“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.