Chapter 33
Julien twirled the friendship bracelet around on his wrist. It had taken rewatching a YouTube video numerous times as well as picking out a bunch of knots he’d created while attempting to make the bracelets, but the effort had been worth it just to see the look on Martha’s face.
Her friends accepting him wholeheartedly into their little group after that had been an added bonus he hadn’t anticipated but appreciated.
His fingers traced along the tricolored threads he’d used to make the braided pattern.
It didn’t surprise him when a memory of something his grandmother used to say popped into his head.
That had been happening more frequently over the last couple of months, memories of his grandmother’s wisdom and her kind heart and how her influence had helped to shape him into the man he’d become.
She used to say that a single person could be easily overpowered, two people could defend themselves better, but a cord of three strands wasn’t easily broken.
A Bible verse she was fond of quoting at board meetings to remind those at the table about the power of unity.
Although he’d heard the same verse at a wedding recently as well.
A husband, a wife, and the presence of God—the unbreakable cord of marriage.
Julien looked up at the closed doors in front of him.
Any minute now Ryan would beckon him inside.
By himself, his single-stranded argument might not be strong enough to sway the board of trustees.
He turned his head to take in the others gathered.
The people willing to add their voices to his own.
A second thread. Bowing his head as his grandmother modeled for him, he sent up a silent prayer for the will of the third strand to be with them.
To make their voice and their fight for Martha and the children’s programs something not easily severed.
The door opened, and Ryan popped his head out. “The allocation of funds from your donation has come up on the agenda. Are you ready?”
Julien nodded and stood, buttoning his suit jacket and squaring his shoulders. “We’re ready.”
A small crowd of people, ranging from five years old to fifty, followed him into the committee room.
The meeting was public, and therefore Julien and the others who were there to argue on Martha’s behalf could’ve been sitting in the room the whole time, but Ryan, who apparently had a slight flair for the dramatic, had argued for a grand entrance.
By the widened eyes and surprised glances shifting between the board members—not to mention the slack jaws of the Little Creek librarians, including Martha, who had turned around in their seats to see what the commotion was—Julien had to admit that Ryan’s idea of a defensive procession hadn’t been half bad.
“Before funding discussions commence among us,” Ryan said as he took his own seat, “there are a number of community members who would like a chance to speak on the issue.”
The parents and children who’d walked in with him sat down to wait their turns. Julien stepped to the front.
“Did you know about this?” he heard either Evangeline or Hayley whisper to Martha, he wasn’t sure which.
Out of his peripheral vision, he saw her shake her head slowly.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “my name is Julien King, and I am standing before you this evening with one request. That before you make any decision that would affect the funding of the children’s programs in Little Creek, you take a few moments to listen to what those programs mean to the community. ”
Julien stepped to the side and nodded to the woman sitting nearest the front before taking a seat of his own.
He could feel Martha’s eyes on him, questioning, but he kept his gaze focused on the single mother giving her testimony of how Martha and the Homework Help program she’d implemented at the library had been a lifesaver for both her and her daughter.
With trembling fingers, the woman read from a prepared speech.
“When I got pregnant at just sixteen years old, I dropped out of school so I could get a job to provide for myself and my baby. I am a hard worker, but because I never finished my education, I’m not what anyone would call book smart.
When my daughter began middle school and started coming home needing help with her math homework, I felt like a failure.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t help her.
She started to get bad grades even though we both spent hours every night poring over her textbook.
I knew my daughter needed a tutor, but we just didn’t have any money to pay for that kind of help.
It seemed like a miracle when we learned the very next day that Miss Martha from the library had started a Homework Help hour.
My daughter now has an A in math and even does some tutoring in language arts for kids younger than her. ”
When she took her seat, another parent stepped forward.
This one spoke on how LEGO Builders had impacted her son’s life.
The times at the library building LEGO with other children were some of the only times her quiet, reserved child ever opened up and became confident and communicative with his peers.
She was afraid that if the program was shut down, her son would regress and not have the same opportunity to grow in his social skills in an environment he found safe and therapeutic.
Two young people from Martha’s Budding Authors group spoke, along with a stay-at-home father who brought his children to the library almost daily, saying he would “literally lose his mind” if he didn’t have the library programs to help keep his energetic youngsters busy and engaged.
When the last person finished their testimonial on why Martha needed to stay employed at Little Creek Library as well as have the funds to continue the children’s programs that impacted so many lives, Julien stood again.
If all of these arguments hadn’t been enough, he was ready to lay yet another card on the table.
He understood the need for newer technology and to make upgrades to buildings throughout the county.
He was willing to pledge future funds for those worthy causes.
A gentleman with a paunch belly sitting near the middle of the table held up a hand before Julien could get a word out.
“I am going to presume you also have a speech prepared to argue in favor of funds for Little Creek’s children’s department.
” He turned his head toward the trio of librarians in the front row.
“That is also why you ladies are here as well, correct?”
All three of them nodded their heads.
He laid his hand against a straining button on his Oxford shirt.
“Let me spare you all the time and breath. I’m not sure what sort of rumors have been circling that inspired such a robust defense of Miss Aldridge and her work in Little Creek, but we, the trustees, are not ignorant of the impact she has made in her community.
Nor are we ignorant of the fact that it was her own hard work, ingenuity, and sacrifice that acquired the funds you provided, Mr. King.
Now, it seems that all of you are under the impression that we, the trustees, may have other ideas on how to use the money provided instead of reinstating Miss Aldridge to her position.
Let me here and now disabuse you of that notion.
While we have many ideas on how to use future funding, the check signed over by Miss Aldridge will pay for Little Creek’s new roof, and therefore all levy money previously allocated for children’s programming will remain for its intended use.
All in favor of reinstating the temporarily suspended programs at Little Creek and employment status of Miss Martha Aldridge, say aye. ”
A chorus of ayes rang out.
“Any opposed?”
No one said a word.
“Now,” the trustee spokesperson said with a broad smile, “you are all welcome to stay if you wish, though be warned that the next item on the agenda is a discussion of our weeding policy.”
Julien knew the man referred to the weeding or removing of material from the library’s shelves and not any dandelions growing in the landscaped lawns. He returned the man’s smile. “Thank you all for your time.”
Everyone who’d come to speak on Martha’s behalf was in a state of jubilation as they rose and filed out of the room.
Julien glanced over at Martha, who was being poked by her two friends, before following everyone else out.
They’d come at his request, and he wanted to thank each and every one of them.
After he’d shaken the last hand and said his final thanks, he turned to the presence at his back.
Martha stood with her fingers clasped in front of her, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“Can’t you?” he asked softly. Yes, he’d created a bump in the road of her publication dream, but he hoped she could believe that he’d be willing to do anything for her. Especially something so small as to ask people to share how great she was.
She sniffed as her lips curled into a secret smile. “Okay, you’re right. I can. You’re wonderful.”
He took a step forward and wrapped his arms around her, pressing her cheek to his chest. “No, Martha. You missed what everyone in there was saying. You are the wonderful one.”