The Lending Library

by Fogelson, Aliza

  I was speechless.

  Was it possible that Leila Pelle had changed? “That’s amazing,” I said.

  “I’ll bring you a piece tomorrow.”

  A clutch of visitors stood inside the entry in their finery. Geraldine was back in action greeting people at the door. She had earned her library science degree while the library was closed and had recently been named the new head librarian here. Roberta and some of the ladies from the story circle were in the vestibule too. And Mike and Lula and Ramon, Chloë, Melissa, Deandra and Trey, Indira and Amisha, and so many other Chatsworthians.

  The mood was festive as Geraldine cut the ribbon and everyone rushed inside. There were long rows of desks with computers down the west side, an audiovisual station and circulation desk on the east side toward the front door, and neat and tidy shelves parading in between a perimeter of tables and chairs. It looked modern, spiffy. I wrinkled my nose at the smell of newness, but I had to give it time.

  “Do you want to walk around a bit? Go ahead,” I encouraged Elmira. She rushed off to explore.

  I wanted a moment to myself. Excitement welled up inside me when I saw all the people filling the spaces between stacks, sitting at the tables, asking the volunteers at the information desk questions, drinking punch, and eating sprinkle cookies.

  There was an official public library for the people of Chatsworth to go to and check out books again. My heart burned enviously in my chest as I looked at Geraldine. Maybe now the people of Chatsworth wouldn’t really need my little and much-less-organized library anymore.

  Geraldine saw my expression and came over. “I know exactly what you’re thinking. And yes, the townspeople will still need the lending library.”

  “I hope so. I’m thrilled for you and appreciate all the help you’ve given me. And, Geraldine, this place looks great.”

  She nodded. “It does, but it smells new, and it’ll take a while for that to change in such a big space. Plus, there are no stacks of random books or nearby ovens for a Foodie Book Club. Although there is a comment board for the kids, and I’m thinking of starting a story circle for adults,” she informed me. I grinned.

  “Now let me show you something.” She waved me toward the northeast corner.

  It was the same key shape as the nook that had always been my favorite spot in the library. Instead of floor-to-ceiling windows, though, the walls were bookcases made of wood intricately carved with little scenes. I looked closely. One of the scenes was from Peter Rabbit. One of them was from The Little Engine That Could. One of them was from The Snowy Day. And one of them, I saw through tears, was from The Piping-Hot Frog Book. Terabithia’s favorite. There was a squishy chair in the center of this nook, too, but it wasn’t cozy and alone. It was cozy and surrounded by a dozen little chairs.

  I took a few moments to drink it in. Geraldine had disappeared. I felt Shep’s arms around me, his chin coming to rest on top of my head. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

  “There’s one more thing,” he said, leading me to the nook’s entrance.

  My friends were gathered there watching me expectantly. Mackie and Jeff had joined them. Everyone made a little space for me as I came up so I could see what was on the wall.

  It was a plaque engraved with a list of names. “This is permanent,” Geraldine told me. At the top read the words THE PEOPLE OF CHATSWORTH GRATEFULLY RECOGNIZE THE PASSIONATE AND KNOWLEDGEABLE LIBRARIANS OF THIS TOWN. My eyes raced down to the bottom. Geraldine’s name was there. And right above it was mine. Dodie Fairisle.

  The people around me clapped as I wiped my eyes.

  “And we’ll be carrying on your tradition of inserting little bits of sage wisdom in the books we recommend,” Geraldine said through her own happy tears.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  —TWENTY-SIX—

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Shep said, clicking his seat belt and shoving a magazine into the seat back in front of him. He kept looking out the window as if already expecting to see the Mediterranean Sea when our plane hadn’t even taken off from Logan yet.

  I grabbed his hand and squeezed, feeling my own excitement bubble up. I hadn’t had a real vacation in years. Now we would have a week together on the French Riviera, where my hardest decision would be between fish soup with garlicky croutons and Gruyère or a hot-off-the-griddle chickpea pancake with a dash of pepper and rosemary. We would visit Nice and stay for several nights in Saint-Paul de Vence following in the footsteps of some of my favorite artists and musicians and writers. James Baldwin and Pierre Bonnard. Miró and Chagall and Matisse. Nina Simone and Miles Davis and Ella Fitzgerald.

  “I figured we both deserved a vacation,” I said.

  “Definitely. I’m just amazed that we’re doing this knowing that we’ll have a honeymoon to plan in the near future.”

  We grinned at each other.

  “Besides,” Shep teased, “I wonder if you can really take a vacation.”

  “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know the biggest decision we’re supposed to have to make is whether we want to stay in bed till lunchtime or get up and go for a swim.”

  Even better choices!

  “So you’re not supposed to be on your phone all the time checking in on the library or Elmira or Terabithia or that woman who was telling you the other day that your book recommendations were helping her survive her divorce. That could be hard for you.”

  He was looking at me with his eyebrows raised. There was no judgment in his voice, no concern. His lips curled up at the edges.

  At that moment, the only thing I could think about was Shep and the beginnings of that smile. I was determined to make it bigger. In fact, I could hardly wait for the next seven days in France to begin.

  So while I was saying to him, “You’re probably right,” I was thinking, We’ll just see about that . . .

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  So many people have fostered my love of books and made it a possibility and a pleasure for me to write this one. From the very beginning, my parents, Fred and Sandi Fogelson, instilled in me a deep passion for reading. My mother showed me that everyone is creative and can make beautiful things; she taught me to believe in my imagination. My father’s constant support and interest mean so much, every day.

  My sisters, Jen and Marni, inspire me with their generous, kind hearts. I’ve been incredibly lucky to have Marni as the first sounding board for my writing and always at the ready during the evolution of this novel. Jen’s sense of humor and fun have been a lifeline too many times to count.

  My agent, Meg Ruley, believed in this book from the start and buoyed me through its journey. Conversations with her are like a cross between a cozy cup of tea and a glass of sparkling wine. I thank her for finding this book a home.

  Thanks to my editor, Danielle Marshall, for making that home such an enthusiastic one. Her patience and guidance along the way are much appreciated. I’m also grateful to Heather Lazare for the insightful edits; Erin Calligan Mooney for all her help in the home stretch; Kimberly Glyder for capturing the charm of Dodie and her world in the cover; Michael J. Totten, Stephanie Chou, and Emma Reh for their attention to detail; and Gabriella Dumpit and the rest of the team at Lake Union / Amazon for the warm welcome and for all their efforts to share this book with readers.

  Many friends have offered encouragement and the best kind of distractions along the way; I thank them all. I am especially indebted to Jennifer Pooley for being an abiding cheerleader and fairy bookmother through the years and to Ashley Martabano for the moral support and huge laughs.

  My deep gratitude goes to my husband, Richard Cannarelli, who may even love books as much as I do. Hearing our son giggling with him in the other room helped me through some of the toughest stretches of revision. The wait for my happy beginning with him was more than worth it.

  Thanks to Benjamin for granting my own wish to be a mother. I hope that one day this book
reminds him of how deeply he was wanted. Most of all, I hope he will already—and always—know how beloved he is.

  HUMMINGBIRD CAKE

  Banana. Pineapple. Cinnamon. Cream cheese. Heaps of powdered sugar and butter. As Sullivan said, “A strange combination of flavors.” But what a delicious one! This cake seems to win over almost anyone who tries it. And it’s an actual prizewinner. Sincere thanks are due (from about a squillion fans, including me) to Mrs. L. H. Wiggins of Greensboro, North Carolina. Her recipe for hummingbird cake, adapted below, first appeared in Southern Living in 1978, and it won a reader favorite award in 1990. The pecans are traditional, but I’ve made this many times without them, and no one knew they were missing. You can also swap in your favorite 1:1 gluten-free flour.

  While the original recipe makes a three-layer cake, I find that a two-layer hummingbird cake is more than decadent enough (and I don’t mind having some cupcakes around to give away or freeze for another day when the craving for this treat strikes). This cake keeps well in an airtight container in the refrigerator for a week. It tastes best at room temperature, so if you can, take it out of the fridge at least an hour before serving.

  Makes one three-layer 9-inch round cake or one two-layer 8-inch round cake plus six cupcakes

  3 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for flouring the pans

  1 teaspoon baking soda

  ½ teaspoon salt

  2 cups sugar

  1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

  3 eggs, beaten

  ¾ cup vegetable oil (I usually use canola), plus more for greasing the pans

  1 ½ teaspoons vanilla extract

  1 (8-ounce) can crushed pineapple, undrained

  1 cup chopped pecans (optional)

  1 ¾ cups mashed bananas (3 to 4 bananas)

  Cream cheese frosting (recipe follows)

  Pecan halves for decoration (optional)

  Preheat the oven to 350ºF. Grease and flour three 9-inch round cake pans or two 8-inch round cake pans and six muffin cups (or use cupcake liners in the muffin pan).

  Combine the flour, baking soda, salt, sugar, and cinnamon in a large bowl. Add the eggs and ¾ cup oil, stirring until the dry ingredients are moistened. Do not beat the mixture. Stir in the vanilla, pineapple with its juices, and 1 cup chopped pecans (if using) just until the batter is well combined.

  Pour the batter into the greased and floured cake pans and muffin cups (if using). Bake for 23 to 28 minutes or until a wooden toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool for 10 minutes in the pans. Gently slide a knife around the edges of the pan to help free the cake. Invert the cakes onto a wire rack, and let them cool completely.

  Spread the cream cheese frosting between the layers and on the top and sides of the cake. Decorate with pecan halves if desired. (They look lovely in a circle around the top edge and with a couple more pecans placed right in the center.)

  Cream Cheese Frosting

  I love frosting, and I think cake is best when it has a nice, big layer of frosting on top. This recipe for cream cheese frosting makes more than enough to cover the hummingbird cake. Even with a generous helping between the layers and all over the outside, you’ll probably still have some of this sweet, creamy goodness left over. I highly recommend dipping strawberries in it. Or just a spoon. Maybe with a few chocolate chips thrown on top for good measure.

  1 cup unsalted butter, softened

  2 (8-ounce) packages cream cheese

  2 (16-ounce) packages powdered sugar, sifted

  2 teaspoons vanilla extract

  Cream the butter and cream cheese with a mixer at medium-low speed. Gradually add the sugar, beating at low speed until well blended. Increase the speed to medium, and beat until the frosting is light and fluffy. Stir in the vanilla.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © 2017 Marni Fogelson

  Aliza Fogelson is a writer and editor living in New York. She specializes in lifestyle books, including those about decorating, cooking, and style. She graduated from Princeton University, where she studied literature and creative writing. Her first published work was her third-grade short story “Baby Cow’s Adventure.” This is her first novel.