Light to the Hills: A Novel (17)
“How do they?” Fern pressed. “Do they sing?”
Harley had backed himself into a tight spot. “Now, they might do,” he allowed. “But that monoxide, well, it kindly makes ’em weak in the knees, and they might faint away real quiet-like. If you see a sight like that, you head outside. Pretty soon, the canary, he mostly gets okay again. He gets a breath of fresh air and it’s like a’ Easter morning resurrection.”
Rai had watched Finn soak in that information. She knew common sense told him that if a bird got knocked out by monoxide, then a grown man might, too. No getting around it—if a man wanted to eat, he had to work.
The memory of Finn peering somberly inside that canary’s cage tore at Rai’s heart. Back and forth she rocked, the porch’s floorboards bearing the brunt of her anguish, until the sounds of the girls getting ready for bed drew her back to the present. She heaved herself up and went inside.
Chapter 7
At the beginning of each week, Amanda saddled up Junebug and rode the five miles to the county seat to visit the library headquarters for her particular circuit. In good weather, it was a fine ride, but when it turned windy and cold, her feet sometimes felt iced over by the time she arrived at the snug building. To complete her route, she had to stop there first to pick up materials that the book women circulated around the communities.
“Works Progress Administration” was spelled out in careful lettering on a sign posted on the front. When she’d first applied, Amanda didn’t know what the WPA was for, just that it offered jobs for women, which were scarce as hen’s teeth but needed desperately. The government was finally realizing that the country was in an all-hands-on-deck situation, and women had the wits to step up. She’d walked in that day in her best cotton dress and worn shoes, her hair pinned up in what she hoped looked like some sort of style. She hadn’t had a mirror in a good while, so her hands had to work from memory. She and Mooney had just found the little house to rent in the free town and moved their few belongings in the previous day, and Amanda’s first task had been to look for a real job.
Amanda had almost run into the tidy woman in a knee-length skirt and a blouse with its sleeves rolled up. She’d been reading something just inside the building’s door. Her friendly face and open smile made Amanda release the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“Good morning.” The woman took off her wire-rimmed glasses. “Can I help you?”
“I hear the WPA has jobs?” Amanda noticed the warble in her voice and thought of Miles waiting at home with Mooney. Her next words were firmer. “I’m here to apply for whatever you have.”
The woman nodded. “Of course,” she’d said. “My name is Dinah Linden. We do have some openings in health services or perhaps some sewing projects over in Harlan and Leatherwood. If you’re looking for something closer—”
“Yes, closer would be best.”
“Then we have some packhorse librarian routes still available. Forgive me, I have to ask—are you able to read?”
“Yes,” Amanda said. “I’ve gone all the way through the eighth grade. I’m sorry, what kind of librarian did you say?”
“Packhorse.” Noting Amanda’s surprised expression, Dinah hurried on. “It’s not always a horse. In Louisiana they actually deliver through the marshes on flatboats, but here in the mountains, we find it’s best to get through the creek beds and trails with horses and mules. Do you have one?”
The woman continued, “You don’t have to. Some women lease one for cost plus feed. You’d just have to deduct that from your wages.”
The word had jolted Amanda out of her surprised confusion. “Yes, wages. How much would that be, exactly?” Her palms were sweating. How did men talk through these things?
“Twenty-eight dollars a month. You can pick up your wages in cash at this office. We don’t do script or other credit like the mines.”
Twenty-eight dollars! That was more than she’d seen in the months since Frank had gone. Rent was ten dollars a month, so with the garden they intended to keep and money Mooney took in from washing and sewing, she thought they could get by. She had her mule, Junebug, that she’d had since she was a girl. She’d helped raise him from a colt, and she was a good rider. Junebug was about the only thing she’d insisted on bringing with her down the mountain when she got married. That plucky gray mule always seemed able to read her mood, and he certainly ended up being more of a steady companion than a lot of people she could name. Her heart had lifted, and for a moment, the cloud of despair that she’d felt for so long had lifted with it. Amanda had swallowed and pretended to consider for a moment rather than pouncing on the chance in breathless desperation.
“I think that would do, yes. How do I sign up?”
It had been a simple matter of registering her name and address at the office. The job was a delivery service, she’d learned. She’d start with a collection of books and magazines chosen from the few hundred that were kept there at the office. They had everything from novels to children’s poems to Sunday-school bulletins and magazines like Western Story Magazine. These were donated by individuals or discarded by other wealthier urban libraries that considered them too worn-out.
Worn-out was just a state of mind to the folks in this part of the country. Worn-out just meant it hadn’t fallen completely apart yet, so it still had some good use to it. Amanda and the other five packhorse librarians for the area met at the WPA office every week or so to mend the materials and try to keep them clean and usable. She found the other women nice enough, and it was pleasant to spend an evening now and then talking about the folks on their routes or trading news with each other.