windows let in morning light, the smell of the old tomes mingling with whatever baked good Avis had set out for them to enjoy.
But it was too late to turn back now.
It’s never too late.
Ah yes, the old sentimental optimism she’d inherited from Mother asserting itself. Louise attempted to push it back by attacking the first box of books when she saw the Beatrix Potter books placed on top, the ones she’d specially requested.
Had she ever recommended them to Rosa? The little girl would love them.
With a sigh, she stood. What could it hurt to make a simple inquiry? It would never do to make an uninformed decision, after all.
In the hallway, she cradled the handset to her ear and requested that the operator connect her to Milton Hanover.
He seemed surprised to get her call, a week earlier than her usual monthly update on the nursery school project. “Yes, well, I thought I should let you know. There have been ... complications.”
“Perhaps you’d like to elaborate?”
She most certainly would not, but of course she needed to. Starting with the most straightforward: the contractor’s concerns about completing the work by the first snow. From there, she moved to the women’s hesitance to accept charity.
For once, Mr. Hanover barely interrupted, inserting only the occasional question. “Is that all?” he asked when she paused once again.
This time, she chose her words carefully. “There has been ... increased community involvement in the library lately that I would be hesitant to lose. People seem to have found it to be a helpful location for civic engagement. Including myself.”
“I see,” Mr. Hanover said dully, though she guessed he did not. “I wonder, Miss Cavendish, why you didn’t mention any of this earlier?”
Gracious, this was painful. Louise barreled on past that question rather than give the obvious answer: pride. “To be clear,Mr. Hanover, I do not intend to abandon my duty. Nothing has been decided yet. My call is simply to inquire if there are any other options.” Another group, perhaps, that she could donate to, a promising charity closer to Bristol, anything at all.
A hum on the other end. “As it turns out, the city council announced to a group of local businessmen that a federal grant, newly passed by Congress, might be available to our community to fund a nursery school. We won’t know for certain until the new year, but it is a possibility.”
It was in that moment that Louise realized why characters in silly Hollywood movies were forever dropping telephones as an indication of surprise. It wasn’t so much a clumsy fumble as the fact that one’s mind was so occupied it couldn’t spare the effort for gripping things.
In the next moment, she’d recovered both her hold and her voice. “I thought you said it might be years before the government intervened.”
“It still might be. With Uncle Sam’s busy schedule, I’m inclined to be skeptical. In the end, it is your choice. Move forward with the library renovations to ensure a timely center, or wait to see if another is founded with the grant money and without your help.”
