A Strand of Hope: Librarians of Willow Hollow, #1

Amanda Tero

Other Novellas by Amanda Tero

Journey to Love

Befriending the Beast

The Secret Slipper

Protecting the Poor

Books in the Librarians of Willow Hollow series

A Strand of Hope (Amanda Tero)

I Love to Tell the Story (Faith Blum)

Hearts on Lonely Mountain (A.M. Heath)

The Secret Place of Thunder (Alicia G. Ruggieri)

A Strand of Hope

© 2020 by Amanda Tero

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Published by Amanda Tero

Decatur, MS 39327

All Scripture references taken from the King James Version. Public domain.

This novella is a work of fiction. The characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-942931-32-4

_______________________________________________

Cover design by Amanda Tero

Images from

www.pixabay.com

www.shutterstock.com

Used by permission.

Willow Hollow map copyright 2020 by Elisabeth Grothjan, 

[email protected]

Used by permission.

Formatted by Amanda Tero

For my sister, Elizabeth

This book is all your fault—not that I’m complaining.

Thanks for sharing that random Packhorse Librarian video

on my Facebook timeline and putting another project on my plate.

But more than that, thanks for being my sister through thick and

thin, and for balancing me out all these years. Love you bunches!

1

Saturday, January 25, 1936

The muffled sound of dishes crashing in the kitchen jerked Lena’s focus away from her book. She crouched lower and brought the pages closer to her face, hiding in the folds of her coat and blanket. Folks were saying that Kentucky was experiencing an unusually cold winter. Last weekend, she wouldn’t have believed them, but this weekend, she had to agree. It was too cold to be out here, really. But it was better out here half freezing than in there with Mom.

The screen door popped open then snapped against the door frame as it slammed shut.

Lena!

There it was.

Lena glanced at the bottom of the book. Page 92. She had read Gaskell’s North and South three times, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t want to abandon Margaret Hale as she was leaving sick Bessy in her suffering. The oppression Margaret felt seeped into Lena’s soul. Bessy was as much Lena’s friend as she was Margaret’s in the story.

Leeena!

Lena swallowed. It wasn’t her full name yet, but impatience was etched in Mom’s tone. Lena wrapped the blanket tighter around her and stood as a wave of chills swept over her—hiding the book in the folds of the tattered quilt as she turned to face Mom.

The stoop to Mom’s shoulders and the way she shaded her eyes even though the sun’s glare wasn’t that bright sealed Lena’s suspicions. Mom had come home drunk again last night and had spent the day sleeping it off.

Yes ma’am? Lena tried to swallow her irritation, but the glassy look Mom gave her revealed she hadn’t tried hard enough.

Why aren’t the dishes done yet? Do you realize what time it is? Mom winced, and the hand that shaded her face turned to massage her forehead.

I’ll get them done. The last time Lena had been inside the kitchen, there wasn’t a dirty dish on the counter. How could she have known Mom had spent time in the kitchen?

This is why you’ll never amount to anything. Mom turned to go back inside, pausing at the top of the steps to regain her balance.

Lena clenched the book behind her back. If she were sick like Bessy, Mom would probably run over her instead of doting on her like Nicholas doted on Bessy. What she wouldn’t give to have a dad like Nicholas. His addiction to strong drink was too close to home and made her cringe every time she got to those parts, but even with that, deep inside, he at least loved his children.

Lena!

Lena shook her thoughts away and followed Mom. As soon as Lena was inside, she wriggled out of the blanket. North and South slipped from her grasp and landed with a thud on the floor, pages bending in weird angles. Lena grabbed it and smoothed out the pages quickly. She may be the only person in Willow Hollow to read this library book, but her carelessness grated on her. Books were meant to be enjoyed for decades.

Lena Rose!

The book was torn from her grasp.

Shoulda guessed. Mom tossed the book in the corner. It landed with a third of the pages curling inward instead of outward.

Mom! Lena tried to dart around Mom but was yanked back.

"How did I get such a careless girl? Why couldn’t I have gotten a child who—oh, I don’t know—helped pay the bills?" Mom’s grip tightened, and Lena bit back a moan. There would be a bruise there in the morning. Good thing it was winter. Folks at church wouldn’t wonder why she wore long sleeves.

I’m not even sixteen. Lena knew better than to try to free herself from Mom’s grip. Once Mom drove her point home, she’d let go. She never hit Lena. Just squeezed and pinched. That was almost worse than a quick slap, though.

When I was your age...

Oh yes, when you were my age. Lena’s throat tightened, and she lifted her chin. But she couldn’t bring herself to meet Mom’s searing look.

When I was your age, I was starting a new life all by myself. Why? Mom released Lena with a shove.

Lena staggered before she righted herself. She glanced at the book. It would take one of the big dictionaries in the library to get the pages back straight. Maybe two. How was she going to explain this one to Mr. Armstrong? That was the thing—she couldn’t.

Why, girl?

No one in Willow Hollow really knew how bad things were.

Answer me!

But they probably heard the shouting. These walls weren’t thick enough to shut out cold air, much less screaming words.

Lena sucked in a sharp breath. It’s the alcohol speaking. Mom usually wasn’t this pushy.

Lena!

It was my fault. There. Mom should be happy and let Lena go do the dishes.

That’s right. Mom flipped her hand and gestured around the room. "Your fault that I live in this—this... cowshed."

Lena turned toward the half of the shack that put forth its best effort to be a kitchen.

I’m not finished yet, Missy.

Lena spun back around before Mom had the chance to grab her.

Before you came along, my parents were rich—still are, for all I know. But can I have any of that? Mom rolled her eyes. No. You ruined it all.

I know—

I was going to attend college. Do you even know what college is?

Of course I—

I was accepted into the New York Medical College and Hospital for Women. I could have been a nurse. But instead? I’m here. Nowhere. With no jobs and no opportunities. Mom sank onto the couch—or, the wooden bench she had thrown a few under-stuffed pillows onto to label as such.

But Mr. Reilly hired—

Oh shut up. A curse word slipped from Mom’s tongue, searing Lena’s ears. She really hoped no neighbors were listening in.

Lena’s jaw loosened.

Stop staring at me. He’s a double-crosser. He said the economy was suffering—and he’s there sitting pretty. He booted me out.

So that’s what this was all about. Mom had lost her job. Again. How long had she kept it this time? A full month?

If it wasn’t for you, child, I could move—be free to go wherever there is a job. I can’t hardly afford the bus to get a job in the big city to keep food in your stomach and a coat on your back. And God knows there ain’t nothing for me in Willow Hollow worth paying bills.

Lena’s eyes slid shut, closing out Mom’s angry face. But she couldn’t shut out the words. Would never be able to shut out the words. Mom didn’t love her—wished she was gone. That way, Mom could live the life she wanted without Lena burdening her.

Well? Mom’s sharp tone snapped Lena’s attention back to her. Why are you just standing there? That ain’t getting anything done. Do the dishes. At least make yourself half useful.

Lena tucked her chin and walked the seven steps to the place they called a kitchen. A washtub sufficed for their sink, firmly planted on a water-stained wooden plank that doubled as a countertop. Just two steps from the washtub was their Acme Princess—it had been one of the cheapest cook stoves at the turn of the century, and whoever had lived in this shed before Mom came along had used it well. Lena was tired of folding aluminum foil to salvage its thin points. One day, the coals were going to decide to fall through the bottom of the sad oven and tumble to the floor. It would probably burn the house down and they’d be forced to move, just like Mom wanted.

Lena poked at the coals inside the stove. Her coat made her clumsy, but she couldn’t take it off. Not when there was only a hint of heat coming from inside. She’d just have to wash the dishes in ice water.

The door thudded shut, and Lena spun to look. Through the screen, she could see Mom’s bundled-up figure walking away. Lena shut the stove and dashed to retrieve her book. She smoothed its pages the best she could. I’m sorry. I’ll take better care of you. She couldn’t have Mr. Armstrong forbidding her to borrow more books—or pay for this one. She’d just sneak in the library first thing Monday morning and spend her day reading in the library while she let these pages be flattened back without Mr. Armstrong’s knowledge.

She placed the book under the makeshift couch which doubled as her bed. Mom actually had a room with a bed frame and two-inch mattress. Lena stared after Mom’s distant form—walking away from town, not into it. Her gut tightened. Mom was going to visit the Higgins. She didn’t need any more of their moonshine. But Mom would do what Mom would do, whether or not it was logical.

With Mom’s mind jaded by moonshine, Lena could make an easy getaway. She glanced at the tattered box under the bench. Thanks to the missionary boxes, she had shoes that kept the snow out and an extra dress for Sundays. There wouldn’t be much food to bring along. She knew without looking at the open shelves.

She couldn’t just run away. Not in dead winter. And not on a Saturday. Everyone tomorrow would be wondering where she went and coming to pester Mom. With a hangover, Mom wouldn’t be able to