She held up her old hand. “Nonsense, child. I won’t accept money for taking in family. Next week I’ll wear my Sunday best and have Alonzo tote me to the hearing in his horse-drawn wagon. Iffin the man is sober.”
Her nephew rarely was.
Relieved, I let out a long silent breath. “Much obliged, Retta. I’ll be glad when it’s all over.” I looked over to the little iron bed that I used to nap on long ago.
“Put on the kettle, child, and I’ll fetch us a fine supper.” Retta stood.
“Need help?”
“I could fix this dish blind.” She chuckled, easing herself over to the woodstove.
After I put on the water to boil, I let Junia graze before leading her into the small stall across from Retta’s cabin.
I couldn’t help thinking about Mama and Papa. Would they be in shackles now, cold on their prison cots with only a frayed sheet of burlap to warm them? I pushed back the dark thoughts and grabbed my books.
Inside, Retta cooked a meal of fried ramps, potatoes, and sausage. With our bellies full, I washed her dishes outside at the pump. Then we worked on one of her quilts and chatted.
“I saw a bulletin where the library is extending an outreach program back into the hills. Toting books same as Mama and other Pack Horse librarians did back then.”
“It was a good program all right. How I loved your mama’s visits.”
“I have some good reads that I checked out, and Miss Foster gave me two poetry books. I can read one to you.”
“No need to read them foolish government books to me, child. Your mama always tried, but I’d make her read my Bible instead,” Retta said firmly, but I could see a smile tickle the corners of her mouth as she looked inward, recalling the fond memories.
I looked down at the wobbly table, knocked on it, remembering how Mama said ol’ Retta would make her use one of the library books to prop the shorter leg up until Mama was done reading Retta’s Bible. Despite Mama telling her otherwise, Retta got it stuck in her head that the government would think she was cheating Mama’s time, their time, if she didn’t somehow have one of the Book Woman’s reading materials in her home. When they finished the visit, Retta made Mama take back the table prop.
A shelf hung from the wall with several children’s books Retta had ordered for me over the years. She caught me looking at it.
“Well, a child’s got to learn the children’s books, and her nursery rhymes as well, her prayers. Especially my girl,” she excused, fluffing her skirts. She pointed a gnarled finger at me. “Books’ll learn ya,” she said, her ol’ eyes twinkling with mischief and merriment.
I laughed, remembering it was my favorite saying as a child while carrying the children’s books around the yard, riding an old stick pony, pretending to be a Kentucky Pack Horse librarian.
Candlelight flickered; scents of piney woodsmoke cozied the cabin. I dipped my needle in and out of the fabric, laddering tight stitches up the quilt, agonizing over my family being ripped away from me.
After a few moments, I set aside the quilt and picked up the poetry book Miss Foster had given me, losing myself in the pages. Books’ll save you, my troubled heart knew.
Nine
Through the fog-soaked mountains, I made my way toward the Carter homestead to drop off the library loans for Pearl before I headed down to the Troublesome courthouse, relieved a little that Mr. Morgan had scheduled the hearing over here in Knott County and out of Leslie County.
Pearl had left a note saying she was going to meet R.C. about the steps and would be back later if they weren’t fixed, adding an invitation to come by the fire tower to have dinner with her on Sunday if she didn’t return. I shuddered, thinking about the ugly words the men left on the door, and marveled at how brave and determined Pearl was to keep her job. Soon, I stiffened in the saddle, straightening my own spine, searching for the courage to face today.