We talked on the porch until the night creatures’ chorals descended into the darkness, swallowing our sleepy voices.
When I climbed down from the loft in the morning, Pearl’s bed was neatly made and she was gone. A loaf of fresh bread wrapped in a tea cloth rested on the table. After I ate, I dressed quickly, then hurried to town. Passing the Company store, I glimpsed a few women chatting in front of the building, but mostly the town was quiet for a Monday morning. I nudged Junia into the back parking lot of the library. Inside, I scanned the bulletin board and whisked out a breath, relieved to see the post. I snatched the job position off and went to find Miss Foster. When I learned she was out on an errand, Mrs. Martin invited me to wait for her at a table, saying Miss Foster had to approve any hiring. She left to help a patron check out material.
With shaky hands, I read the advertisement again, smoothing out the wrinkled flyer.
WANTED, ASSISTANT OUTREACH LIBRARIAN
We have an opening for a respectable, steady, young female rider to deliver books and reading material in Knott County. Weekends off. Pay: $98 per month. Reply to Eula Foster.
Ninety-eight dollars. More than enough to keep food in the belly and me away from the watchful eyes of the law. I stared at the post and reread it again.
Worried, I picked up a magazine and tried to scan an article, but my eyes were drawn back to the door and windows. An hour later, Miss Foster came back and I blurted out her name. The librarian led me to her office, a finger to her lip, reminding me to stay quiet. Inside, Miss Foster said, “What can I help you with today, Honey?”
“Ma’am, is the position still open?” I pressed my gloved hands together and held up the flyer. “This one, ma’am.”
“Hmm, let’s see.” She moved some paperwork around on her desk, pushed a stack of books aside. “I’m not sure. I approved one hire after Evelyn Scott’s oldest girl expressed interest and was going to fill out the application, but I don’t know if she’s done so. Have a seat, Honey,” she invited warmly, “and I’ll go ask one of our librarians if they’ve seen any paperwork come through.”
I sat down and wrung my hands in my lap, staring at the closed door. The cramped office closed in on me, and I worried the threads of fabric on my gloves until I unraveled more string, making a mess of Mama’s fine needlework.
When Miss Foster finally returned, I couldn’t help but jump up. “Ma’am?”
She stared at me a moment, then wagged her head and sat down.
Slowly, I sank back into my chair. The librarian went on. “It’s the darnedest thing, but Mrs. Martin interviewed the girl just yesterday and found out she didn’t own a mount and had never ridden before, which won’t do for this job. No, it will not do.” She seemed to puzzle over the matter.
No, I knew it wouldn’t, and I wagged my head in agreement, waiting a few seconds before I spoke. “Ma’am, I know I could do a good job if you hire me. Junia knows the paths, and I’ve rode the book routes with Mama many times while she dropped off the reading materials. Please give me a chance, and I’ll work hard for you and the patrons. Just like my mama did.” A desperation braided the words, squeezing out my plea.
“Do you have your mother’s permission?”
“Mama agrees,” I lied, knowing she would if she knew about the job.
“Let me go check further with the other librarians. I recall Ella King inquiring about the position. Mr. King died in the mine accident in February, so we’d need to consider her first, you understand.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, solemn.
The librarian stood. “I’ll be back shortly.”
I felt the air leave as she left the room, and again my hands became restless inside the gloves.
Minutes later she swept back into her office. “Honey, Ella is moving over to Jackson to be with her parents. There was another applicant, an English woman who settled here last winter. But our library chairs would never let a foreigner take food off the table of a Kentucky woman.”
I nodded, knowing the Pack Horse Library Project began as a way to put the poor Kentucky women to work, and there were still too many hungry folk in these pockets desperate for jobs.
Eula’s eyes grew sad and took on a distance. Then she picked up the pen, tapped a paper, and said in a grave, watery voice, “We must always, always remember Caroline Barnes…what those from far off did.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I recalled Mama mentioning Mrs. Barnes many times, how hunger killed more Kentucky hillfolk than any deadly influenza. The sickly mama had staggered nine miles into town to save her twelve babies from starvation only to die of the pellagra in the street. Many lives were lost, Mama’d said, and while the poor folk here died from lack of food, the rich from far off got fatter.
I leaned in close and whispered, “Miss Foster, I need this job.”
She pulled herself from her thoughts, set down the pen, and moved papers around, straightening her desk. “If you have time to wait, Honey, I’ll get your paperwork together, and we’ll make it official. We sorely need an outreach librarian again, and we’ve gotten in enough funds to revive our little Pack Horse librarian project that ended here in ’43. There are still inaccessible families up there, and others who just can’t make it down to our borrowing branch.”
“Yes, ma’am, I can wait. Much obliged, Miss Foster. Junia will be happy to return to her routes,” I chattered, my excitement nearly shaking the picture frames off her walls.
“Grab something to read outside, and when I collect all the paperwork, I’ll call for you.”
Twenty minutes later, she invited me back in. After I filled out the paperwork, she handed me a list of the names of patrons on my route and their addresses.
“You can start tomorrow if you’d like,” the librarian said, pleased.
“Yes, ma’am, I’d like that a whole lot.”
“Your outpost that houses the reading materials will be the same as your mama’s, the boarded-up church down by the creek. It’s still standing.”
“Yes, ma’am, I remember.” I thanked her several more times.
“Paychecks will arrive at your outpost, and you can cash them at the bank or the Company store. Assistant Librarian Oren Taft will get your reading material out on Tuesday mornings. Oh, weekends off, but should you find you can’t cover the route on a certain day, you can make it up on those days off. Just leave a note for Oren to give to me. Your only duty is to get the reading material into the hands of anyone wanting it.”
Relieved, I inhaled the scent of book-and-paper-soaked air. Bringing the written word to others would keep me free.
“Thank you for your service, Honey. It’ll be a godsend around here,” she said and sounded like she meant it. She picked up something from her desk, then pinned the official name tag onto my coat and gave me back the flyer from the bulletin board. I looked down at my name and the title she’d typed out neat and correctly.
HONEY LOVETT
ASSISTANT OUTREACH LIBRARIAN
***
A door jingle announced my arrival at the Company store, rattling the Coca-Cola sign that showed a happy young girl reading a book on the floor and raising the bottle to remind folk to Serve Coke at Home. Another advertisement hung above the Champion mechanical kiddie ride showing a beaming Santa Claus toasting the holidays with his cola. Next to the dark-brown horse, a man fed coins into a cigarette machine while a young’un dropped money into a red bubble-glass gumball stand.
I made my way around the rack of bib overalls, coal miners’ britches, and shirts and stepped around a group of huddled men discussing the latest news, weather, and work, their murmurs lifting into wisps of cigarette smoke. I found a basket of apples beside the bread rack and egg bin, and then inspected several and picked the shiniest.
Up at the cash register, I set the fruit on the counter. A boy about my age picked it up, sneaking glances at my name tag. “Honey Lovett, huh? Don’t believe I’ve heard the name. You from these parts?” He pulled out a tiny brown sack from underneath the counter to bag the apple.
I was sure he was someone I hadn’t seen before, yet he looked familiar. “My mama, Cussy Carter, was a book woman for the Pack Horse Library Project, and my grandpa Elijah was a miner.”
His eyes widened. “My gramps worked with Elijah Carter! Yours saved his life in the mining accident back in ’36. Gramps gave away your mama, at her wedding to, uh—” He snapped a finger, trying to remember. “She was the Pack Horse librarian and he—”
“Jackson Lovett, that’s my papa,” I said, surprised, remembering my folk talking about Mr. Moore.
“Good folks, my family always said. Are you taking over your mama’s government route?” He pointed the apple to my name tag.
My cheeks warmed, and I turned away, digging into my pockets, fumbling for a coin with my awkward gloves on. I pulled one off to grip the money. “Yes, and the WPA no longer funds it, but the library is going to revive the service and pay me wages.” I lit a shy smile and plunked down a coin, snatching my arms to my side, wanting to get out of there before I ruined it all with my loud-talking blue hands.
His eyes were friendly, and he didn’t seem to notice. “I’m Francis Moore from Straight Creek. My folks moved here last year to be closer to kin and get work. I’ll have to tell Mama to sign up for the route.”
“I’m happy to have you on the route. Her.” I blushed even deeper and felt the heat traveling over every inch of me.
He inspected the apple, then slipped it into a bag and handed it to me, pushing the nickel back toward me. “The Company can’t sell this one. It has a bruise.” His eyes teased.
“Much obliged. My mule will appreciate it,” I told him, pocketing the nickel and sneaking in a few more glances of him.
“See you, Honey.” He came around the counter and held open the door.
I practically skipped out, lighthearted as I was, but stumbled on busted concrete and fell awkward against him.
Francis caught me, and I straightened and backed away, nearly falling toward him again from the worn, crumbly pavement in front of the store. Though I always knew to be careful on the old town sidewalks, it was like my feet suddenly had a mind of their own and wanted to ruin my graceful departure.
“Need me to walk you over to your mule?” he asked, pleasant enough.
Again, I could feel the warmth creeping into my face. “No, uh, it’s just that this sidewalk has gotten a lot worse.” I lifted up the small bag with the apple. “Obliged. See you later, Francis.” I moved away before my feet could betray me again.
Francis stuffed his hands into the pockets of his britches and watched me a moment, his face ripened with concern, amusement, and other strange, inviting curiosities.
I cast my eyes downward and hurried over to Junia, not looking back, dare I stumble again or, worse, see his face change. I’d witnessed that change to an uninviting or fearful look in many people over the years when their eyes fell on Mama or caught sight of my hands.
I took out a pocketknife from the pannier and sliced the apple for Junia. The ol’ girl ate while I talked about the cute boy I’d just met. “Oh, I acted a fool,” I whispered. “A clumsy fool. But he had the most handsome face,” I told her.
Junia snorted, her signal that she was done with the apple and done with my chatter.
Once we were safe in the woods, I jumped down, grabbed the flyer, and let out several hoots, twirling in circles.
Junia hee-hawed into my cheers and flopped her ears, content. Twice, I kissed her on the soft muzzle and scratched her limp ears.
“Can you believe it, Junia?” I kissed her again. “They’re going to pay me to deliver my favorite thing—books. Books!” For the first time in days, a hope and happiness latched onto my heart, and I laughed and spun around until I was dizzy, drunk from the new job and, more, meeting a boy.
I spun wildly around once more, my head tilted upward, arms outstretched toward ancient pines, breathing in the scents of their unbridled growth and freedom until Junia snorted an annoyed warning and bumped me with her long pokey nose, making me fall onto the leaf-rotted path on my knees.
***
When I arrived back at my cabin, I was surprised to find Devil John, Carson, and Mr. Morgan sitting on the porch. Uneasy, I slid down off the mule, circled around a talkative Pennie, and pulled Junia past their mounts over into the stall. Carrying my bag up to the porch, I looked at the men, their faces pinched with what I could see was worriment. And I knew that worriment was dropping down on me.
“Mr. Morgan.” I sat down my satchel. “Why are you here?”
“Hello, Honey.” The men stood, and Mr. Morgan pointed a finger at me. “As your court-appointed lawyer, I’m here about you today. About your guardian passing. John was gracious enough to accompany me to your home.”
I winced.
“I’m sure sorry to hear about Miss Adams, and I’m sorry for what this might mean for you.” He frowned.
Carson and Devil John murmured their condolences.
The whole town knew about Retta, and I’d been a fool to think I could hide her burial and stay hidden. I swallowed hard, darting my eyes between the men. “Yes, sir.”
“Without a proper guardian, the judge could easily make you a ward of the state,” Mr. Morgan said. “Send you to the House of Reform.”
“What can I do?” I asked, the panic gnawing at my belly as I peeled off the gloves and stuffed them inside a coat pocket, the fright staining my hands.
A silence filled the forest but it was deafening like tree frogs lifting their chorus in the darkness.
Devil John leaned toward me. “Might have figured another way to keep you safe.” He nudged Carson’s arm with his elbow.
I looked back and forth between the two.
Carson blushed and pulled out a small bouquet of pennywort and bird’s-foot violets from behind his back, pushing them toward me.
“What’s this, Carson?” I took the posy and uttered a much obliged, thinking maybe it was for Retta’s passing.
But Carson just stood there with something more in his eyes. There was a strange, uncomfortable look in them, but I couldn’t be sure and immediately drew back.
Devil John looked at Carson and wiggled his finger toward me, giving a quick nod.
Carson led me out into the yard. He took off his floppy leather hat, twisting it around in his hands, then softly cleared his throat. “Honey, uh, um, I’d like to marry ya.” He shot me a wide smile that never really made it to his eyes. “Will ya marry me?”
A gasp slipped past my teeth. I had known Carson my whole life, but never once had I given thought to any romantic notions or a marriage to him. And Papa would never allow me to wed so young.
Devil John said, “Be mighty proud to have you as our daughter-in-law. Martha Hannah too.”
Exasperated, I turned to Mr. Morgan, the joy I’d captured earlier meeting Francis and getting work, souring in my stomach. “No, Mr. Morgan,” I barely whispered.
Mr. Morgan said quietly, “It’s true you’d be safe, and the law could not interfere between the union. The court would simply declare you an adult. And the state would lose its control. I’m sure your father would give his written consent for such a union—”
“But, I’m a Blue!” I raised wriggling flushed hands. “The law says we’re mixed, and I can’t marry whites.”
“Not with these.” Devil John dug into his pocket and pulled out delicate white gloves with lace trims. “Martha Hannah whipped these up, and we’ll get a justice over yander in the next county to marry ya. Hardly anyone here knows you’re a Blue. Your mama always saw fit to keep your hands covered with gloves. Keep ya safe like that.”
Carson nudged me farther into the yard, away from the men, and whispered, “I’d take good care of ya, Honey.”
“Carson, I—” I fidgeted with my collar. “I’m grateful, but I can’t.” I frowned as the disappointment flooded his face. “This was your papa’s idea and it feels like, well, like charity.” I pressed the flowers back into his hand.
“Honey, no, it’s not. I swear it’s mine and mine alone. Marry me and let me keep ya safe,” he urged.
Shocked, I stepped back, shaking my head. “It’s not like we’re kids anymore, Carson, fishing and playing in the creek. I don’t want to play house with anyone—with you. I just don’t love you that way.” I thought about my parents, the great love they had for each other, the way it always shone bright like a flame that never went out. I wanted that. “Carson, I’m sixteen and I haven’t even had a chance to find out about love yet.” I turned my head, thinking about Francis, his smile. “I want that chance.” Embarrassed, I crossed my arms.
“I could think of worse things than to marry me. Am I that bad that you’d rather go to…to prison?” He bit down on the word.
Surprised by his harshness, I stepped back. Peering down at the bouquet he held, I begged for the right words to come.
“Is it because I’m the moonshiner’s son, Honey? I can get work in the mines.” He dropped his voice to barely a whisper, glanced back at his papa. “I’ll work that dirty rock, be a dirt-digger and dig myself two graves, whatever it takes to keep ya free.”
“No, Carson,” I hissed low. “Our families have been friends forever. You’re good folk.”
“I could be a good husband.” He looked over his shoulder to Devil John.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“But you’re already sixteen,” he whispered, reminding what some in these parts might suggest to a girl in danger of becoming an old maid.
“I don’t need to catch a man before my next birthday, Carson. And I’m not marrying someone whose happiness belongs to another. I’ve seen you with Greta Clemmons.”
He frowned, knowing it was true.
I looked Devil John straight in the eye and said with all my might, “I’ll be an adult in sixteen months. And I have a respectable job that pays good money.” I whipped out the job post flyer from my coat and held it up, then tapped on the pinned name tag. “I have a home and means to support myself.” I swept my arm toward the cabin. “And without taking charity, Devil John. If the laws says I’m old enough to marry at sixteen, why can’t it declare me an adult when I have a home, a job, and can fend for myself?” I shifted my stare to Mr. Morgan. “Why, sir?”
Mr. Morgan’s eyes met mine while he also pondered an answer.
The men were quiet as my eyes searched their faces, the question loud but hanging quiet between them. Carson wrung the floppy brim of his hat and snuck glances at me, his face miserable and reddened—I guessed from failing at the task his papa had set before him.
Finally, Mr. Morgan said, “Honey, can we go inside and talk in private?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Honey, wait.” Carson reached for my hand. “I don’t want to see ya sent away to that damn prison. I’d be honored to have you as my bride,” he said, a pained smile lifted on his lips.
Carson was as fine a man as any, one who still had his sweet ways and boyish smile—the look a youth holds before manhood and the ol’ Kentucky land and the hardness latch on and wither it.
“I’m really sorry, Carson,” I said, picking up my satchel.
“Devil, I won’t be long.” Mr. Morgan opened the door and motioned me inside.
I glanced at the ol’ moonshiner and, seeing his disappointment and worry pinched across his face, hoped he wouldn’t think me too ungrateful.
Slipping inside, I dropped my bag by the door. Mr. Morgan followed, and the old wooden floor groaned under the lawyer’s weight as he peeled off his coat and handed it to me. I hung it on the peg, offering him something to drink.
“Coffee if you have it, Honey.” He eased into the chair, perched his elbows on the table, watching.
I lit the woodstove and put on the kettle, then pulled out Mama’s ol’ copper and glass bubbled percolator from France, filled the burner with kerosene, and lit it after adding the water and coffee. When it was done, I poured his coffee and my tea in Retta’s cups and placed them on the table.
He took a sip and said, “You’ve got a comfortable place here.”
I looked around, proud that I had cleaned it and made my bed before leaving this morning.
“Tell me more about your job,” he said.
“The library hired me to revive their outreach program. I’m a librarian assistant, and I’ll bring the books up in the hills for folk who can’t get into town. Same as Mama did long ago. And it pays $70 more than what she made.”
He rubbed his chin, studying me. “Spreading literacy is quite an important job. Respectable. A big responsibility, too, in these hills.” He tapped the table with his fingers. “It’s too bad the law bars a minor from owning property until they’re of age. I know Miss Adams would’ve wanted you to have hers because she told me.” He frowned. “Passed Leon Payne this morning, and he told me you took care of Miss Adams’s funeral and paid for it. Praised how collected you were despite doing it all by yourself.”
Uncomfortable, I worried my stained-blue hands, rubbing the worn wooden table with a palm. “Yes, sir. Alonzo, well, he was indisposed. I mean to get her a stone marker too. With some coins she left and my pay coming, she’ll be taken care of in her eternal rest.” I thought of Retta up there twirling in her fancy bold dress, dancing with the angels.
“Fine thing, Honey.” He took another sip of coffee, set the china cup down. “Talk in town said Alonzo sold Miss Adams’s home, despite her wishes that you’d always have a place to stay. They say Alonzo came into town inebriated, blabbed it all, and told others how you helped him pack up her personal items so he wouldn’t lose them.”
I picked up Retta’s delicate cup and said quietly, a tremble in my grip, “We didn’t feel it would be right for strangers to have Retta’s personal things. Alonzo and me thought they should go to family and loved ones. I took my quilt and these cups and a few other thing. It’s what Retta would’ve wanted.”
“Back to Carson’s generous offer. Now Kentucky does not object to marrying off its child brides, and I know you don’t take to the idea of marriage, but—”
I set the teacup down, rattling the saucer before dropping my hands into my lap. “No, sir, I do not.”
“Honey, is there anyone who could be your guardian?”
“Maybe Pearl Grant could. She’s the new fire lookout and is very responsible.”
“How old is Pearl?”
“Nineteen.”
“The court would never allow it. Can you think of anyone over twenty-one?”
“Only Devil John, and I suppose there’s Alonzo,” I said, more in a moan.
“As your court-appointed attorney, I have to keep your safety, well-being, and best interest at heart. I couldn’t recommend Alonzo, and the courts wouldn’t grant John guardianship.” He pondered it a few seconds. “Let me see what I can come up with. Maybe we can find you foster care. I’ll speak with a few ministers in the area.”
“What’s foster care?”
“Families who look after children who are orphaned or who’ve lost their parents.”
“Strangers? But my parents ain’t lost, Mr. Morgan. The courts took them from me, is all.” I looked down at his hands, then up to his face.
He followed. “No, Honey, it’s highly unlikely the court would grant a single man guardianship over a young lady.” He raised his ringless finger. “Better head on back to the office. In the meantime, we still have one option. Carson.”
“The law will send me to prison if I don’t marry? Take away my freedom?”
“Something like that, though it’s a bit more tricky. But, yes, that’s the gist of the matter.”
“Freedom.” I turned the word over in my mind. “Here, Mama and Papa’s was stolen for marrying.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to go to prison, or be punished with marriage. I just want my freedom, Mr. Morgan.”
Mr. Morgan stared at me for the longest moment, mulling over something in his own mind. “Let me get back to the office and work on it and also talk with a few ministers.”
“Would I have to marry?”
“I’ll know more soon.”
I followed him out the door. From the porch, I watched as the men got on their horses.
Carson rode over, looked down at me, then off toward the mountains. “Honey, we’ve sure missed having a book woman in them hills. Be nice to have books in the cabin again for me and my little nieces and nephews. Ma would really like that.” He looked at me thoughtful, and bent over with an open palm. “Be like ol’ times, True,” Carson called me by the nickname he’d given me.
“Ol’ times.” I stepped up to his mount and took his hand, warmed by his kind proposal today.
“The offer’s still there, Honey, and I would honor ya everyday, build us a good home and promise only you my heart.” He released my hand.
“Obliged, Carson. But the books are the sanctuary for my heart. And like you, I want to decide my own marriage should I ever find someone. I’ll carry the books up to Martha Hannah and the babies. Right up to your cabin window, same as Mama did.”
His eyes were understanding, and he tipped his hat and followed the men out of the yard.
I stayed outside till dusk arrived, filling the skies with an endless blackened blue, and the loneliness and worries chased me back inside.