The Librarian's Journey, page 30
Clay leaned back in his desk chair and looked out the window at the first rays of sun filtering through the trees that lined Pennsylvania Avenue. The scent of woodsmoke rose heavy in the morning air, a reminder of home and family and of generations of Appalachians who came before him.
A warm woodstove in an otherwise cold cabin was what greeted hill folk every day. The difference for some is they were coming home to it after a shift in the mines rather than waking up to it. Here in Washington, D.C., that same scent emanated from fireplaces in grand homes and hotels. Still, if he closed his eyes, he would be back home in an instant.
Back in West Virginia.
The door flung open, and Clay jerked to his feet. It wasn’t often that he received a visit from J. Edgar Hoover himself and especially at an hour when other agents were still home in their beds, yet to awaken for the day.
Rarely did a surprise visit from the boss ever bode well, no matter the time of day.
“Sit down, Turnbow,” the venerable bureau director growled before Clay could manage a greeting.
As Clay complied, Hoover glanced down then back up at him. “Good morning, sir,” Clay said.
“Not a bad morning yet, but then most of my men aren’t here yet to ruin it.” Hoover settled onto the chair across from Clay. “I see you’ve got the materials. What do you make of it?”
Clay let out a long breath, finally comfortable with where the discussion was leading. “With some time and research, I could make a case that the files are related.”
Hoover nodded. “Other than the obviously geographical relationship, I hope.”
“Yes.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “From the rigged horse racing in the first file to the illegal betting in the second file, I see similarities.”
Hoover shifted positions. “Any thoughts on who the top man might be?”
“Not yet,” Clay admitted, “but I’ve got a list.”
The director’s smile rose. “So do I, but lists don’t do much on their own, do they?”
“No, sir.”
“All right. I’ve heard enough.” Hoover slapped his palms on the arms of the chair and rose abruptly. “I’ll put a man on this with you. He’s new—plucked out of an accounting career. He’ll follow the paper trail, but you’re going to have to take the lead as a field operative. I’ll set up a post office box. Instructions will come via letters from your uncle Eddie in Baltimore.”
Uncle Eddie in Baltimore was a frequent means of getting messages to and from agents in the field. Often the only way, depending on the size of the town. And with the envelopes and glue used by the bureau, discovering whether a letter had been tampered with was simple.
“You’ll go in as timber buyers. Get to know the locals. Chat them up. That sort of thing. Get the lay of the land and see what they know. Oh, and see if you can teach him how to shoot. He’s terrible at it.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”
The director got as far as the door before he turned to face Clay. “Just one more thing, Turnbow. It’s my business to know all about the men I hire before I hire them. You are no exception.”
Hoover paused. Silence fell between them. Clay leaned back, causing the chair to make a loud creaking noise.
“Don’t forget why you didn’t stay in West Virginia and marry Charlotte Trent. It won’t go well for you if you forget that.”
Clay’s mouth opened to speak. To say something. What, he had no idea. But the door closed with Hoover on the other side of it before he could form the words.
He let out a long breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “That won’t be an issue, Director,” Clay said under his breath as he went back to reading the files.
But the more he read, the more his mind drifted back to Hoover’s ultimatum about a woman he hadn’t seen since he was seventeen years old. The director wouldn’t have mentioned Lottie Trent by name if he hadn’t had a dossier on her or at least on someone in her family.
And a dossier meant that someone had done something to attract the attention of J. Edgar Hoover.
A glance up at the clock told Clay it was still too early for the file clerks to arrive. If he hurried, he might be in and out of that file room before anyone caught him.
May 1936
Trent Boardinghouse
Kenova, West Virginia
Lottie had turned twenty-six last week, and the occasion had been marked with the usual cake along with a gift after supper. This time, however, Mama had marked the occasion with a warning: spinsterhood loomed if Lottie didn’t manage to learn her way around a kitchen with any sort of skill.
After all, girls she’d gone to school with were long-ago married, some more than ten years wed with a house full of children to show for it. Even Elnora had forsaken her piano career for matrimony to Elmer three years ago and had one on the way and one still in the cradle, both with names starting with the letter E.
But not her.
She shook off the thought and returned her attention to the task at hand. Daddy often said she lacked the glue to stick to anything.
The number of mishaps and incomplete projects that Lottie left in her wake seemed to attest to this. But everyone who knew her also knew that most of her trouble stemmed not from the fact that her head was in the clouds but rather that her nose was in a book.
What she would never add to that statement of truth was that, deep in her heart, she knew God had not meant her to remain here. No, she was meant to leave this little town where she’d lived since she was twelve and go elsewhere.
To be sure, she’d asked the Lord repeatedly just where elsewhere might be. Unfortunately, He was silent on the matter.
She hadn’t forgotten that long-ago conversation with Daddy about books and horses. Maybe the Lord would make those dreams come true someday. Even one of them would be fine. But eleven years had passed, and the Lord had not provided an opportunity for either one.
Though she felt Him slow in responding to the prayer she prayed almost every night, she did keep herself busy in the meantime. That is, if her meager attempts at showing she had some value here at the boardinghouse could be counted as such.
Lottie glanced longingly at the stack of books on the corner of the worktable but went back to work slicing apples for pie. The spring fair would be here in a few days, and Mama was bent on taking first prize again, so anyone who could be of use was pulled in to help with the preparation.
Even Lottie.
Not that there was any doubt who would win. Elizabeth Trent always won first prize for best pie. Sometimes, if she was of a mind to enter more than one of her pies, she would claim second place as well.
Thus, the least Lottie could do was peel a few apples and measure out sugar and flour for the pies. With the task at hand being the peeling, a mind-numbing job, she allowed her thoughts to travel to an incident yesterday evening after supper.
Lottie hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. She’d been curled up on a blanket behind the shed with her copy of War and Peace when Mama and Daddy stepped outside to speak privately about the boardinghouse’s downturn in earnings last month. Indeed, there had been fewer guests since the WPA finished building in the area and that new motel had been built down the road, but until she heard her parents’ hushed tones and the worry in Mama’s voice, Lottie hadn’t given it a thought.
Since then, that’s all she’d thought about. With her obvious lack of kitchen skills, she was adding to the financial problems her parents faced unless she found employment elsewhere. Daddy was too proud to accept payment from her, but he’d certainly not complain much if he had one less mouth to feed. Thus, the advertisement in this morning’s paper requesting interested parties to apply for an opening on the library’s staff had seemed heaven sent.
The kitchen door swung open, and Winnie Walters stepped into view. The pastor’s daughter held an armful of dishes she’d plucked from the table after the last of the boarders had finished breakfast.
“Goodness,” Winnie exclaimed as she deposited the dishes in the sink. “I didn’t think Mr. Bertram would ever finish his meal. I know he loves your mama’s biscuits, but he must have had a half dozen of them. And couldn’t he have taken his newspaper elsewhere to read instead of slowly turning the pages while he sipped his coffee?
“Listen to me complaining.”Winnie sighed and shook her head. “Papa has told me I need to work on patience, and he’s right. So you’ll be going for the job interview this morning?”
Lottie glanced at the clock on the wall above the stove. Twenty minutes until nine. “I am.”
“Do your mama and papa know?” she whispered.
“I’ll tell them if I get the job,” Lottie said, not quite meeting Winnie’s gaze. “It’s not as if they wouldn’t want me to accept employment as a librarian. I’m certainly not much help here at the boardinghouse.”
“You slice a nice apple for pie.” Winnie nodded toward the big bowl on the table then turned her attention to the pump that would fill the sink with water for washing the dishes. “Swiftly and neatly, just like your mama likes it. And you’re much better at ironing a sheet than I am.”
Winnie was always so sweet and encouraging. She would never mention the bandages Lottie collected from cutting her fingers or the scorch marks on the sheets, though Mama always did. If only she could show Mama and Daddy that she was good at something. That she could actually do a job and do it well.
Lottie shrugged off the thought as she rose to stand beside Winnie at the sink. Outside was a view through the big window of a thick forest of trees and the mountains beyond. Though it couldn’t be seen here, Lottie’s favorite riding trail was just beyond the thicket.
Of all the things she missed about her life before the Trent family came to Kenova, her horse was the thing she missed most of all. That horse, a sure-footed mare named Beauty, was the one memory of that time that she allowed herself to keep.
When she could, which wasn’t often nowadays, Lottie borrowed the neighbor’s bay and headed halfway up the mountain, wending through trails so narrow she admonished the horse to hold his belly in. The bay wasn’t anywhere near as sure on his feet as Beauty, but she enjoyed the ride all the same.
Someday she would have another sure-footed mare. Surely the Lord would allow it.
The clatter of dishes and the sound of music interrupted her thoughts. Winnie had turned her attention to the washing, her hands immersed in sudsy water up to her elbows as she began to hum the hymn they’d all sung in church yesterday morning.
“And He walks with me and He talks with me…”
Lottie offered her friend a smile. “Thank you, Winnie. I’m sure none of you will miss me if I get this job though.”
“Don’t say that, Lottie. You’ll get that job. Nobody else in this town has read just about every book in that library at least once. Most of them twice.” She paused to shake her head. “Besides, it’s not like you’re leaving Kenova. You’re just going to be down the street.”
“Right.” She mustered a smile. “Just down the street. Well, I should get to it then.”
Winnie beamed. “I’m already praying for God to give you exactly the job He means for you to have. Now march down that street and claim it.”
This time Lottie’s smile was genuine as she gathered up her pocketbook and the stack of library books she planned to return before her appointment with the head librarian to discuss possible employment.
After depositing her books in the collection bin, Lottie found the head librarian, Miss Dorothea Kern, who had taken over for Elnora’s mama upon her retirement, standing at the card catalog. Miss Kern looked at her through tiny wire-rimmed glasses that were slightly askew. “Give me a minute, Lottie. And if you don’t mind, go ahead and wait in my office.”
After casting a quick glance around the library to make sure no one had noticed her, she slipped into the office next to the circulation desk and took a seat in one of the two wooden chairs flanking the cluttered desk.
Miss Kern came in a moment later, preventing Lottie from collecting her thoughts or practicing the speech she’d planned. “Well now, Miss Trent,” she said, giving Lottie an appraising look. “Since I’ve practically watched you grow up right here in this building, I will dispense with my usual questions that I ask a new employee and get right to the point. Would you like to work as a librarian?”
She moved to the edge of her seat and grappled for her handbag to keep it from toppling to the floor. “I would. Very much.”
Miss Kern continued to study her. Though her heart squeezed with excitement, it was all she could do not to reach over and adjust those glasses so that they sat straight on the head librarian’s tiny nose.
“You would work here as my assistant.There are two. You know Loretta. She’s our full-time girl. I can only use a second assistant part-time. I hope that isn’t a problem.”
Part-time. Her heart sank.
“No, I’ll take what I can get,” Lottie said as she tried not to let her disappointment show.
“You sure, honey?” the older woman asked gently. “Seems like maybe you’re not as happy to hear this as I’d hoped.”
“Well,” Lottie said tentatively as she dropped her gaze to the pocketbook now clutched between her hands. “I had hoped to fill a full-time position.”
“I see.”
During the pause that followed those two words, Lottie lifted her eyes to spy Miss Kern tapping her desk with a pencil she hadn’t been holding a moment ago. The head librarian’s attention seemed elsewhere. Then abruptly she nodded.
“Yes, well, all right. I do have another possibility for you.”
Lottie’s hopes soared. She tried not to fidget as Miss Kern opened her desk drawer, retrieved a folder, and shuffled through papers until she found what she was looking for.
“Yes, here it is.” Her eyes seemed to scan the page. Then she looked up. “There is a need in Potters Creek. Pay is twenty-eight dollars per month, and you’ll have to pay your own lodging and expenses.”
“Potters Creek?” she managed. “Kentucky?”
“Yes, Lottie,” she said. “Is that a problem? It is just across the river and down the road a bit. Not so far that you couldn’t come home and visit your folks on occasion.”
“No, Miss Kern,” she said quickly. “I’m sure Mama and Daddy won’t mind that they’ll have one less mouth to feed. And twenty-eight dollars for working as a librarian? Well, I’d be happy to earn that, and the job would be an answer to a prayer I’ve been praying a long time.”
Lottie clamped her lips together and tried not to cringe. She’d said too much.
“It’s more than you’d be paid here, that’s for certain. There is just one more condition of the job you ought to know, but I think it might not be a problem for you.” Another pause. “You see, the Boyd County Library System has received a grant from the government to provide rural counties with packhorse librarians.”
She frowned. “What is that?”
Miss Kern smiled.“It’s library work same as if you were in the building, only you’ll be atop a steady horse with a saddlebag full of library books headed down in the hollers and up in the mountains—places where a bookmobile cannot go. The WPA is providing the funding just like they did here for our new road. From what I’ve heard, the hours are long, and you’d be astride a horse more than on your feet. It’s hard work being a book woman, Lottie, but it’s rewarding work.”
“I don’t mind hard work, and I’d rather be astride a horse than walking any day” was Lottie’s swift response. “The only thing I enjoy better than a good book is sitting in the saddle of a fine horse. I’d do both at the same time when I was a little girl.”
“I thought you’d say so.” She slid a folded sheet of paper across the desk toward Lottie. “In fact, I was so certain of it that I took the liberty of writing to Beulah Thomas, the head librarian over at Potters Creek, to recommend you for the packhorse librarian program. She responded yesterday with an invitation for you to call on her at the library as soon as possible.”
With a smile and an enthusiastic thank-you to Miss Kern for the answered prayer, Lottie left the library with a letter of recommendation—for she was the library’s best customer for the past eight years. She also had a plan to become a packhorse librarian—a book woman—and to never attempt to cook a biscuit or a pie again.
Then the reality of what had just happened stopped her in her tracks. The Lord had done it. He’d somehow managed to bring her two dreams—books and horses—together. And in that moment, waiting eleven years for that prayer to be answered didn’t seem like such a long time after all.
Lottie cast a glance up at the heavens and gave Him thanks. Then she hurried home to share the good news.
“Absolutely not,” her father thundered when she told him. “You cannot leave Kenova, Lottie. I forbid it.”
Mama stepped in and placed her hand on Daddy’s arm. They were in the kitchen, and pots bubbled on the stove, but she ignored them.
“Let her go,” she told Daddy.
“Just like that?” He shook his head. “But how can I?”
“You can.” Mama’s voice was gentle. “We can. It’s time.”
“But what if…” Daddy didn’t finish the sentence, so Lottie decided to finish it for him.
“What if what, Daddy? Tell me what I’ve been afraid of since I was twelve. That’s why you think I can’t leave here, isn’t it?”
“Lower your voice,” he said. “There are boarders in the dining room.”
“Tell me, Daddy,” she said softly. “Please. Why did we leave everything, change our names, and move here?”
“To keep you safe” was his maddening answer.
“How can I remain safe if I don’t know what danger I’m in?”
Daddy gave her a frustrated look. “By staying here where your mother and I can protect you.”
“Let her go,” Mama repeated softly. “We won’t always be here to watch over Lottie. She needs to make a life of her own.”
“Potters Creek is not that far,” Lottie said. “I’ll come home when I can, and I’ll send money.”
