Rosetown Summer

by Cynthia Rylant

  That sounded familiar. Lines stayed with Flora all the time.

  “A Scout’s duty is to help other people at all times,” quoted Yury.

  “What does that have to do with camping?” asked Flora. They were nearing the bookshop.

  “Nothing. That’s my point,” answered Yury. “It’s the helping part of the Scouts. Helping others is what Search and Rescue is all about.”

  Search and Rescue was Yury’s dream, for him and for his dog, Friday, just as soon as he was old enough. Death Valley. The Everglades. Mount McKinley. Yury’s goal was to rescue people in all the dangerous places.

  “The Scouts earn merit badges,” said Yury. “There are badges for—listen carefully—Transportation of an Injured Person, First Aid for Fractures, Lifesaving. And—you won’t believe this—Edible Plants.”

  They stopped in front of the display window of Wings and a Chair to see if Miss Meriwether had placed anything new there that would be of interest to them.

  “It sounds hard,” said Flora. “Look, there’s a new Dave Porter adventure.”

  “Dave Porter at Bear Camp,” read Yury aloud.

  “Edible Plants would be fun,” Flora continued, getting back to their subject. “But the other badges sound too grown-up.”

  “The handbook says you proceed at your own speed,” said Yury, pushing open the door. “It would probably take me years.”

  “Hello, you dears!” called Miss Meriwether from the back room. “I hear your voices!”

  “And we hear yours!” answered Flora, smiling.

  “Did you see the Dave Porter book in the window?” asked Miss Meriwether, coming out to her desk. Flora admired her long flowery skirt and patent leather granny boots. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail as usual. Miss Meriwether always looked unique.

  “We did,” said Yury. “We’re just headed for it now.”

  “But wait,” said Miss Meriwether. “Before the Nook swallows you up, how are you both? Flora?” She looked at Flora with warm interest and joy.

  “I might help with Toddler Story Time at the library,” said Flora.

  “How fabulous!” said Miss Meriwether. “You have just the right vibration for small creatures. They will feel safe with you.”

  Miss Meriwether was the only person Flora knew who often referred to vibrations.

  “Thank you,” said Flora.

  “And you, Yury?” asked Miss Meriwether. “What mountains are you intending to climb?”

  Yury grinned. Miss Meriwether knew he loved a challenge. “Well,” Yury said, “I am caught between a knife and a spear.”

  Flora’s eyes grew wide. “The Pirates of Shan,” she said.

  “It’s a great line, isn’t it?” said Yury.

  She nodded.

  “I am thinking of joining the Boy Scouts so I can learn skills for Search and Rescue,” Yury explained to Miss Meriwether. “But between here and First Aid for Fractures is an awful lot of camping.”

  “I’m pretty sure,” said Flora, nodding emphatically.

  “Camping doesn’t call to you?” asked Miss Meriwether.

  “Only if it involves plucking someone off a cliff two hundred feet above a raging river,” answered Yury.

  “Ah, yes,” said Miss Meriwether.

  “My Zen master,” she continued, “would say ‘Wait, and more will be revealed’ when one is, as you say, caught between a knife and a spear.”

  Flora suddenly realized that Miss Meriwether herself must be waiting for more to be revealed.

  “Now,” Miss Meriwether continued, “you two find that Dave Porter book, and before you leave, come and get some cookies in the back room. I made Almond Crescents! They are delicious!”

  Flora and Yury got comfortable in the Young People’s Nook, she on a chair, he on the floor.

  “Who reads the first chapter?” asked Yury.

  “You,” said Flora.

  Yury cleared his throat to begin.

  “I have a feeling she’s leaving,” Flora said softly.

  Yury gave a long sigh. “Me too,” he said.

  5

  The Rosetown Free Library was, Flora thought, the loveliest building in town. It was made of brick, and a tall and impressive flight of stairs led from the sidewalk to the entrance, where a large, heavy wooden door—flanked by two vintage gaslights and two white columns—welcomed everyone inside.

  Whenever Flora stepped through that door, she felt a quickening, that special feeling that comes from seeing or hearing something beautiful and uplifting.

  The magnificent main room of the library had a very tall ceiling, and there were large windows on all sides, underneath which sat wide bookcases. To the left was the Adult Reading Room and to the right the Children’s Room. At the back of the main room was a long mahogany desk where the librarians worked.

  Mr. Anderson was hardly ever at that desk. He was captain of the very important ship called the Children’s Room, and he abandoned his ship only reluctantly. Flora had never visited the library when he wasn’t there in that room, helping a child find a book on fireflies or trains or anything at all interesting, or carefully setting up a display—Lion Books for Lion Fans—or holding up a picture book in the Story Time Corner and reading to a polite group of young patrons, some clutching a doll or a teddy bear or other important companion for going through life and libraries. Mr. Anderson welcomed them all and always remembered the names of dolls and bears, and especially the names of children who stepped into the large, well-lit space looking for something good to read.

  Flora’s father once, on a visit to the library with her, told Flora that a wealthy man had given Rosetown this wonderful library. Mr. Andrew Carnegie had donated over two thousand library buildings to towns in America and other countries.

  “It is amazing that he found us in Rosetown,” Flora said to her father that day.

  “Yes, it is,” her father had answered.

  And now Flora was crossing the main floor of the Rosetown Free Library and entering the Children’s Room to the right to see if she might be useful.

  “Flora!” said Mr. Anderson when he saw her, and he flashed that big smile that caused all children to smile back. “How are you and your parents and Serenity, and what in the world have you been doing with yourself this summer? Are you still reading every cat book you can find?”

  Flora smiled and nodded.

  “Excellent!” Mr. Anderson said. He slipped the book about volcanoes that he was holding back onto the shelf. Flora took note of it. Yury would probably need to know about volcanoes for Search and Rescue.

  “We opened a paper shop,” said Flora.

  “You did indeed!” said Mr. Anderson. “I saw it! I think letterpress printing is fantastic. I’m going to do all my Christmas shopping there.”

  “Thank you,” said Flora. “We make nice journals. And calendars.”

  “Exactly,” said Mr. Anderson.

  Flora took a deep breath and looked around the big sunlit room.

  “Mr. Anderson,” she began. Then she stopped. She had forgotten how to ask her question. Her mother had helped her, but now she had forgotten.

  “Hmmm,” Flora said aloud, to no one in particular.

  Mr. Anderson smiled and waited.

  Flora took the plunge.

  “Could I help you with Toddler Story Time until school starts?” she asked, looking partly at his large friendly face and partly at the craft table in the far corner.

  “I am good with glue,” she added.

  Mr. Anderson hesitated for just a moment, and then he laughed.

  “You’re hired!” he said. “I am terrible with glue!”

  “Really?” asked Flora.

  “It seems no one has left town for vacation this summer and instead everyone is vacationing at the library,” said Mr. Anderson. “I have toddlers up to my ears on Monday mornings.”

  “Really?” Flora repeated.

  “Yes,” said Mr. Anderson. “They sit very well for a story. But it is a
challenge for one librarian to help so many little hands glue feathers to a chicken. So to speak.”

  He laughed.

  “It does sound tricky,” Flora said with a grin.

  “Maybe you can help out next Monday?” Mr. Anderson continued. “I’ll have them making lettuces and carrots from Mr. McGregor’s garden, and heaven knows I’ll need someone good with glue.”

  “I’d love to,” said Flora.

  And there and then, in the space between Mr. McGregor’s lettuces and “I’d love to,” something happened for Flora. Life turned a small moment into a vision, and she knew what she wanted to be when she grew up: a librarian!

  But for now, she intended to be a very good Story Time assistant.

  6

  Flora loved to visit Nessy at Nessy’s house in the gated community. Living in a newly built house in a newly built neighborhood behind a newly built gate did not appeal to Flora since she was—as her mother once described her—“a child of the Nineteenth Century.” But Flora did love to visit.

  And the community suited Nessy and her parents fine. Her father liked the fancy gate, her mother liked the modern houses, and Nessy liked the privacy. If she was going to be the rider of a bicycle, Nessy needed a neighborhood that saw hardly any movement besides that of tiny birds and sometimes a confused deer. Nessy had been so uncertain of her abilities on a bicycle that, had she not lived in a gated community, the white streamers and the bell and the basket for Happy Girl would probably never have found their way into her life.

  As it turned out, though, Nessy did learn to ride, she did become certain of her abilities, and the dinging of her bicycle bell was now a sweet and constant sound in her neighborhood on warm summer mornings.

  Early on Tuesday, Flora’s father dropped Flora at Nessy’s house to spend the day. Everyone had been so busy this summer, and Flora and Nessy needed some playtime together. School would start before too long, and since they were in different grades, the girls wouldn’t see much of each other during school hours. And because Nessy rode the school bus home after school, they wouldn’t even have a chance to walk home together. Flora loved being able to walk home from school. She loved being under the leaves of the old walnut and oak trees along the streets. She loved the front porches and the lily gardens. And the shy dog waiting behind a picket fence to be petted.

  Nessy didn’t mind taking the school bus. But when Flora watched it roll away, she was always glad she wasn’t on it.

  Flora’s father stepped out of the car to say hello to Nessy’s mother while Flora retrieved her doll case from the backseat. She and Nessy still loved to play with dolls, and Flora’s doll, Charlotte, had so many different clothes, which had been sewn by Flora’s mother, that Nessy often asked Flora to bring her doll with her. Happy Girl enjoyed trying on new dresses and bonnets.

  “Hello, Flora! Hello, Forster!” said Nessy’s mother when she opened the front door. Naturally she’d been watching for them, as she was the person who had buzzed them through the gate.

  Nessy stood beside her mother and grinned at Flora. They were so happy to see each other, and both wanted to run immediately to the den to play. But they waited until Flora’s father gave Flora a hug, thanked Nessy’s mother for inviting her, and started walking back to his car.

  “Let’s go!” said Nessy.

  The girls ran down the hall and into the den, where two of the loveliest things in Nessy’s life could be found: her piano and her canary. Sunny was immediately thrilled to see not just one girl but two, and he hopped from perch to perch in his large cage and rang his little bird bell and flew from one corner to the other, telling them all his news with melodic chirps and trills.

  “Oh, Sunny,” said Flora, putting her face up to the cage near his, “I’ve missed you!”

  “I found out he likes honeydew melon,” said Nessy.

  Flora smiled. “Me too,” she said.

  “We can all have some with lunch,” added Nessy.

  “Okay,” answered Flora. “But I get to sit next to Sunny.”

  Nessy giggled.

  They took their dolls out to the patio to play. Flora did appreciate this feature of a modern house: a covered patio with a big round table just right for laying out doll dresses and bonnets.

  “Flora, I waited until you got here to tell you something,” Nessy said with a serious tone.

  Oh dear, thought Flora. “You’re not moving away, are you, Nessy?” she asked softly.

  “Oh no!” Nessy said. “My father says we are never moving again. He does not like packing boxes.”

  “Thank goodness,” said Flora, wishing Miss Meriwether were cut from the same cloth.

  “It’s about camp,” said Nessy, looking worried.

  “Camp?” repeated Flora. “Nessy, are you sure you want to go to camp? It’s sort of messy.”

  Nessy smiled. “It’s not that kind of camp,” she said. “This is music camp. At the high school. I don’t know why they call it camp, but they do.”

  “Music camp!” said Flora. “Do you want to go?”

  “No, I don’t want to go at all!” Nessy said with conviction. She held Happy Girl closer.

  “But it’s not an overnight camp,” Nessy continued. “I get to come home on a bus every day in time for dinner.”

  “You’re right,” said Flora. “I don’t know why they call it a camp either if you come home on a bus for dinner.

  “But that’s good!” Flora added. “You won’t have to miss Sunny too much!”

  Nessy still looked unhappy. “I really do not want to go at all,” she said. “I want to stay home.”

  Flora sighed and patted Nessy’s hand. Flora so well understood wanting to be home. Especially with someone who loved you. Like a white cat with a yellow tip on its tail. Or a small yellow bird full of song.

  But Flora had a feeling that music camp would be important for Nessy. She had a feeling that Nessy should go.

  Then she had an idea.

  “Nessy, remember when Miss Meriwether said she would take us someday to the glass conservatory in Indianapolis to see the tropical plants?” asked Flora.

  Nessy nodded.

  “Well,” continued Flora, “if you go to music camp—which would be brave—maybe Miss Meriwether would take us to the conservatory to celebrate when you’re finished!”

  Nessy’s eyes were wide as she stared at Flora. Nessy loved plants. She wanted to be a gardener when she grew up.

  “Do you think she would?” asked Nessy, hugging Happy Girl even tighter.

  Flora remembered the time Miss Meriwether had suddenly flown to Paris on a whim. She remembered the miniature conservatory she had seen once when she and her mother had visited Miss Meriwether in her apartment. And she also remembered Miss Meriwether’s generous heart.

  “Yes!” said Flora. “I think she would!”

  “Okay,” said Nessy, and she reached for a dress with daisy pockets.

  7

  Flora arrived at the Rosetown Free Library at nine Monday morning to help Mr. Anderson set up the craft table before the three-year-olds began arriving. She wanted to make a good impression, so she wore her navy-blue jumper and white blouse, which her mother admired as “crisp and professional.” Flora hoped so. It was one thing to help in the back room of a paper shop sorting out birthday cards, and quite another to be responsible for a little child’s entire craft experience. She wanted to look like someone a toddler could count on.

  Mr. Anderson was pleased to see her.

  “Good morning, Flora!” He beamed at her. “Are you ready to get started? We need lettuces and carrots and paper pails to put them in. Here, let me show you.”

  And just like that, Flora stepped from the old to the new. Here she was, by herself, being Flora in a different way. She could hardly believe it. This thing she was doing alone.

  She stood with a pair of scissors before the boxes of green and orange construction paper and felt a sudden swell of happiness. She could hardly wait for the toddlers to arrive
.

  When they did arrive, the toddlers all seemed so small to Flora. She was not often around three-year-olds, and here they were, so little and shy. She was charmed.

  And she put away all of her own natural shyness. It just wouldn’t do if she were a person who held back at Toddler Story Time. She understood that these children needed reassurance and friendliness.

  So she smiled at each of them, and at their parents, and she asked the names of the dolls and bears and bunnies who had come along. She gently led the way to the Story Time Corner and made sure each toddler was nicely settled and ready for a parent to move away and head toward the Adult Reading Room, provided there were no tears.

  And not a single tear fell. Mr. Anderson was already sitting in his Story Time chair, and he was holding a cardboard box on his lap. All of the children who had attended Story Time before were excited to see this box because they knew who was in it: a corgi dog named Toasty.

  Toasty was actually a puppet—though much more than that to these children—and when the big funny ears began to come up from inside the box, the Children’s Room was suddenly bright with happiness. Story Time had begun.

  Mr. Anderson first entertained the children with Toasty. Then, when the corgi went back into his box to take a nap, Mr. Anderson began reading them a picture book, holding it open so everyone could see the pictures. During this time Flora stood quietly beside the craft table, counting the number of toddler heads and comparing it to the number of paper pails. There were enough. As for the lettuces and carrots, she was sure there were enough of those to feed everyone in Rosetown.

  When Mr. Anderson finished the story of Peter Rabbit, the toddlers all moved to the table, leaving their dolls and bears and bunnies behind to nap with Toasty. They were ready for paper and glue.

  Flora did her best. Three-year-olds move quite quickly when presented with a table full of lettuces and carrots and glue sticks. Flora helped them fill up their paper pails with garden vegetables, guiding their small hands with her own, reapplying glue as needed, and picking up whatever floated to the floor. Only once did she have to remind them that the vegetables were not real, so children could not eat them, but dolls and bunnies and bears could.