Louisiana Saves the Library (22 page)

C
HAPTER
33

T
he next morning, Louise was rewatching the TV news broadcast about the library in her cubicle when Sylvia appeared carrying her green alligator purse. “Let's go get lunch at Anthony's.”

Louise zipped up the orange interlibrary loan bag and tucked it into a post office tub with the others. The gofer from the State Library would pick it up during her afternoon run. Before Louise and Sylvia came to Alligator Bayou, they hadn't even included the library on their route. Mr. Foley didn't see the point of interlibrary loans. If Alligator Bayou Parish Library didn't have it, the locals didn't need it, he said. Louise ignored him and did it anyway.

“You look great on TV, by the way. It's not too late to switch to a glamorous career in broadcasting,” she told Sylvia.

“Shut up. You sure you're not upset that Hope and I hogged the limelight?”

“Are you nuts? The last thing I want is to see all my pores blown up larger than life on the screen. Horrors, as my gram used to say.”

“Ms. Trudy said the station was flooded with calls from people who wanted to sign the petition. Some of them weren't even from Alligator Bayou.”

They went out to circulation, and Louise left the interlibrary loan box next to Lily.

“We're going to Anthony's for lunch,” Sylvia said.

Lily nodded and leaned forward to share another bit of juicy gossip with Ada Gautreaux, who was hunting through the wire rack of romances.

Anthony's Seafood had profited enormously from the growth of Alligator Bayou. Once a mere shack, according to Hope, it had grown to the size of a small grocery. Which, essentially, it was. Anthony's sold catfish that were killed and cleaned on premise, fresh seafood, frozen products from alligator meat to turducken, hot sauce, and prepared food such as their famous boudin balls (pork and rice sausage formed into spheres and deep fried), fried catfish, and po'boys of all descriptions. Since moving to Alligator Bayou, Louise had been experimenting with some of the more exotic offerings. Max had shown an unexpected fondness for boiled crawfish.

Louise and Sylvia stood in line in front of the fully stocked steam table.

“Oh my God. It all looks so good,” Sylvia said.

“Yeah.” Louise couldn't think about food. Despite the apparent success of the TV broadcast, she was worried that the library tax would fail, even if Ms. Trudy got it on the ballot. If that happened, she'd have to try to get a job in the Saint Jude Parish Library system or move again. The thought of leaving Sal was enough to give her instant heartburn. Besides, Brendan would not be happy to have come all the way to Louisiana only for her to take the kids somewhere else. He might even take her to court over it.

“All right, we're going to need some boudin balls, fried shrimp, and fried catfish. Bread. And coleslaw and two iced teas. Unsweetened,” Sylvia informed the stocky black woman behind the counter.

Without saying a word, the woman assembled the food into two Styrofoam containers and passed it to the cashier.

Sylvia produced a twenty-dollar bill. “This is on me.”

“Thanks.” Louise tried to sound grateful, but she wasn't sure that she was capable of eating.

Once they were seated at one of the high, round tables, however, Louise's appetite returned. The catfish was crispy on the outside and creamy on the inside, and the boudin balls were spicy and delicious.

They ate most of their food in silence. “Now, you know this isn't about lunch,” Sylvia said.

Louise drank the last drops of her iced tea. “Are you stuffing me full of seafood so I'll agree to some crazy scheme? I'm not toilet-papering the Gund's house.”

“Exactly the opposite. We're outsiders in this town. But that doesn't mean we can't charm people—we're just going to have to work a little harder at it.”

“You're the one with the great hair and TV presence. I'm just a mousy librarian type,” Louise said.

“Shut up, you are not. We have to keep track of who knows who, who's related, who's had a feud with who since forever. Hope can help us. We need to start shopping at local stores, mailing stuff from the post office here, getting our hair cut by the ladies at the Cut and Dye, eating our lunch here or at Main Street Café.”

“What do you think I've been doing? I moved here, you might remember.” Louise ate her last boudin ball.

“I know. But you can't just walk into the Pig, get your groceries, and leave. You have to ask the cashier how her kids are, find out the name of her husband, her hairdresser, her dentist. You get the idea.” Sylvia pinched the tail off a fried shrimp. “As it happens, Reverend McDonald's nephew owns this place.”

“How do you know that?”

“I talk to people. And I file it away.” Sylvia scraped back her chair and stood up. “Three kids, two of them in high school. I know them from my book talks.”

The lunch crowd had thinned, so Sylvia approached the cashier between orders. “Y'all know if Mr. McDonald is in today?”

“Sure, honey.” The woman flashed a smile, showing her gold front tooth. “He just in the back, taking a delivery. I'll call him up here.”

A minute later, they were talking to a bald African American man. The only concession to his rank in the business was the knot of a tie visible above his long white apron. He regarded them with a faint air of suspicion. “How can I help you ladies?”

“Mr. McDonald, I'm Sylvia Jones and this is Louise Richardson. We work at the Alligator Bayou Parish Library. Your daughter Chante is one of my favorite Teen Club members.”

The corners of McDonald's mouth lifted slightly. “Oh, yeah. She been hanging around the library a lot. I say, ‘Chante, don't you want to go to the mall?' but oh, no, she'd rather go hang out with y'all. Can't say I mind that too much.”

“I'm really honored to be able to provide teenagers with a safe and fun place to go,” Sylvia said. “I hope they learn something too. Chante is a really hard worker. And talented. She helped me redecorate the library, and I had to ask if she was considering interior design as a career.”

“Oh, not my Chante. She's way too serious. That girl wants to be an environmental engineer. Sometimes, I think maybe she studies too much, but hey, that's how you get ahead in life. But I don't think y'all came here to talk about my daughter.”

“Oh, no, sir. We wanted to let you know that the Friends of the Library group is trying to get a new library tax on the next ballot. Wouldn't cost but a hundred dollars a year to the average Alligator Bayou homeowner.”

“Well, I sure do think y'all are doing a good job over there. Don't know what's going on with those book-burning signs. I fought against that over in Vietnam. What we need is knowledge. Education. Hard work. Can't be holding our young people back by telling them they can read only one book, even if it is the Bible. If you read one book, you aren't going to even understand it at all.”

“I agree. We're doing the best we can, but Louise and I will lose our jobs if this tax doesn't pass. We're paid with a federal grant that's due to expire. I'll make sure Chante gets a copy of the petition for you, if you're interested.”

“That would be fine.” McDonald turned and disappeared into the back of the store.

“That's what you have to do,” Sylvia said, gathering up the extra food.

 

Louise called Hope from the SUV while Sylvia drove back to the library.

“You talked to Mr. McDonald? I hear he'd take candy from a baby if it suited his interest,” Hope said.

“Seemed like a nice enough man. Sylvia talked to him about his daughter,” Louise said.

“Huh.” Hope paused, probably to sip from her ever-present coffee cup. “I know a couple other people who might could help get more signatures.”

“We're bringing you fried shrimp and boudin balls.”

“I'm all over this thing.” Hope hung up.

C
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34

S
omeone had set the thermostat in the police jury room to extra frigid again. Louise pulled her sweater closed and folded her arms, trying to get warm. Mr. Henry sat in the front row. He slouched down in his chair even more than usual and coughed into a handkerchief. Mr. Foley apparently had not bothered to come.

Sylvia tapped Mr. Henry on the shoulder before taking a seat behind him. He turned and nodded in greeting. He'd taken sick leave the whole previous week. His cheekbones looked sharp enough to poke through his skin.

Louise squeezed past Sylvia and sat down next to Breaux.

“Time for the show,” he said.

The police jurors filed in and took their places at the table. Mrs. Gunderson made everyone wait while she rearranged the chairs until she had the one she wanted. Delilah covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her laughter. She wore a puffy, shiny green dress that looked like something a nerdy girl would pick out for the prom. Pratt nudged her and gave her a warning look. Foster pretended to read the agenda as he tapped his foot, waiting.

When the chairs were finally the way Mrs. Gunderson wanted them, she dropped into her seat and leaned her elbows on the table. Reverend McDonald had been lagging a few paces behind the others, and he sat on the end without making eye contact with anyone.

“You see how they all came in together?” Breaux whispered to Louise. “They had a little powwow before the meeting.”

“That's not good,” Louise said.

Foster banged his gavel. “I call this meeting to order. Reverend McDonald will lead us in prayer, and then Mrs. Gunderson will lead the Pledge of Allegiance.”

Louise bowed her head, but she didn't hear anything McDonald said. By the time they started the pledge, she was sweating in the chilly room.

Foster read the agenda in his ponderous way. The library would be discussed first, which was good because Louise didn't think she could take the suspense much longer. Foster finished his recitation. “First item: Mrs. Gunderson has proposed that, since the parish currently lacks the funds to support the library system, we simply shut down our system and enter into an agreement with Saint Jude Parish whereby bookmobiles and other services will be made available to our parish citizens.”

“Wait, that's not on the agenda,” Pratt said. “No one said anything about shutting down the system.”

Delilah nodded. “You can't just add it like that. Besides, I'm sure ending library service would be something the voters would have to approve.”

“All right, then,” Mrs. Gunderson said. “Let's go back to what we talked about, passing a resolution against any expansion of the library system.”

Louise glanced around, confused. Where were the book burners? They should be supporting Mrs. Gunderson. If they had a petition, this would be the time to bring it before the jury.

“Wait!” Sylvia stood up.

“Anyone wishing to speak has to fill out a request-to-speak card,” Foster said.

“Give me a card, then,” Sylvia said. “Please.”

The police jury secretary approached Sylvia, whispering something in her ear before giving her the card. Sylvia nodded and squeezed her shoulder. Regina Lewis had come to the library twice during the previous week—for books, but also to show her support.

Foster took a full minute to read the card. When he was finished, he motioned Sylvia forward. “Stand in front of the microphone and state your name and address for the record.”

Just as Sylvia pulled the microphone up to its full height, Mr. Henry began to cough. Louise got out her phone, ready to call 911, but he stopped and gestured for them to continue.

Sylvia adjusted the microphone again. “I just want to say that we have done everything we can to make this library a vital part of the community. Without it, the local schoolchildren will be deprived of a place to get their books for school projects and for extra reading. And it's a safe hangout after school and on Saturdays. We have been adding computer classes, book clubs, and other programs for all ages. People are coming in droves. You can ask Ms. Regina over there; she is one of our regulars along with Ms. Trudy, Cheryl from the post office, Michelle who runs the dry cleaning shop on Route One, Ms. Stephanie from Main Street Café, and a whole bunch of teachers and students. The people will support this tax. I know it.”

Mrs. Gunderson snorted. “No one likes taxes. And libraries are dying. Maybe you don't realize that there is something called the Internet.”

“This library is not dying.” Ms. Trudy stood up. “Over one thousand Alligator Bayou residents signed a petition to put the tax on the ballot.” She dropped a thick folder in front of Mrs. Gunderson and went back to her seat.

Mrs. Gunderson made a show of counting the pages.

“Mrs. Gunderson,” Foster said.

Grumbling under her breath, she handed him the folder.

“We are required by our own parish charter to sign these papers and submit them to the secretary of state in a timely matter. I will see that it is done,” Foster said. “Assuming that everything is in order, the tax ordinance will appear on the ballot in September.”

Sylvia slapped Louise's hand. “We did it, girl!”

“We will give you all a moment to leave if you wish before continuing the meeting,” Mrs. Gunderson said.

“A small victory,” Breaux said as they walked to the parking lot. “But the tax still has to pass.”

Sylvia grabbed his shoulder and shook him. “Come on, you pessimist. The Gund can't bully the whole parish.”

“Don't be so sure. That old bat has a lot of influence around here. You best watch out for her.”

“What about the book burners?” Louise said. “They didn't show.”

“No, but I don't think you've seen the last of them.” Breaux walked quickly to his car and got in.

“Something's funny about Citizens Against Hedonism, but I don't know what it is,” Sylvia said.