The Bluebird and the Sparrow (21 page)

“I think I’ll send a crew over to haul all the books into that vacant building just down the street,” the mayor said. “That way you can start some sorting before the building is repaired. They have assured me that the building
can
be repaired. The structure still seems sound enough. But it’s going to take time—yes, ma’am, it’s going to take time.”

Berta nodded. She knew she should feel pleased that she still had a job.

She left the mayor with his promise that he would send word to her as soon as the books had been moved. She could then begin her sorting to see what could be salvaged.

Berta started the long walk home.

The smell of smoke still hung heavily in the air. Berta hated it. It was a reminder of all that had been lost to the flames.
Poor Miss Phillips,
she thought silently. She wondered if the woman would ever be the same again. She hoped with all her heart that the confusion would not be permanent.

Chapter Twenty

Back on Track

A week later Berta shook her head as she looked around the room stacked with boxes of books from the library. The acrid smell of smoke had come with the books even after being relocated to another building.

“I don’t know where to start.” With a sigh Berta crossed to hang up her coat. At least the room was comfortably warm.

I should have worn my oldest garden clothes,
she observed as she leaned over the box closest to her and lifted back the flaps. The books she could see were covered with soot and messy with water damage.

Oh, dear, I hope they aren’t all like this—we’ll save very little at this rate.

Grimacing against the grime and smell, she started in on the first box.

She was right. By the time she had sorted through the entire box of books, she had found two that would still be usable. Even they smelled strongly. The other ones were either charred or water-soaked from the fire fighters’ hoses.

All through the long morning Berta worked, bending over boxes, sorting books into piles, writing notes in her pad of paper. It appeared there would be far more books to be replaced than there would be books that could be put back on the shelves.

As time wore on, Berta fretted that they should just dispose of the whole mess and start over. But she knew that would not be reasonable. The town had been so proud of their library and its collection. They had spent many years building it to what it was. Now they had little left to show for their efforts. But what could be reclaimed would be some small victory.

This is even worse than I had imagined,
mourned Berta as the day wore on. Already her back complained, her head ached, and her clothes were filthy. She looked down at her blackened hands. She wondered if they would ever come clean again.

Thomas stopped by on his way home from the university.

“How is it going?” he asked her, his tone sympathetic.

“It’s really quite horrible,” she answered with a grimace. “What isn’t burned is water damaged.”

“That’s often the worst part of a fire,” he observed.

“Well, I’ve just gotten started—but I sure haven’t found many that we can use,” said Berta. “It’s most discouraging.”

“I think you’ve worked long enough for one day,” said Thomas. “Why don’t you get your coat.”

Berta looked down at her soiled hands. “I hate to touch anything with—these,” she answered.

“Where’s your coat? I’ll get it.”

Berta nodded toward the closet and went to attempt washing the worst of the soot from her hands. It had worked itself all the way up her arms. She must have been brushing against the box flaps without noticing.

“I must remember to stay away from those boxes,” she muttered as she scrubbed. “And tomorrow I will wear the oldest garment I have.”

Thomas held her coat. “Would you like to stop by the hotel for supper?” he offered.

“I won’t be fit to eat until I’ve bathed,” she said and shrugged into her coat. “I feel absolutely filthy.”

She did take a bath as soon as she arrived home. By then she was unusually hungry.

I should have thought ahead and had something at least partly prepared,
she told herself.
I might have known I would be exhausted when I got home.

Since she didn’t feel up to getting a whole meal, she made herself a sandwich. As she ate it, she wished Thomas’s offer of supper was still available.

I don’t know how Miss Phillips managed to live on snacks,
she said to herself.
I would tire of it very quickly.

As she thought of Miss Phillips, she remembered her recent visit to see the elderly woman. She was still in the local hospital, but Parker had started proceedings to send her to a sanatorium. Berta had objected.

“We can’t keep her here,” Parker had told her. “We just don’t have the facilities.”

“Give her a bit more time,” Berta had argued. “She should be fine again in a few days.”

But Parker had shaken his head. “I’m afraid she will never be fine again, Berta. She’s had a dreadful shock—and she wasn’t in good condition. She was already so drained of all reserve that she just couldn’t cope with it. What do you know about her? She looks like she hasn’t eaten properly for months.”

Berta then reported to Parker the little that she knew about the older woman. She felt guilty. Surely she should have paid more attention to her. Someone should have intervened, and Berta seemed like the logical person. She had worked with the woman every day.

As she took a sip of her hot tea, Berta wondered if the arrangements for the woman’s future had already been made.
She didn’t even seem to know me,
she continued her thinking.
Well—at least she won’t need to sort through all those—pitiful books.

Berta was sure that seeing her book-treasures in such an awful state would only have worsened Miss Phillips’ condition.

A light rap sounded on her door, then it promptly opened and Glenna stuck her head in. “It’s just me,” she called.

“Come in,” invited Berta, too tired even to get up from her chair.

Glenna came in and deposited a carefully bundled package on the table. “I brought you some pound cake,” she said. “Thought you might not feel like baking for the next few days. Thomas said you started in on the library books today.”

Berta nodded.

“Was it awful?” asked Glenna.

“Get yourself a cup of tea,” Berta invited, and as Glenna went to the cupboard for a cup, she continued. “Yes—it was awful.”

“Can you save many?”

“Not many,” answered Berta with a shake of her head.

“That’s too bad.” Glenna poured herself a cup of the tea and took a chair at the table with Berta.

“Is that all you’re eating for supper?”

“I didn’t feel like cooking.”

“Parker says that Miss Phillips must not have cooked for herself for—just ages. He said she was skin and bones.”

Berta nodded. “Has Parker decided when—?”

For some reason Berta could not finish the question, but Glenna knew exactly what she was asking.

“She has already been sent,” she answered, then followed with, “The poor old soul. I feel so sorry that no one knew what—state she was in.”

They sat in silence.

“I knew—sort of,” Berta finally admitted. “Oh, I didn’t know for sure—I just suspected. But I should have done something about it.”

“What could you have done?”

“I don’t know. But there must have been something. What an awful way to live.”

Glenna nodded. “You heard about it?”

Berta looked up from her teacup.

“Her place? You heard how she lived?” went on Glenna.

“No,” said Berta.

“Parker was over there. She had just one little room. Hardly any heat. No way to cook. She had a box that held a few dishes and her food supplies tucked under her bed—but it was almost empty. Her bed didn’t have but one thin blanket and a worn blue pillow and—”

“Stop,” said Berta raising her hand. “Please—I don’t think I can stand any more.”

Glenna took another sip of her tea. “Should I cut some of the pound cake?” she asked brightly. Berta knew it was her effort at diverting attention to something cheerier.

“Please,” replied Berta. “I could use some pound cake about now.”

Glenna crossed to the cupboard and got a knife from the drawer.

“I was out to see Mama yesterday,” she said as she sliced off two thick pieces and placed them on a small plate.

“How is she?”

“About the same. But she keeps cheery enough. She is knitting mittens for the girls. Guess it helps the hours to pass by.”

“I wish she’d move in with me,” murmured Berta.

“I think she likes the farm,” said Glenna as she carried the cake to the table.

“At least she feeds herself,” Berta said as she reached for a piece of the cake.

They ate their cake in silence for a few minutes. Then Berta spoke, her thoughts unwillingly going back to Miss Phillips.

“I still can’t understand it,” she said. “I mean, she got a salary every month. It should have paid for a decent room and purchased food. Why—”

“She had it all stuffed in her mattress,” said Glenna. “They found several hundred dollars.”

Berta’s mouth dropped open. She could only stare at her younger sister.

————

Day after miserable day Berta sorted through the boxes of damaged books.

I’m not sure if it’s worth the hours,
she would tell herself.
There is so little that is still usable.
Still, she stayed at her sorting and filing. The winter weeks passed by one by one. She could hardly wait till it was finally over.

The repair work on the building was in progress. Berta received a weekly report from the mayor. They hoped to have the building habitable by Easter.

“Then we will move the books back in, and you’ll be able to get them back on the shelves,” he said with satisfaction.

“I’m afraid that will not be a big job, sir,” Berta said with a sigh. “I am not finding many that are salvageable.”

“I didn’t think the fire damage was that extensive,” the man said with a frown.

“Not the fire damage, sir. The water damage. That’s our biggest problem.”

The man looked very disappointed. He began to pace the room, his hands clasped behind his back.

At last he turned back to Berta.

“Well,” he said. “We built up a library before—I guess we’ll just have to start over and build one again.”

Berta nodded.

“You can suit yourself as to how best to go about it,” the man continued.

“Me?” asked Berta with surprise.

“Fund-raisers. Campaigns. Bake sales. I don’t know how they do these things. I can’t remember what was done before. But you’ll figure it out.”

“But, I—”

“We will give you all the help we can from the town office,” the man went on, and he started up his pacing again.

Berta nodded.

“I’m sure the ladies’ groups in the city will give their full support. And the schools. The schools helped before.”

Berta didn’t stir or comment.

“Anyway,” the man said and turned to face her, “I’ll just leave it entirely up to you. You can go about it any way that you like.”

Berta swallowed and nodded her head.

“I’ll do what I can,” she promised and rose to go.

The library building was ready by Easter. The few boxes of books that were still fit for the shelves were carried back into the building. She spent a few days getting them back in proper order on the new shelves and the file cards set up in the drawer on the check-out table.

Then she straightened to her full height, lifted her chin, and said with determination, “Well, I guess there’s a job to do if we are to fill these shelves again.”

She took a deep breath.

“And I guess I’m the only one to do it.”

———

The weeks that followed seemed to blur into each other. When spring came, Berta often longed to be out walking along the swollen waters of the little creek watching the new life return to its banks. But there wasn’t time for walking. There was scarcely time for sleeping. Day after day Berta continued her tireless crusade to fill the library shelves.

She used every conceivable means to raise money. She called on every club and congregation in the little town to organize their resources and plan activities that might possibly generate income. Little by little, money came in. As soon as Berta was able to count out a small pile of bills, she sent out book orders. Slowly, ever so slowly, the library shelves were being filled up again with the brightly covered new books.

Berta also accepted donations of secondhand books. As they were obtained, she sorted and cataloged them before placing them on the shelves.

Summer was almost over before the library looked reasonably full once again. It had been a long, slow process involving more time and energy than Berta would have guessed she had.

Though there were still some empty shelves, Berta spoke to Mayor Henderson, suggesting that the library could now be reopened for use.

The man was ecstatic.

“Wonderful,” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “We’ll have a Grand Opening.”

He crossed to his desk and studied a sheet that Berta saw was some sort of calendar.

“Let’s see—Friday the twenty-fourth looks clear. Yes—that would work just fine.”

He looked up at Berta and beamed.

“You go ahead and make whatever plans you think best,” he informed her. “Let’s make it a real event. Show the folks how much we appreciate our library. Their library. They’ve worked hard to rebuild. Now we want to show them we appreciate their hard work.”

Berta swallowed. She was nearly done in from all the long weeks of hard work. And now this.

Besides,
she thought wearily as she rose from the chair and gathered her gloves,
this is election year. A big celebration won’t hurt you much, either, will it, Mayor?

So Berta planned and pushed and organized and labored, and the town library had a Grand Opening. Everyone called it a great success, and the town mayor was able to make a lengthy speech to the citizenry without calling it a re-election bid.

Berta was near exhaustion.