“Women understand each other,” she teased. “Well, I guess we’re ready, as soon as I get changed.” She might be driving the crop into town, but she had no intention of looking like a field hand when she did it.
“Mizz Ada,” Chancey said, pulling his cap from his head. “I ain’t sure a lady like you oughta go in town on your own. There’s strangers on the road these days. Them hobo men. I could make some time and go ‘long with you, if you like.”
Her father nodded. “It pains me I can’t make the ride myself. I’d feel better knowing Chancey was with you.”
Chancey was a very nice young man, earnest and kind, but the mere thought of his endless prattle all the way to Callwood made her eyelids droop. One of the few benefits this hard trip offered was a peaceful time alone with her thoughts. And the men who walked the roads were looking for help, not trouble. They weren’t monsters, but men only a single rung down the ladder from themselves. She had no fear of them.
“I don’t need a chaperone. I know the folks at every homestead from here to town. I have trouble, I’ll be close to help all the way. And if the worst comes, I’ve got the shotgun here behind the seat. I’ll be fine.” When Chancey opened his mouth to protest, Ada raised her hand and gave him her schoolteacher look. “I’ll be fine, Chancey. Thank you for your help with the cart. You’ve done more than enough to pay me back for helping with your momma’s papers.”
The trip down to Callwood was twelve miles on dirt roads. In the old Ford, that was an hour or so. In the wagon, with a full load, it was more than five. Though she’d been up as usual with the dawn and on the road while the dew was yet heavy on leaves beginning to put on their fall colors, by the time Ada and Henrietta passed the town sign, the sun was at the peak of its arc. She had two hours to get her errands complete and be back on the road. Any later, and they’d be rolling the last miles in the dark.
Callwood was, by most measures, a very small town, a grid of a few streets, with only about three blocks of retail businesses, but to the people who lived in the hills, it was the biggest city most of them would ever see. Ada had gone to school in Lexington for her teaching certificate, and the first week in that city, she’d cried every day at least once, from sheer sensory overload.
Life in the hills was quiet. Few people had telephone or electricity, only about half had a motor car or truck. People moved at the pace their own bodies could go, and they followed the rhythms of the earth, busy in the light and quiet in the night. The farther up the mountain you went, the quieter—and harder—life got.
As Ada eased Henrietta and the wagon down Main Street, she felt as if she’d crossed a time shift of some sort. In the past few years, with the truck working, she hadn’t much noticed it, but today, clip-clopping over the same street cars and trucks rolled over, she saw how much faster the world down here was moving—hurtling toward a different world entirely, one loud and harsh and far too fast.
Hers wasn’t the only wagon on the road, but the drivers of motored vehicles were impatient with them all, honking loud horns and shouting from their windows. Henrietta’s blinders kept her from spooking, but her ears swiveled constantly, and the skin over her withers shuddered at every horn and shout.
Their first stop was the mill—on the far side of the town from the mountain. Ada breathed out a heavy gust of relief as she finally guided Henrietta off the road and onto the mill lot.
There was a short line of other farmers bringing in their harvest. While Ada waited her turn, she noticed the grim expressions of the men walking back to their newly empty trucks, and a low burble of worry stirred on the floor of her belly.
Then she moved up close enough to see the sign advertising the rate, and the burble became a boil. That was a good twenty-five percent less than last year. She looked at the load in the wagon. It hadn’t been a good year. They’d lost part of the field to cutworms, and heavy rains had ruined about a third of the rest. At the advertised rate, Ada guessed she’d barely have enough money in her purse to pay the bank note and the electric and buy the absolutely essential supplies on her list. She would have to be very careful and get very inventive this afternoon, because there would not be a cent left. What she came home with would have to do them through the whole winter, at least. Maybe a whole year.
That was just impossible. What she’d told her father the other night, that they would be able to make it with just what they already had, seemed like a fairy tale right now.
What would her parents do if they lost their home?
When it was her turn, she smiled, and felt it turn into the ridiculous grin that happened to her face whenever she was unduly anxious—like her first day at teachers’ school, or her first date with George. Or their wedding night. She’d gotten a terrible fit of giggles that night, but he’d been charmed by them and patient with her as he showed her what it meant to love fully.
“Well, Mizz Ada! How do?”
“Hi, Pete,” she said with far too much cheer in her voice. She took Pete’s offered hand and let him help her down from the seat. “How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you. Surprised to see you, and in the wagon, too.”
“The truck broke down. You know my daddy’s back is bad, so I rode the load in myself.” She cleared her throat and nodded at the sign. “That’s not much, Pete. So much less than last year.” She couldn’t even say the number out loud. “You can’t do better?”
At least Pete looked honestly unhappy about it. “I’m sorry, Mizz Ada. We had to drop our prices for grains and flours. Times is hard for everybody.”
“I know. I just ... well, I wasn’t expecting it to be so low.”
He dropped his voice. “Some folks’re tryin’ they luck in Holden. I hear tell they payin’ a few cents more on the bushel. I won’t take it wrong if’n you want to move on.”
Holden was fifteen miles farther away. In the truck, she could have tried it. In the wagon, she had no chance. She wouldn’t even make it before the Holden mill closed. “I appreciate it, Pete, but we’ll stick with you, take what you can give us.”
While the mill workers emptied the wagon, Ada took her lunch pail off the seat and stood with Henrietta, feeding her apple slices. She’d eaten her lunch on the road but saved the apple for Henrietta, because she’d promised.
She watched the scale as her crop was weighed, and her heart sank. When Pete brought over a slim stack of bills and a handful of coins, she put the money in her purse and signed the slip.
Her mother was blind. Her father was injured far more than he’d admit. He didn’t have more than a year or two left to work, even with her help, and they certainly couldn’t afford to pay for help. Not even room and board, at this rate.
Ada didn’t know how she was going to keep her parents going. Or herself.
She gave part of her money right back to the mill, in the front store, when she bought sacks of flour, choosing sacks with the prettiest patterns, to use them later for fabric. Then she guided Henrietta and the nearly empty wagon away from the mill and back to town, to bring the bank note current and then go to the store to buy what supplies she could still afford.
As she walked into Callwood Dry Goods, a bill in the window drew her attention. Arcing across the top, the letters carefully handwritten, were the words CALLWOOD PACK HORSE LIBRARY. Callwood had never had a library before, and the thought that she might have access to new books lightened Ada’s heavy heart. Below those large, beautiful words were even prettier ones: SEEKS LIBRARIANS.
“’Scuse me, miss,” a man said behind her.
Seeing that she was blocking the door, Ada ducked her head in apology and stepped out of the way. She stood before the window and read the whole bill.
The Works Progress Administration
of the United States Federal Government
seeks literate, healthy people with excellent horseback skills
for a new program to bring the joy of reading
to citizens throughout Eastern Kentucky.
; Wages paid monthly.
Must provide own horse and tack.
Inquire at the Callwood Pack Horse Library,
24 Second Street, Callwood, KY.
Mrs. Edna Pitts, Head Librarian.
Wages paid monthly.
Wages paid monthly.
Wages.
Paid monthly.
By the federal government.
It didn’t take much to understand what the job would be—riding up into the mountains, to the one-room schoolhouses and homesteads up in the hollers, where people lived who couldn’t get down to towns like Callwood. She had taught up in a holler, so she knew. Most of those people were illiterate and didn’t care about any book but the Bible, but they had children, and those children deserved to know the magic of books.
Ada was literate—more than that, she was educated. She was healthy. She had excellent horseback skills. In fact, her best friend was a horse. She and Henrietta could be librarians.
Leaving Henrietta to doze in her harness in front of the dry goods store, she turned and headed toward Second Street. If she got this job—and why wouldn’t she?—she could shop after, maybe with a bit looser hold on her purse.
A simple hand-painted wood sign over a shop door on Second Street identified the new Callwood Pack Horse Library. That location had once been a music shop, but few people had money for luxuries like pianos and fiddles these days. It had closed up about a year back, and the windows had been covered over with newspaper and soapy swirls since.
Now, the windows were sparkling clean and covered with gathers of cotton calico. Ada dipped into her handbag and pulled out one of her few treasured possessions: a pretty scrolled compact with a curlicue letter A at the center. George had brought it home for her one day, out of the blue. It wasn’t anything wildly expensive or luxurious, just a tin disc burnished with a bit of gilt, but it was the fanciest thing Ada had ever owned. She opened it now and lifted the little mirror to her face. She’d never worn makeup, but she wanted to be sure she wasn’t wearing any smudges from the long ride down the mountain, or the dusty spell spent at the mill. Once she was satisfied that her face was clean, she tucked some errant strands of hair back in their pins, and made sure her hat was sitting right atop her head. She snapped the compact closed and slipped a pair of white cotton gloves from her handbag.
When she opened the door to the Callwood Pack Horse Library, she stepped in as Mrs. Ada Donovan, certified teacher, not Mizz Ada, desperate farmer’s daughter.
The space was dim, and so quiet that Ada caught the door and closed it softly rather than letting it swing closed on its own. As libraries went, it wasn’t much—about a dozen bookcases, each one no more than half full—but she was excited nonetheless. The desk in the center of the room was empty and there was no bell to ring, so Ada cleared her throat politely and called out, not too loudly, “Hello?”
“One moment,” came a voice from out of sight. The voice was female but not feminine. Brusque and deep, but cultured, too. Mrs. Edna Pitts, she suspected.
A short, sturdy woman with a violently tight grey topknot and small round spectacles bustled up from behind a screen Ada hadn’t noticed. She wore a dark grey dress and sensible black shoes.
“Yes. Welcome to the library. How may I help you?” She stepped behind the desk and took her seat, squinting—almost scowling—up at Ada.
“Mrs. Pitts? Mrs. Edna Pitts?”
“Yes. How may I help you?”
Ada offered her gloved hand. “My name is Ada Donovan. I’m here to inquire about the librarian position.”
Now there was no doubt that Mrs. Pitts was scowling. She was hardly more than five feet tall, but Ada wasn’t sure she’d met many people more terrifying than this dour woman. But when she spoke, her tone softened. “No, dear. I don’t think you understand. The program is for traveling librarians.”
“Up the mountain. Yes, I assumed. I live near Barker’s Creek, about twelve miles into the foothills.” Afraid to give Mrs. Pitts another chance to say no, Ada pushed on. “I got my teaching credential in Lexington a few years back, and I taught in Bull Holler for two years. I know these mountains. I’ve been riding all my life, and I’ve got a good strong horse.”
“Why aren’t you teaching now?”
“I got married four years ago.”
Mrs. Pitts nodded with understanding, but then shook her head. “It’s hard duty, dear. The route I’ve got left is a hundred-twenty miles a week, hard riding, high in the hills. You’d hardly be home to take care of your husband—or children, if you’ve got them.”
“I don’t. My husband passed. I’m a widow, and we never had a chance for children.” They’d both wanted to start their family right away, but in the brief years they’d had together, no baby had come to them. Ada had desperately wanted children, but God seemed to have other plans for her.
“Already? How old are you?”
Though she thought both those questions were rude, Ada kept her composure and simply answered them. Now was not the time to stand on manners. “Twenty-six. My husband died twenty-three months ago.” Twenty-three months, one week, and four days.
“Well, I’m very sorry for you,” Mrs. Pitts said gently, and earned back a credit in Ada’s estimation. She sat back and twiddled her fingers together, clearly weighing a decision.
“You have your own horse and tack?”
“Yes, ma’am. Henrietta’s a big strong mare. Sixteen and a half hands. She’s trained to harness, and she’s surefooted in the hills. Twelve years old. I raised her from a filly.”
“You have a teaching certificate you can produce? And a reference from Lexington?”
“Yes, ma’am. I can bring my certificate in tomorrow, and I’ve got the letter my advisor wrote when I got my first post, or I can write again for a new one, if you’d like.”
“The letter you have will do.” She leaned forward and peered hard at Ada. “Pardon my directness, young lady, but you don’t seem very sturdy. You understand, this is a year-round position. All weather—rain, snow, storm, shine, you make your route no matter what, just like the postman. Starting in autumn like this—well, you’re in for a hard go right from the first.”
“I understand. I’m strong. I grew up on my parents’ farm, working side by side with them in the fields. I know hard work. I can ride all day and jump down from the saddle at night. I can ride in cold or hot, dry or wet. I can do it.”
That earned a small smile from her would-be boss. “We’re more than the postman, in fact. We don’t merely drop off a sack at a trading post. We go to every home, wherever it is. And it’s more than dropping off books and collecting what they borrowed the last time. People want news, and companionship. Others, they don’t trust us, and it’s our responsibility to build that trust. Some people can’t read and want to learn. Others just want to listen. We are bringing more than books to these people, Mrs. Donovan. We are carrying the world to them.”
If Mrs. Pitts meant to warn Ada off, she was doing a terrible job. Ada was excited, not scared. This was the perfect job, even more than teaching. “I understand, Mrs. Pitts. It sounds like heaven to me.”
“Hmpf,” Mrs. Pitts grunted. “Well, I like your enthusiasm, and living up in the hills already, you’d have a head start on your route.” She opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a folded paper. When she spread it open on the desk, Ada saw it was a map of Callwood and the mountain to the northwest, showing some roads and dots for named places. Red lines wended up into the mountain, mostly away from any marked roads. “This is the route. All told, it’s about two-hundred-twenty miles , over rough trail, sometimes hardly more than a tamped-down spot in the trees. You run the whole thing over two weeks, then run it again, so you’re seeing all your folks every two weeks. You sleep at home as much as you can, but sometimes you won’t be able to. It’s up to you to know who’ll offer you shelter if you can’t get home. Do you understand?”
“I do.” Ada’s heart thumped a happy beat. This turn of talk meant
she was getting hired.
“Once a month, you come in for a day of work here at the library—we’ll all meet and discuss the weeks just past, and we’ll take books with heavy wear out of circulation and put new ones in, if we’ve got them. That’s the day you’ll be paid. It’s a government job, so the pay’s not much. Twenty-eight dollars a month.”
Ada’s knees nearly buckled. Twenty-eight dollars a month would keep her family comfortable. It wouldn’t make them rich, but it would keep the farm solid, and they’d be fed and warm and cozy through the winter. Twenty-eight dollars a month was a godsend.
“I understand,” she said, because it would have been unseemly to squeal.
“You’ve got good sturdy clothes for this work?” She gestured at Ada’s town dress and white gloves. “A dress won’t do when you’re riding twenty or thirty miles in a day. If you’ve got a feeling about women wearing trousers ...”
“I don’t. I wear denim trousers when I’m in the field. I’ve got boots with good soles, and a heavy coat. Mrs. Pitts, I’ve lived in the mountains all my life. I’m not a city girl, not even by Callwood’s standards. I can do this work.”
“Alright, then. Come back tomorrow with your papers, and we’ll get you set up with the route.”
Her new boss stood up and offered her hand. Full of hope, Ada clasped it. “Thank you, Mrs. Pitts. I’m ever so grateful.”
As excited as she was, Ada had known too much loss in her life to be frivolous before she’d actually been paid for her new job. She was nearly as careful in her shopping as if she hadn’t just been hired on for a twenty-eight-dollar-a-month job. Still, by the time the wagon was loaded with her meager purchases and she pointed Henrietta back toward home, the afternoon had gotten far too old. Even with the lighter load, and Henrietta’s therefore quicker step, it would be dark or near to it before they reached home. Her parents would be worried.
But what she’d told Chancey and her father early that morning was true: She knew everybody from Callwood to home, and if she encountered a dangerous stranger on the road, she had the shotgun with which to defend herself.
Carry the World Page 3