The stairs to the old library were well worn by the soles of book lovers the years over, and it gladdened Blanche's heart to know that she was perhaps among kindred spirits. The top of each step was freshly painted with a yellow stripe in an attempt to keep the senior citizens on their toes and not their knees and elbows. More than once the county had doled out legal fees resulting from errant footfalls. The librarian carefully maneuvered the stairs and paused, her hand on the large handle below the sign reading 'Quietly Enter and Enjoy the World of Books', followed by another sign that read 'Valdosta Public Library — Donations Welcome'. The hinges creaked ever so slightly as she pulled the door open and got her first look at her new home away from home.
Initially it didn't appear to Blanche to be very busy but under closer inspection she could see individuals scurrying about behind the scenes, taking books out of bins, sorting and getting them ready to go back on the shelves. She was surprised to see so many actively working considering the financial crunch they were under. The library itself was a warm and inviting space filled with row after row of shelving units interspersed with tables, computer monitors and comfy armchairs for those wanting to stay awhile. Rich wood accents highlighted the walls and angles giving the library a homey feel that culminated with a large reception desk in the centre of the first floor. Near the desk and stretching to the second floor was the most amazing cantilever staircase. Inlaid hardwood steps, beautiful iron work and an elegant hand carved wood grip, drew Blanche's eyes to the open area above, topped with a domed cathedral style ceiling that she had noted from the moment she'd gotten off the bus, complete with a Georgia flag waving in the noon breeze.
At the desk stood a woman in her late fifties, hair in a graying bun, dress to the floor and wrists, with a nametag hugging her chest. Blanche moved close enough to make out the name, Ester Anderson — Director. She fit every stereotype and unsaid expectation Blanche had ever run into over her years of service in a library setting. Mrs. Anderson appeared to be all business as she moved from the desk counter to the computer and back again. Logging information, moving books from one pile to another and answering the phone while still working the papers and items in front of her, occasionally looking up to cast a sideways glance at the youth in the corner making paper airplanes and sending them into space. Blanche stood patiently waiting for Ester to have a lull so she could introduce herself.
“What can I do for you?” the head librarian said, without even lifting her eyes from the countertop.
“I’m sorry to interrupt but I’m the new librarian, Blanche Delaney from Arizona.”
It was as if the older woman had just been injected with adrenalin, “Well, let’s see, welcome, welcome, but we didn’t expect to see you until, um let’s see, tomorrow August 6th,” she replied, as she moved papers about on the desk looking to find something of importance.
Blanche, in an attempt to be tactful, replied in a hushed tone, “I believe today is the 6th?”
“Oh my heavens, is that right, are you sure? Do you mean to tell me that I’ve spent the entire morning stamping items with the wrong date?” and with that she grabbed the date stamp from the desk, flipped it over and read, “August 5, oh no, that just won’t do. Now I’ll have to spend the remainder of the day correcting the errors of the morning, but that’s neither here nor there for you." She straightened herself up, took in a full breath of air and repeated these obviously rehearsed lines, "We are so pleased to have you join us here at the Valdosta Public Library and we look forward to getting to know you and helping you settle into our little community.” She extended her hand and took Blanche’s in a firm grip and shook it a time or two before releasing it and going back to the desktop in search of the illusive document she needed. “Oh here it is, I knew it was here somewhere. It says here that you are single and will be working full time with responsibility for the library only. I guess that leaves the museum to me but I’m sure I’ll need your help there on occasion as well,” more speaking to herself than Blanche. “Were you planning on working today or do you need some time to get your things taken care of?”
Blanche was nodding yes to her question even before she had finished, “I had anticipated working today. I’ve been in town a couple of days already and got my things,” ‘which aren’t many,’ she thought to herself, “stowed and I’m ready to go.”
“Alrighty, that sounds good. Let’s get you started with a tour of the library and I can answer some questions as we go along.” She turned and motioned to a young man working in the room behind a glass window. As he approached the front desk she said, “Can you watch the desk for a few minutes? I need to show our new librarian, Ms. Delaney our facility.”
“Sure Mrs. Anderson, no problem,” he replied, with a smile on his face, taking in the shapely librarian as she turned and headed off down a row of books with Ester.
The tour was brief but informative. The library had been of service to the community for many years and Mrs. Anderson had been the director for more years than she cared to divulge. The working hours would be typical, starting at 8:30 a.m. and closing one half hour beyond the posted closing time. This would allow time to straighten things up in preparation for the next day. The library, however, was open two nights a week until 10:00 p.m. and Blanche would be expected to work those shifts on a regular basis, as she was the newest member of the staff.
“Mrs. Anderson, you indicated in our correspondence that funding was a concern, yet I see so many young people working in the back room today,” she inquired.
“Oh them, they belong to a work study group from the high school. They come in a couple times a week to help sort books and get them back on the shelf for us. Without them we’d be in real trouble. There are only four of us that are actually paid to be here. That’d be you, me, (pointing at herself), Marcus the custodian, I’ll introduce you to him later today, and Seymour. He’s a college student that helps out in the evenings when we need him. I guess that’s about it,” she said, with a shrug of her lace-covered shoulders. “I think today you should spend some time getting to know the layout of the library, what we have available and familiarize yourself with our computer system. I believe you said you had used something similar in your last position.”
Blanche began to say yes, but was cut off and sent on her way with a flick of Ester’s hand and calling over her shoulder, “Let me know if you have any questions. I’ll be re-stamping all the books that came in this morning.” The next couple of hours just flew by as she inspected the rows of books and wandered the library from top to bottom. She noted that a steady stream of patrons had come and gone with some older people settled into the cozy chairs either reading the paper or sleeping, in some cases. At 3:00 p.m. she excused herself and informed Ester that she'd be back in half an hour after she'd finished her lunch.
As she exited the building and descended the yellow highlighted steps she could hear children laughing and playing, she followed the direction of the noise. Turning the corner on Wilson Drive she could see a group of small children running and playing in and near a fountain. Water sprayed from the white, marble fountain that graced the center of the vibrant little park, arching high into the air coming back to earth in a torrent of splashes at the base. Trusting parents sat idly by talking in small clusters as the children welcomed the cool water on their heads and tanned bodies.
“Just the place for lunch,” she thought. Sitting on the edge of a nearby fountain, Blanche opened the brown paper bag she had hidden away in her purse and pulled out the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that her landlady, Mrs. Carmichael, had made for her that morning, insisting that the homemade jam would be the best she had ever tasted. The spray from the fountain felt good as it acted to nullify some of the humidity. Blanche sat and enjoyed the beauty of the day and the children as they jumped into the fountain only to find that the water was much colder than they had anticipated. Her life perhaps was taking a turn for the better as she thought about her new job and home, as it was.
Miss Caroline Carmichael was a direct descendant of Jefferson Davis of Civil War fame, she was Southern through and through. In her late sixties, she was prim and proper but ran Caroline’s Bed and Breakfast with an iron fist. Insisting that everyone get up and to the breakfast table by 7:00 a.m. “Because there would be nothing to eat any later.” Her home, now business, had been handed down from generation to generation and she was the sole heir after her brother had passed away the previous year from pneumonia, but she was quite sure it was the smuggled Cuban cigars that killed him. Never married, Caroline preferred to spend her days fussing over her guests and making ‘good’ food. Her fruit salad was the talk of the town or at least to hear her tell it, it was.
“You know the secret is to slice the apples just so and to add a bit of walnut.” She had given this little gem away to Blanche on their first night together around the dinner table.
The house really was very nice with all the Southern charm one might expect from an older Georgian style home. Large front porch complete with swing for two, bedrooms with canopy beds and large mahogany headboards. Only drawback was the one bathroom per three rooms so some sort of schedule was available unless you could negotiate a better deal with the other guests. At the moment the B amp;B was not full, just too hot for most people to do any traveling. Blanche thought the rooms were certainly reasonable and were available either by the day or month. Blanche had decided to give her a month's rent in anticipation that she could find a condo or something more suited to her lifestyle.
As long as the food was good, the neighbors quiet and the bus not too far away it would do nicely for now. As she pushed her tongue under the bread lodged on the roof of her mouth and carefully wiped at the corners with a small napkin, that had been thoughtfully included in her bag, she had to admit, most likely, this was by far the best peanut butter sandwich she had ever eaten.