I glanced up at the judge’s empty bench. “Ma’am, I’ll need to reserve a book today. Mama grow’d readers out there, Miss Foster. I want to do that too,” I said quietly, thinking about her and the patrons.
The librarian squeezed my shoulder. “You truly are the Book Woman’s daughter.” She released me and walked briskly over to the courtroom door, turning once to nod approvingly before slipping out.
Bonnie peeked inside, holding her tin lunch bucket and wearing dirty bibs and a miner’s helmet. Annoyed by her disheveled appearance, the bailiff held up an arm and loudly said, “Only proper attire is allowed, miss.” He blocked her from entering. Undaunted, Bonnie glared at him and elbowed his arm away.
Sullen, the bailiff stepped aside.
Hitching a fallen strap up over her shoulder, Bonnie called out to me, “I heard, sweet pea! You be sure an’ bring me some more good books come Friday.” She tapped her chest where a read jutted out from the large bib pocket. “Just finished your latest loan on my dinner break today.”
Leaving the courtroom, Mrs. Wallace paused beside the miner, and a hand flew up to her collar. The social worker gaped at Lady Chatterley’s Lover poking out from Bonnie’s blackened overalls, then turned slowly to me, surprised, silently working her mouth, the disgust and hatred ripening on her pinched face. “Heathen,” she spat out.
Bold, I lifted a defiant chin and met her burning eyes with triumphant ones.
Mrs. Wallace bumped Bonnie aside with her large pocketbook and stomped out of the courtroom.
Clutching The Golden Book of Tagore, I opened it and saw Mr. Taft had left an inscription.
June ’53
Honey,
“Faith is the bird that feels the light and sings when the dawn is still dark.” As long as you have the books, you’ll always have that light.
—Oren Taft
Suddenly, I was there beside her again, riding in the ol’ blue hills of Kaintuck, our pannier full, and I felt the sting of tears as I reread what Mama had quoted to her patron long ago—knowing that the books had not only saved me, her, and others, but had given us something even bigger and more precious: Freedom.
A Note from the Author
Dear Reader,
It’s been a tremendous honor to continue the journeys of Honey, Cussy Mary, and Jackson Lovett in this new novel which is both a stand-alone and a sequel. I wanted to explore themes of sisterhood through the brave and indomitable Kentucky women who held uncommon and demanding jobs during a time when males dominated the workforce, and women and children were ruled by patriarchal law.
As a Kentuckian, I’ve set all my books in my home state, and it’s always a privilege when you let me share their stories with you.
Kentucky, especially eastern Kentucky, a land rich in folklore and steeped in tradition, is one of the most beautiful places in the world. The people, my people, are intelligent, proud, and passionate, oftentimes misunderstood, sometimes persecuted, but in their complicated lives and stories you’ll find a constant. You’ll find dignity.
I was thrilled to revisit the Pack Horse Library Project, honor the pioneering work of these brave librarians, and present more information about the program. For example, in 1913, the Kentucky Federation of Women’s Clubs convinced a local coal baron, John C. Mayo, to subsidize a mounted library service to reach eastern Kentucky. Unfortunately, a year later, the program expired when Mayo died.
But the Kentucky women were determined to develop a strong literacy program in Appalachia. Almost twenty years later, they proposed the program to President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Works Progress Administration （WPA）， where it was approved as a sole effort to put women to work. Once the program was revived, these literacy pioneers were able to deliver books and reading material on mule and horseback to the poorest and most isolated areas in eastern Kentucky.