“It certainly is. And I can’t wait to see how much you’ve read in the meantime.”

“Millie! This one’s got drawings in it too!” Mae called, from the floor. Millie released Alice and hunkered down by her sister. Alice watched them for a moment, then made her way to the door, shrugging on her coat, a once fashionable tweed blazer that was now scuffed with moss and mud and sprouted messy threads where it had caught on bushes and branches. The mountain had grown distinctly colder these last days, as if winter were settling into its foundations.

“Miss Alice?”

“Yes?”

The girls were bent over Black Beauty, Millie’s finger tracing the words as her sister read aloud.

Jim looked behind him, as if making sure their focus was elsewhere. “I wanted to apologize.”

Alice, who had been tying her scarf, stopped.

“After my wife passed I was not myself for a while. Felt like the sky was falling in, you know? And I was not . . . hospitable when you first came by. But these last couple of months, seeing the girls stop crying for their mama, giving them something to look forward to every week, it’s—it’s . . . Well, I just wanted to say it’s much appreciated.”

Alice held her hands in front of her. “Mr. Horner, I can honestly tell you that I look forward to seeing your girls just as much as they look forward to my visits.”

“Well, it’s good for them to see a lady. I didn’t realize till my Betsy was gone how much a child misses the more . . . feminine side of things.” He scratched his head. “They talk about you, you know, how you speak and all. Mae there says she wants to be a librarian.”

“She does?”

“Made me realize—I can’t keep them close by me for ever. I want more for them than this, you know. Seeing as how smart they both are.” He stood silent for a moment. Then he said: “Miss Alice, what do you think of that school? The one with the German lady?”

“Mrs. Beidecker? Mr. Horner, I think your girls would love her.”

“She . . . doesn’t take a switch to the children? You hear some things . . . Betsy got beat something awful at school so she never wanted the girls to go.”

“I’d be happy to introduce you to her, Mr. Horner. She is a kind woman, and the students seem to love her. I cannot believe she would ever lay a hand on a child.”

He considered this. “It’s hard,” he said, looking out at the mountain, “having to work all this stuff out. I thought I’d be just doing a man’s job. My own daddy just brought home the food and put his feet up and let my mama do all the rest. And now I have to be mother as well as father. Make all these decisions.”

“Look at those girls, Mr. Horner.”

They glanced to where the girls, now lying on their stomachs, were exclaiming over something they had just read.

Alice smiled. “I think you’re doing fine.”

    Finn Mayburg, Upper Pinch Me—one copy The Furrow, dated May 1937

 Two copies Weird Tales magazine, dated December 1936 and February 1937

Ellen Prince—Eagles Top (end cabin)—Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

 From Farm to Table by Edna Roden

Nancy and Phyllis Stone, Arnott’s Ridge—Mack Maguire and the Indian Girl by Amherst Archer

 Mack Maguire Takes a Fall by Amherst Archer (note: they have read all current editions, ask if we can find out if there are any more)

Margery flicked through the ledger, Sophia’s elegant handwriting neatly transcribing date and routes at the top of each page. Beside it sat a pile of newly repaired books, their bindings stitched and the torn covers patched with pages from books that couldn’t be salvaged. Beside that lay a new scrapbook—The Baileyville Bonus—this edition comprising four pages of recipes from spoiled copies of the Woman’s Home Companion, a short story titled “What She Wouldn’t Say,” and a long feature about collecting ferns. The library was now immaculate, a system of labels marking the back of every shelved book so that it was easy for them to find their place, the books precisely ordered and categorized.

Sophia would come by at around 5 p.m. and would usually have done a couple of hours by the time the girls returned from their routes. The days were growing shorter now so they were having to return earlier because of the falling light. Sometimes they would all just sit and chat among themselves while unloading their bags and comparing their days before they headed off to their homes. Fred had been installing a woodburner in the corner in his free time, though it wasn’t finished yet: the gap around the flue pipe was still stuffed with rags to stop the rain coming in. Despite this, all the women seemed to find reasons to hang around a little later each day and Margery suspected that once the stove started up she would have trouble persuading them to go home.

Mrs. Brady looked a little startled when Margery explained the identity of the newest member of their team but, having seen the altered state of the little building, to her credit she simply compressed her lips and raised her fingers to her temples. “Has anybody complained?”

“Nobody’s seen her to complain. She comes in the back, by Mr. Guisler’s house, and goes home the same way.”

Mrs. Brady mulled this for a moment. “Are you familiar with what Mrs. Nofcier says? You know of Mrs. Nofcier, of course.”

Margery smiled. They all knew of Mrs. Nofcier. Mrs. Brady would shoehorn her name into a conversation about horse liniment if she could.

“Well, I was recently lucky enough to attend an address for teachers and parents that the good lady gave where she said—hold on, I wrote this bit down.” She riffled through her pocketbook: “‘A library service should be provided for all people, rural as well as urban, colored as well as white.’ There. ‘Colored as well as white.’ That was how she put it. I believe we have to be mindful of the importance of progress and equality just as Mrs. Nofcier is. So you’ll have no objection from me about employing a colored woman here.” She rubbed at a mark on the desk, then examined her finger. “Maybe . . . we won’t actually advertise it just yet, though. There’s no need to invite controversy, given we’re such a fledgling venture. I’m sure you catch my drift.”

“My feelings exactly, Mrs. Brady,” Margery said. “I wouldn’t want to bring trouble to Sophia’s door.”

“She does a beautiful job. I’ll give her that.” Mrs. Brady gazed around her. Sophia had stitched a sampler, which hung on the wall beside the door—To Seek Knowledge Is To Expand Your Own Universe—and Mrs. Brady patted it with some satisfaction. “I have to say, Miss O’Hare, I am immensely proud of what you have achieved in just a few short months. It has exceeded all our expectations. I have written to Mrs. Nofcier to tell her as much several times and I am sure that at some point she will be passing on those sentiments to Mrs. Roosevelt herself . . . It is a profound shame not everyone in our town feels the same way.”