A knot filled Addie’s throat, hindering her from speaking. She gave a quick nod, which she hoped Mrs. Hunt would interpret as a thank-you. She turned toward the door.
“Addie, just a moment.”
Addie looked back.
“Whatever decent employment opportunities exist in Lexington will be listed in the classified section of the Lexington Herald.”
“Yes, I planned to buy a paper and look through the classifieds for a room to let.” Panic tried to attack. The dormitories would close after graduation. Only one week away. Where would she go if she couldn’t find a place to live? “Your daddy and I are praying for you…” Part of Mother’s letter whispered in Addie’s memory and encouraged her to remain hopeful. “I’ll search the help wanted section, too.”
“Well, please make use of the library’s copy rather than unnecessarily spending a nickel.”
Addie wouldn’t argue about saving her money. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll do that.” She left Mrs. Hunt’s office and returned to the reading room.
Those poring over books seemed so peaceful. Temptation to go down to the first floor and retrieve the copy of The A.B.C. Murders tugged hard. She’d find blissful escape in an Agatha Christie mystery. How she needed an escape from the harsh reality that had befallen her like an unexpected thunderstorm. But Mrs. Hunt had called her responsible. A responsible person would see to business first and pleasure second. Setting aside the selfish desire, she tiptoed between tables to the door that opened into the periodical room.
One quarter the size of the reading room, crowded with freestanding shelves and sporting only one overhead chandelier above the center of three tables jammed end to end, the periodical room seemed gloomy—much like Dean Crane’s office—in comparison. She’d take the newspaper to the reading room for examination. She hurried to the rack of stained dowel rods, where the latest issues of the five newspapers purchased by the library could be displayed.
Four of the five rods held folded sheets of newsprint. Addie scanned the titles—Mount Vernon Signal, Public Ledger, Kentucky Irish American, Lexington Leader—and stifled a little huff of irritation. Where was the Lexington Herald? Sometimes patrons didn’t return items to their rightful places. How many times had she found books on the wrong shelves or magazines lying on chairs? She scanned the room, seeking a newspaper discarded on a desk or tucked on a shelf. At the far end of the row of tables, in front of the single tall window in the corner of the room, a lone figure hunched over a newspaper. No doubt the very newspaper Addie needed.
She remained in place for several seconds, observing the man. His stiff pose and unwavering focus on the newsprint in front of him spoke of deep concentration. She wanted to ask if he was nearly finished, but she’d been taught to treat others the way she wished to be treated. She didn’t appreciate people interrupting her reading, so she’d have to be patient and wait her turn. In the meantime, Agatha Christie’s new novel was waiting.
Addie spun on her heel and returned to the checkout desk, moving as swiftly yet as quietly as possible. Miss Collins slid the crisp new checkout card across the desk with a smile, and Addie wrote her name on the first line. Then, with the book tucked safely in the crook of her arm, she hurried up the stairs and chose the table closest to the periodical room door. She sat facing the door so she’d be sure to notice the gentleman leaving, and she opened the book.
It was in June of 1935 that I came home from my ranch in South America for a stay of about six months…
As expected, she was pulled immediately into the story’s world. She turned page after page, eyes swallowing paragraphs of text. Sometimes smiling, sometimes nodding, occasionally biting her thumbnail or pressing her hand to her chest. She flipped a page and encountered the heading, Six: The Scene of the Crime. She gave a start. Chapter six already? How long had she been reading?
A tall grandfather clock, its chime silenced, stood sentry in the corner of the room. She glanced at its face and gasped. Almost three o’clock? She’d been caught up in the book for well over an hour. Was the man still reading the newspaper?
She leaped up and darted around the table and into the periodical room. The table near the window was empty, and the newspaper was draped neatly over the top rod of the rack. Inwardly berating herself for being so unaware of her surroundings, she yanked the paper from its rod and flopped it open on the closest table. She turned to the final section, where the classified ads were always printed.
The entire page where help wanted and rooms-to-let posts should be was missing.
“That creep!” She clapped her hand over her mouth and sent a quick look left and right. Not another soul in the room. She smacked the tabletop and spoke aloud again. “What an absolute creep.”
Emmett Tharp
EMMETT RECORDED THE ADDRESS FOR the last job opportunity listed—feather plucker at a chicken plant outside town—then wadded up the sheet of newsprint. He started to toss it into the small wastebasket next to his desk but paused, his hand in midair. Maw would say he’d stolen the section from the library’s newspaper, and she’d be right. Paw would snort and say, “A feller who’s s’posed to be so smart can sure act dumb.” It pained Emmett to admit it, but Paw would be right. All his studying for final examinations must have numbed his brain if he forgot to take something as basic as paper and a pen to the library.
He balanced the crumpled ball of paper on his palm, frowning. Should he return the page to the library? He didn’t care to make that long walk from his room in Bradley Hall to the library for a second time in one day. Especially with it being so hot and muggy out. Still, someone else might need to read the help wanted ads. Not that there were countless options. He smoothed the page as flat as possible on the desk. Wrinkles, smudges, and little tears on the edges marred the sheet of newsprint. The library wouldn’t want it now. He turned it into a ball, lobbed it into the wastebasket, then put his head in his hands and groaned. He might as well wad up his hard-earned college diploma, too. What use was his degree if no businesses were hiring managers?
When Mr. Halcomb, the teacher back in Boone’s Hollow, first mentioned going to college, Emmett had thought the man addlebrained. Nobody from Emmett’s family, nor anyone from Boone’s Hollow as far as he knew, had ever gone to a university. Most men either put in an honest day’s work in the coal mines or dodged revenuers and sold distilled whiskey. Paw had wanted Emmett to sign on at the mine as soon as he turned fifteen to help support the family. But Mr. Halcomb said a mind like his shouldn’t be wasted. So, to Paw’s chagrin, Emmett had stayed in school all the way to twelfth grade and, mostly to make the teacher happy, took the scholarship test. He was more surprised than Paw when he got the letter from the university telling him he’d won.
Every year for four years straight, he’d received scholarship money to pay for tuition, room, board, and books. A waste of time, Paw called it. A blessing, Maw called it. He heard her proud voice in his head. “The Almighty has big plans for you if He’s rainin’ down such a blessin’.” Emmett had always thought Maw was right. Until now. He glared at the list of possible jobs he’d written on his notepad. Not one of them looked like the means to fulfill big plans. Each looked more like a joke.