The Sweetgum Knit Lit Society (2 page)

But despite the iPod—Eugenie had heard they were quite expensive—the girl didn’t look like she had enough money to buy a decent pair of shoes, much less replace a hardback book.

“I didn’t do it. It was already like that.” The girl spoke too loudly, not because of her headphones but because she was lying.

Eugenie extended one hand. “The pages, please.”

The girl stared back, mutinous, before finally giving in. “Here.” She pulled the wad of glossy paper from beneath the table and thrust it at Eugenie, who took the pages, glancing down to see what the girl had torn from the book.

A pattern for a scarf. Why hadn’t she simply checked out the book if she wanted the pattern?

“I’ll look up the price and let you know what this will cost. There are processing fees in addition to the cost of the book.”

“It doesn’t matter.” The girl slumped farther still in the chair. “I don’t have any money.”

“What’s your name?” Eugenie asked. “I’ll need your parents’ names as well.” She knew the girl heard her question because her cheeks went pale beneath the smear of blush that failed to cover the thicket of freckles.

“I don’t have any parents.”

Again, Eugenie could tell she was lying. “Then who is responsible for you? A relative?”

The girl turned her head away. A library was also similar to a church in that it often provided shelter for lost souls. Temporary shelter for the most part, but Eugenie had found that everyone from latchkey children to battered wives and lonely senior citizens might wander into her library on any given day.

“If you can’t give me the name of the adult who’s responsible for you, I’ll have to call Theda Farley over at Family Services.”

The girl’s head whipped back around to Eugenie. “Don’t you dare.” She scrambled out of the chair. Eugenie might be old enough to retire, but she was still spry. With a quick snag, she caught the girl’s arm.

“Hey! You can’t touch me!”

“Young lady, in my library, I can do as I see fit.”

“This is child abuse!”

“You’ve ruined one of my books. You don’t have the money to pay for it, and you won’t tell me who you are. Perhaps I should call the police.”

The girl’s kohl-smeared eyes widened. “All right. All right. I’ll tell you my name. Just no cops.”

Eugenie held in a sigh of relief. She wouldn’t have called the police anyway, not for so minor an infraction, but the girl didn’t have to know that.

“So what is your name?” Eugenie demanded, releasing the girl’s arm.

“Hannah.”

“Hannah what?”

“Hannah Simmons.”

The name rang a bell. “You’re Tracy Simmons’s daughter?” She knew Tracy. Wild. Promiscuous. She’d had her first child, this child, at sixteen. That was the thing about a small town like Sweetgum. Everyone knew everyone else’s business, unless of course you knew how to be very, very discreet. Tracy Simmons had been the antithesis of discreet.

“Tracy’s my mom. So what?”

Well, that explained the tattoos the child had drawn up and down her arms with ballpoint pen, the too-tight tank top, and the cheap flip-flops. She was definitely her mother’s daughter.

And then Eugenie remembered something else. A hazy picture of Tracy Simmons when she was eight years old, sitting on the floor between the stacks in the juvenile section of the library, her dirty blond head buried in a book. Her mother would drop her off at the library for hours at a time,
at least until Tracy had entered junior high school, developed a figure, and been left elsewhere to fend off the attention of adolescent boys. Within a couple years, she’d become one of those girls who rode around the town square on a Saturday night in the back of a pickup, a bottle in a plain brown bag in one hand and a cigarette in the other. By then it had been a long time since she’d darkened the door of the library. Tracy was one of the few who had escaped Eugenie’s influence. The memory startled Eugenie, and it changed her mind about how to handle Hannah’s debt.

“If you can’t pay for the book, you’ll have to work off the cost.”

“What?” Hannah had chewed off most of her metallic pink lipstick, leaving only a rough stain around the edges of her mouth.

“You’ll have to do some work for me here at the library to pay for the book.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You can’t make me work. I’m thirteen. What about child labor laws?”

Eugenie smiled. “Well, you’re welcome to call the police if you think I’m violating the law.”

Hannah’s shoulders slumped. “You’re evil.”

Now Eugenie could laugh. “No, Hannah. I’m not evil.” She paused for effect. “I’m a librarian.”

“So what do I have to do?” Hannah demanded, one hand on a bony hip that jutted out. “Shelve books, sweep, stuff like that?”

“For today, yes.”

Hannah scowled. “I have to work for more than a day?”

“We’ll start with an hour a day on weekdays and a half-day on Saturday.”

“You’re kidding. For how long?”

“For as long as it takes.”

The girl grumbled, but she didn’t protest further. Eugenie thought she looked secretly relieved. Something to do after school. A way to get out of the house on Saturday. Both were probably a blessing to Tracy Simmons’s daughter.

“And one other thing.” Eugenie looked down at the torn pages in her hand. “You have to participate in the Knit Lit Society.”

“I don’t want to be in your nitwit society.”

“And I don’t think you have a choice.”

“They won’t want me.”

“Of course they will,” Eugenie answered, but she spoke with more confidence than she felt. “They’ll help you learn to knit as well as broaden your mind through reading.”

Eugenie’s words were met with silence.

“What do you like to read?”

Again silence.

“What were your favorites when you were younger?” she persisted. “
Little Women? The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
?” She couldn’t remember this Hannah coming to the library before, now that she thought about it.

“I never read any of those.”

“A Little Princess? Pollyanna
?” Eugenie asked with rising incredulity.

Hannah shook her head. “I tried that one about the girl on the mountain. You know, the one where her mother died and she went to live with her grandfather.”

Eugenie was afraid she could see the appeal
Heidi
might have held for Hannah. “Well then, I think I know what the Knit Lit Society will be reading next.” She turned toward the information desk and motioned Hannah to follow. “Come on. We’ll start with some dusting. After I close up, we can walk over to Munden’s Five-and-Dime to buy some yarn and needles.”

“I told you I don’t have any money.”

“You can work the needles and yarn off as well. Besides, the Knit Lit Society meets tomorrow evening, so you’ll need them.”

“My mom won’t let me come down here on a Friday night.”

Eugenie doubted that Tracy Simmons cared about Hannah’s whereabouts on a Friday night. Or any other night for that matter. The last Eugenie had heard, Tracy worked as a cocktail waitress at a seedy bar on the outskirts of Sweetgum.

“You leave that to me,” was all she said in response to the girl’s protest. She stepped behind the circulation desk and reached into a cubby for a dust cloth. “Here.” She held it out to Hannah. “Start in the fiction section over there with the
A’s. And when you see
Little Women
by Louisa May Alcott, pull it out. That will be our first book.”

Hannah’s eyes widened. “I can’t read that by tomorrow night.”

“Of course not. That will be next month’s selection. Tomorrow you’ll just meet the other members of the society. And learn to knit.”

Hannah looked skeptical. “Whatever.” But in spite of her resistance, she took the dust cloth.

“Don’t forget the lower shelves,” Eugenie admonished as she walked away.

Half an hour later, Eugenie looked around to find Hannah Simmons sitting on the floor between the stacks of the Sweetgum Public Library, her head buried in a copy of
Little Women
, a forgotten dust cloth on the floor beside her. Eugenie watched the girl from behind the information desk and allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.

Now all she had to do was convince the Sweetgum Knit Lit Society to welcome their newest member.

Merry McGavin slid her minivan into a parking space near the main doors of the Sweetgum Christian Church and shoved the gear lever into park. The clock on the dashboard showed ten minutes past the hour. She scrambled from the van, grateful for the shade of the town’s namesake trees, and yanked open the sliding door to the rear seats. Empty water bottles, Happy Meal toys, and crumpled Wet Wipes littered the vehicle’s floor. Her knitting bag had toppled over when she rounded the last corner at Spring Street, so it took her a few moments to shove the jumble of yarn, needles, and books back into her quilted tote. The plastic water bottles and other detritus she ignored.

Merry hated being late, but that’s all she ever was anymore. Late to teach Sunday school. Late getting Courtney to her orthodontist appointment. Late picking Jake up from soccer practice. Late retrieving Sarah from preschool. Late, late, late.

“Merry!”

She looked over her shoulder to see Ruthie Allen jogging down the sidewalk toward her, golden September light forming a halo around the older woman’s head. The Sweetgum Christian Church sat directly behind the east side of the town square on Spring Street, two blocks down from the public library. Ruthie, the never-married church secretary, had probably run over to Tallulah’s Café for a bite of supper after the church office closed. Merry wished she could eat a meal at the café’s counter in blissful solitude. Most of her meals were consumed standing up at her kitchen counter while she baked, washed, fried, or cried.

Merry forced a smile. Ruthie was a rather plump woman of fifty-five, twenty years Merry’s senior, and she really shouldn’t be jogging in public. Not at her age. And certainly not without proper undergarment support above the waist.

“Hey, Ruthie,” Merry said. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who’s late. Now I don’t have to face the wrath of Eugenie alone.”

Ruthie grinned. She was wearing tight purple yoga pants, a sweatshirt that said “Love Your Mother” with a picture of the earth emblazoned on the front, and a worn pair of running shoes.

“You can hide behind me,” Ruthie answered, hoisting her see-through plastic carryall higher on her shoulder. “I’m used to ‘the wrath of Eugenie’ as you so aptly put it.”

Merry wished her smile was as genuine as Ruthie’s broad,
toothy grin. Even though she thought the older woman was a bit too free-spirited, she envied her naturally sunny disposition. Merry’s own chipper outlook came from sheer determination, not from any inner sense of optimism.

“At least I finished the book,” Merry said. So many book clubs just pretended to read the selection for the month. Some didn’t even pretend. But most book clubs weren’t led by the town librarian. Merry slung her bulging tote bag over her shoulder and threw the sliding door of the van closed.

“Did you finish your shawl too?” Ruthie asked. In theory each member of the Sweetgum Knit Lit Society was required to complete the book and its accompanying project before the meeting. In reality … well, today was one of the rare occasions when Merry had managed to finish both on time.

“I did, thankfully. Jeff agreed to take the kids out for ice cream last night so I could have a little peace and quiet.”

“The book and the project? I’m impressed.” Ruthie nodded at Merry’s knitting bag as they crossed the sidewalk toward the front doors of the church. “So what are you working on now?”

Merry’s knees wobbled, but she caught herself in time. “A baby layette. Hat, booties, blanket.”

“How sweet!” Ruthie’s enthusiasm never seemed to flag. “Are they for anyone we know?”

“No.” Merry tightened her cheeks so her smile spread even wider. “Just for a friend who’s pregnant.”

“Well, you’re nice to do such a thoughtful thing for your
friend.” Ruthie patted her shoulder. They’d reached the heavy mahogany doors, and Merry moved to open one.

“After you,” she said, motioning for Ruthie to enter ahead of her. Merry needed a moment, just that brief moment while Ruthie’s back was turned, to collect herself.

Late, late, late. She couldn’t be. But she was. In more ways than one.