Page 44 of The Giver of Stars
‘Do you run this library now?’ Fred’s voice was icy. It held a tone she had never heard before.
‘I ain’t –’
‘I said, do you run this library, Chet Mitchell?’
The boy’s eyes slid sideways, as if the sound of his own name had reminded him of the potential for consequences. ‘No.’
‘Then I suggest you leave. All three of you. Before this gun slips in my hand and I do something I regret.’
‘You threatening me over acoloured?’
‘I’m telling you what happens when a man finds three drunk fools on his property. And if you like, just as easy, I’ll tell you what happens if a man finds they don’t leave as soon as he tells them. Pretty sure you ain’t going to like it, though.’
‘I don’t see why you’re sticking up for her. You got a thing fer Brownie here?’
Quick as a flash, Fred had the boy by the throat, pinned against the wall with a white-knuckled fist. Alice ducked backwards, her breath in her throat. ‘Don’t push me, Mitchell.’
The boy swallowed, raised his palms. ‘It was just a joke,’ he choked. ‘Can’t take a joke now, Mr Guisler?’
‘I don’t see anyone else laughing. Now git.’ Fred dropped the boy, whose knees buckled. He rubbed at his throat, shot a nervous look at his friends and then, when Fred took a step forward, ducked out through the back door. Alice, her heart pounding, stepped back as the three stumbled out, adjusting their clothes with a mute bravado, then walked in silenceback down the grit path. Their courage returned when they were out of easy range.
‘You got a thing for Brownie, Frederick Guisler? That why your wife left?’
‘You can’t shoot for shit anyway. I seen you hunting!’
Alice thought she might be sick. She leaned on the back wall of the library, a fine sweat prickling on her back, her heart rate only easing when she could just make them out disappearing around the corner. She could hear Fred inside, picking up books and placing them on the table.
‘I’m so sorry, Miss Sophia. I should have come back sooner.’
‘Not at all. It’s my own fault for leaving the door open.’
Alice made her way slowly up the steps. Sophia, on the surface, looked unperturbed. She stooped, picking up books and checking them for damage, dusting their surfaces and tutting at the torn labels. But when Fred turned away to adjust a shelf that had been shoved from its moorings, she saw Sophia’s hand reach out to the desk for support, her knuckles tightening momentarily on its edge. Alice stepped in and, without a word, began tidying, too. The scrapbooks that Sophia had so carefully been putting together had been ripped to pieces in front of her. The carefully mended books were newly torn and hurled across the room, loose pages still fluttering around the interior.
‘I’ll stay late this week and help you fix them,’ Alice said. And then, when Sophia didn’t respond, she added: ‘That is … if you’re coming back?’
‘You think a bunch of snot-nosed kids are going to keep me from my job? I’ll be fine, Miss Alice.’ She paused, and gave her a tight smile. ‘But your help would be appreciated, thank you. We have ground to make up.’
‘I’ll speak to the Mitchells,’ said Fred. ‘I’m not going to letthis happen again.’ His voice softened and his body was easy as he moved around the little cabin. But Alice saw how every few minutes his focus would shift to the window, and that he only relaxed once he had the two women in his truck, ready to drive them home.
8
Given the speed at which news travelled through Baileyville, its snippets of gossip starting as a trickle, then pushing through its inhabitants in an unstoppable torrent, the stories of Sophia Kenworth’s employment at the Packhorse Library and its trashing by three local men were swiftly deemed serious enough to warrant a town meeting.
Alice stood shoulder to shoulder with Margery, Beth and Izzy, in a corner at the back, while Mrs Brady addressed the assembled gathering. Bennett sat two rows back beside his father. ‘You going to sit down, girl?’ Mr Van Cleve had said, looking her up and down as he entered.
‘I’m fine right here, thank you,’ she had answered, and watched as his expression turned disapprovingly towards his son.
‘We have always prided ourselves on being a pleasant, orderly town,’ Mrs Brady was saying. ‘We do not want to become the kind of place where thuggish behaviour becomes the norm. I have spoken to the parents of the young men concerned and made it clear that this will not be tolerated. A library is a sacred place – a sacred place of learning. It should not be considered fair game just because it is staffed by women.’
‘I’d like to add to that, Mrs Brady.’ Fred stepped forward. Alice recalled the way he had looked at her on the night of Tex Lafayette’s show, the strange intimacy of his bathroom, and felt her skin prickle with colour, as if she had done something to be ashamed of. She had told Annie the green dressbelonged to Beth. Annie’s left eyebrow had lifted halfway to the heavens.
‘That library is in my old shed,’ said Fred. ‘That means, in case anyone here is in any doubt, that it is on my property. I cannot be responsible for what happens to trespassers.’ He looked slowly around the hall. ‘Anyone who thinks they have business heading into that building without my permission, or that of any of these ladies, will have me to answer to.’
He caught Alice’s eye as he stood down, and she felt her cheeks colour again.
‘I understand you have strong feelings about your property, Fred.’ Henry Porteous stood. ‘But there are larger issues to discuss here. I, and a good number of our neighbours, am concerned about the impact this library is having on our little town. There are reports of wives no longer keeping house because they are too busy reading fancy magazines or cheap romances. There are children picking up disruptive ideas from comic books. We’re struggling to control what influences are coming into our homes.’
‘They’re just books, Henry Porteous! How do you think the great scholars of old learned?’ Mrs Brady’s arms folded across her chest, forming a solid, unbridgeable shelf.
