Brother Wyatt must have noticed the disappointed look on Lucy’s face as the coffeepot disappeared. He rose and brought his coffee cup to her, eyes softening in sympathy. “Please take mine. I haven’t touched it. Hope you don’t mind, but I added sweet milk.”
She gave him an appreciative smile as she accepted his offer and took his cup. There was a natural dignity about the man, almost courtly. She took a sip of coffee, thinking sweet milk meant sugar or honey had been added, but it tasted like just cream.
Brother Wyatt turned to the other women. “Allow me to introduce you. These two are the Hicks sisters. Miss Lettie on the left, Miss Viola on the right. They’re longtime boarders for Miss Maude.”
“Miss Hicks,” Lucy said, nodding to both.
“Do call us by our first names,” Miss Viola said. “Otherwise we feel like two old ladies.”
Lucy swallowed a smile at that, because they were old ladies.
He pointed across the table to the middle-aged woman whom, Lucy noted, did not return her smile but only a cautious appraisal. In an odd way, the wary look reminded her of the way Angie Cooper had gazed at her. As if Lucy had committed a crime. “And this is the late Judge Klopp’s wife.”
“You may call me Mrs. Klopp.” One of her sharp eyebrows arched. “How exactly are you related to Mrs. Stewart?”
“Cousins,” Lucy said, and by the look on Mrs. Klopp’s face, she could tell that wasn’t a good thing. “Second cousins, to be exact.” That was as much information as she wanted to provide.
“Don’t mind Mrs. Klopp,” Miss Viola said. “She eyes the world with suspicion.”
Mrs. Klopp sniffed. “A result of being the town’s only librarian, married to the town’s only judge.” She shuddered. “You discover everyone’s secrets.”
“A library?” Lucy hadn’t seen a library yet, though she hadn’t had a spare moment to wander. Perhaps today, she thought. “Where is the library, Mrs. Klopp?”
“Nowhere,” she said with a sorrowful sigh.
“She means,” Brother Wyatt said, “that the library burned down recently.”
“One year,” Mrs. Klopp said, coffee cup held in midair, “two months, and three days ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” Lucy said.
Mrs. Klopp nodded. “My house went up in flames along with it.”
“Her residence housed the library,” Brother Wyatt explained. “Mrs. Klopp’s late husband, the honorable Judge Klopp, bequeathed his home and library to the town when he passed.”
“And a fine home it was.” Mrs. Klopp exhaled mournfully, and took a sip of coffee.
“Will you rebuild?” Lucy asked. “Start a new library? Every town should have one.”
“The judge,” Mrs. Klopp said, “was the only one in this town with a love for books. He had hundreds of them.”
That wasn’t true. Lucy knew that much about Morehead. Cora loved to read, and her office had two full bookshelves, brimming with books. “Perhaps I could ask for donations from my . . . from friends in Lexington.” She was going to say her father, but she didn’t want to be known in Morehead as the daughter of a well-to-do man. She’d lived long enough under that shadow.
Mrs. Klopp stiffened her spine. “We don’t need charity.”
“Yes, we do,” Miss Viola said.
From the far end of the table, Brother Wyatt had been listening. “Mrs. Klopp, most libraries begin with accepting book donations. Not the judge’s, of course, but most. And Rowan County has a great lack of reading material. Perhaps you should reconsider Miss Lucy’s offer. Might be just what this town needs. Losing your husband’s library was a great blow. I know I have sorely felt its absence.”
Mrs. Klopp sweetened at his words.
Brother Wyatt wiped his mouth with his napkin and tucked it back at its place. He struck Lucy as a man who took care with manners, as if they were newly taught to him and required conscious effort. “Please excuse me. I must be off.” He rose and nodded to everyone, his eyes resting on Lucy. “Have a good day, ladies.”
Miss Viola watched him go, then patted her heart with both wrinkled, liver-spotted hands. “If I were only thirty years younger.”
“Fifty,” said her sister. It was the only word Miss Lettie had uttered throughout the breakfast conversation, and Lucy instantly loved both sisters.
Ignoring the sisters, Mrs. Klopp turned to Lucy. “So you’ve come to visit Mrs. Stewart?”
It surprised Lucy to hear Cora referred to as Mrs. Stewart. No one called her by that name. “Actually, I’ve come to work for her. As her stenographer.”
Mrs. Klopp’s lips pursed in disapproval. “Well, I’m surprised your father would want you associating with such a woman. She’s divorced, you know. Three times. Twice to the same man. Divorced him one month, married him again the next. Only to divorce him all over again!”
Lucy knew.
“The judge,” Mrs. Klopp said, sitting straighter in the chair, “campaigned vigorously against Cora Stewart in the election for the superintendent position.”
“An election that Cora won by a substantial majority, as I recall,” Miss Viola said, eyes narrowed and voice firm. “The first woman elected to be superintendent in the county.”
“We helped,” Miss Lettie said.
“Oh, we did indeed. We came up with Cora’s campaign slogan, didn’t we, Sister?”
“The Children’s Friend,” Miss Lettie said.
“Yes! That’s it. Good for you, Lettie. The Children’s Friend. And Cora won by a landslide. Imagine! A Democrat winning a Republican county.” She slapped her fragile, birdlike hands on the table. “And a woman, to boot!”
The judge’s wife was not impressed. “Cora’s politics have only added to our county’s many troubles.”
“Cora Wilson Stewart,” Miss Viola said, all fired up, “is the best thing that’s ever happened to our county. In fact, she’s becoming a powerful public figure in the entire state of Kentucky.”
“I don’t know about that,” Mrs. Klopp said, glowering at Miss Viola, then picked up her knife to butter a piece of bread.
“I do,” Miss Viola said. “And I’m always right.” She relaxed in her seat and sent a wink to Lucy. She smiled back. Mrs. Klopp harrumphed.
Lucy felt better after coffee and breakfast, better about being here, better about her aching body. She hated riding, hated Jenny, but it pleased her to no end to hear about the impact Cora was making, and she felt a tiny glimmer of renewed enthusiasm about coming to Morehead.
ANGIE COOPER ATTACKED the floor of the Little Brushy schoolhouse with her broom, peeved at Miss Norah for ailin’ so often. Days were wasting away and she was this close to her final exams for grade 8. Once she passed them, she could teach. But she needed Miss Norah to give her the exam, even though she knew twice as much as her teacher did.
And then there was Finley James. She wouldn’t marry him until he could read, at least up to grade 6. Maybe grade 4. He was plenty smart, but he needed proper schooling if’n he was ever to catch up with Angie. If Angie were the cussing type, she would cuss out Miss Norah for being such a no-good worthless teacher.