Light to the Hills: A Novel (30)

Cricket and Fern sat at the oak table. Fern and her mother had been chopping root vegetables for a stew, and Cricket was boring a hole through a block of wood. Sass perched on the edge of the bed in the corner, where Finn sat propped up against the wall. Hiccup lay curled asleep next to him under the bear claw quilt, her fanned hair just visible against the thin pillow.

“I heard about the mine.” Amanda turned to Finn. “I was mighty glad to hear y’all made it out.”

“We’re on the mend,” said Rai. “Harley’s done gone back already, working his shift. Won’t have full use of his arm for a bit, but he can get by. Finn’ll have a little ways to go.”

Finn shifted in the bed to sit up straighter and ran a hand through the hair that flopped forward over his eyes. He half smiled at Amanda, but she thought it was more to encourage his mother than for any show of emotion.

Sass slid off the edge of the bed and walked over to the neat pile stacked on the hearth.

“Here’s your rabbit book and the other’ns you left last time.” She held them out to Amanda.

“What did you think?” she asked. “Did you like the story?”

“The pictures were real pretty,” said Fern. “Sass and me figgered the boy must be some kind o’ prince since he had so many play pretties.”

Amanda sank into one of the ladder-backed chairs at the table and opened the book. “Would you like me to read it so you can find out?” she asked. “I don’t mind a bit. I read lots of stories on my route.”

“I declare, now, that would be nice,” said Rai, “so I can pass the time getting these carrots chopped for supper.”

Sass glanced at Rai as Fern and Cricket nodded eagerly. She slid back onto the bed with Finn, and they all listened as Amanda opened the cover of the book. “Once, there was a Velveteen Rabbit,” she began, “and in the beginning he was really splendid.”

Amanda tried not to glance at Finn as she read, tried not to notice how the twinkle she’d last admired in his eyes had gone out like a snuffed lantern light. She used different voices for the characters, a deep, quavery one for the Skin Horse and a small, timid one for the rabbit himself. Halfway through, the only sound in the cabin was the crackle and pop of the firewood as it burned and Amanda’s voice as it reeled them all in to the world of the boy and his treasured toy. She kept reading, and even Rai stilled her knife, frozen in mid-chop as she listened.

Amanda showed the pictures on each page as she read, and when she did, her eyes traveled over Finn’s face. He was paying attention. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. She noticed Sass did the same. Each time Amanda showed a picture, Sass would glance at her brother, gauging his reaction, searching for a stirring. Finally, toward the end of the story, Amanda turned toward the bed, and a sizzle ran through her. Finn no longer studied the pictures in the book she held; his eyes studied her as she read. His chest rose and fell, and he regarded her with a look of surprised interest, as he might a crimson cardinal lighting on a bare branch in the snow. The corners of Amanda’s mouth turned upward the slightest bit in an unbidden smile.

Amanda closed the book, and Fern clapped her hands together. “That was better’n I imagined!” she proclaimed. “Thank you, Miz Rye.”

“Certainly. Now let’s look through to see what you’d like to trade for this time.” She spread some of the books on the table, and Sass and her siblings fell upon them, picking up first one, then another.

“This one’s got tractors and cars,” said Cricket. “Daddy might like to see it.”

“How about this one, with flowers and trees?”

“We’ve started putting bookmarks in each one,” Amanda pointed out. “Thataway, you can mark your place if you need to come back to it later. Keeps the pages from wearin’ out by folks notching or folding them. See? Here’s one made out of a Christmas card someone donated. It’s attached to a ribbon, and you just hang it like this outside the page so you know where to open up to next time.”

They liked the bookmarks almost as much as the books themselves, as they’d been crafted from postcards and stationery that were rare to see. While they examined the pile, Amanda showed Rai a scrapbook.

“You might like this,” she said. “It’s a collection we put together at the office. We take them on our route and swap them out at different stops. It has pictures, recipes, quilt patterns, scripture quotes, and things we’ve cut out of magazines and papers, so you get a little of everything.”

Rai was delighted. “How handy.”

“You might recognize some folks’ contributions. Sometimes we’ll pass along a recipe from down the road, or look . . .” She flipped to the back. “This ’un here even has some little packets in the back where you can put dried seeds. Take one and give one to pass along to the next ’un.”

While Rai looked through the scrapbook, Amanda ventured to Finn’s bedside and perched on a cut stump they’d placed nearby as a seat.

“You’re a reg’lar ray of sunshine,” he said. “Who’d a’ thought that a stack o’ books could do that?” He shifted slightly under the quilt and leaned on an elbow, turning fully toward her.

“I’ve seen it happen over and over. The folks on the other end are what makes riding through the cold and wet worth it. It’s funny how plain words can be so powerful. How’re you getting by, if you don’t mind me asking?”