13. Chapter 13 Maggie
By the time the reporter packs up his camera and promises to send everyone a copy of the article, the sidewalk in front of the library has returned to its usual Tuesday morning rhythm.
Parents shepherd children toward school. A delivery truck rumbles down Main Street. Ben waves goodbye from his little sedan before pulling away, already talking into a voice recorder about "community engagement" and "the remarkable response to the Stories Saved Me wall."
I watch him disappear around the corner before entering the library doors.
The familiar scent of books and old wood greets me as I step inside.
Normally, the quiet settles me.
Today it gives my thoughts too much room to wander. Instead, I find myself replaying the morning.
Not the photographs.
Eli.
The way he'd looked completely uncomfortable standing in front of the camera, yet never once complained after Sophie started smiling.
The way he'd quietly stepped aside whenever she wanted to show Ben another Book Trail card.
The way he'd instinctively rested one hand on Sophie's shoulder whenever the crowd around the library grew a little too busy.
I smile to myself as I shelve a mystery novel.
For someone who claimed to hate photographs, he had somehow managed to make sure everyone else enjoyed the experience.
That seemed to be Eli's way. He absorbed the uncomfortable parts so someone else didn't have to. The thought lingers longer than it should.
I have known handsome men before.
Confident men.
Successful men.
What I have not known very often are men who quietly make everyone around them feel safe. That quality has become far more distracting than broad shoulders or blue eyes.
The telephone rings before I can follow the thought any further.
"Cedar Hollow Public Library. This is Maggie."
"Good morning, Maggie."
I immediately recognize Dana Marsh, the mayor's assistant.
Her voice is warm, but there is a hesitation beneath it that wasn't there the last time we spoke.
"Do you have a few minutes?"
"Of course."
"I'd rather not discuss this over the phone."
Something in my stomach tightens.
"Is everything all right?"
A brief pause follows.
"I was hoping we could meet at City Hall this afternoon."
I glance around the library.
Mrs. Davis won't arrive for another half hour, which leaves plenty of time to worry.
"I'll be there."
Dana is waiting for me in the small conference room just off the mayor's office.
She already has a folder open on the table.
That isn't encouraging.
"I'm glad you came," she says.
"I had a feeling this wasn't a social visit."
"I'm afraid not."
She waits until we've both sat down before folding her hands together.
"The council has been reviewing next year's budget."
I nod.
"I assumed as much."
"The good news is that several members have noticed the increase in library traffic."
Hope flickers.
"The Stories Saved Me wall has received a lot of positive attention," Dana continues. "The Book Trail has been mentioned more than once."
"That's encouraging."
"It is."
Her expression softens.
"But encouraging and funded aren't always the same thing."
The hope fades almost as quickly as it arrived.
Dana opens the folder.
"I've been trying to think of a compromise that gives the council something to support without closing the library altogether."
I lean forward.
"I'm listening."
"They're discussing reduced operating hours."
I don't like the sound of that.
"They're also talking about reducing staff."
I swallow quietly.
"There isn't much staff to reduce."
"I know."
She hesitates before continuing.
"And there's one more suggestion."
I already know I'm not going to like it.
"The apartment upstairs."
My heart sinks.
"They're asking whether it could be converted into storage."
For a moment, I simply stare at her. I lean back in my chair. The room suddenly feels smaller.
"So, the compromise is to keep the library open..."
Dana nods sadly.
"...but make it a little less of everything."
She doesn't argue.
Because we both know that's exactly what it is.
Outside the conference room window, I can see children walking home from the elementary school, backpacks bouncing as they laugh together.
I think about Sophie.
I think about the Stories Saved Me wall.
I think about the blanket fort that somehow made an eight-year-old believe reading could be fun again.
Then I look back at Dana.
"If we stop believing the library is worth investing in," I say quietly, "how long before the town stops believing it matters at all?"
Dana doesn't answer. She doesn't have to. The question hangs between us because neither of us knows the answer.
I rest my hands on the conference table and take a slow breath before answering.
"I appreciate that you're trying to find a compromise."
Dana nods.
"I am."
"I truly do."
I choose my next words carefully.
"But libraries aren't measured only by the number of books they hold or the hours they're open."
She doesn't interrupt.
"They're measured by the people who use them."
I think about the Stories Saved Me wall. About children searching for Book Trail cards. About retirees lingering over the newspaper each morning. About Sophie sounding out words she would have skipped only a few weeks ago.
"If you reduce the hours, fewer families can come after work.
If you reduce the staff, programs disappear because there aren't enough people to run them.
And if you turn the apartment into storage...
" I glance toward the window. "You lose one more piece of what makes this building part of the community. "
Dana sighs quietly.
"I know."
"No," I say gently. "I don't think you do."
The words surprise both of us. I soften my voice immediately.
"I'm sorry. That sounded harsher than I intended."
"It's all right."
She folds the folder closed.
"I asked you here because I thought you'd want to know what the council is discussing before rumors started."
"I appreciate that."
"And because..." She hesitates. "I hoped you might have an idea I haven't considered."
The comment catches me off guard. For the first time since I arrived, I stop thinking like someone defending a budget.
I start thinking like a librarian.
Libraries solve problems every day.
They help people find answers.
Maybe this one is no different.
I sit back in my chair and let my mind wander through everything I know.
City funding.
County funding.
State funding.
None of those budgets are likely to improve before the vote.
But cities aren't the only places money comes from.
"What about grants?" I ask.
Dana looks up.
"There are literacy grants. Community development grants. Private foundations that support rural libraries."
She nods slowly.
"There are."
"What about local businesses? Community sponsors? Friends of the Library organizations?"
"We've never had one."
"Then maybe it's time."
The idea begins gathering momentum before either of us can stop it.
I think about the turnout at Mystery & Mug Cake Night.
The Stories Saved Me wall.
The Book Trail.
People keep showing up because they care. Maybe caring could become something more tangible. Maybe it could become support.
Dana studies me for a long moment.
"I don't know if outside funding could close the entire gap."
"It doesn't have to."
She raises an eyebrow.
"It just has to convince the council that this library has a future worth investing in."
For the first time since I walked into City Hall, hope doesn't feel quite so fragile.
The budget vote is still coming. Nothing about that has changed. But perhaps I've been asking the wrong question.
Instead of wondering whether the city can save the library...
Maybe it's time to ask whether the community already has.
I leave City Hall with a notebook full of questions and, for the first time all week, something that feels remarkably like hope.
Not certainty.
Hope.
There is a difference.
Hope leaves room for work.
By the time I reach the library, my mind is already racing ahead. I unlock the front door, set my tote behind the circulation desk, and immediately head for the office. The computer hums to life while I pull a legal pad from the top drawer and begin making a list.
Literacy grants.
State library funding.
Private foundations.
Community sponsors.
The list grows quickly.
I circle the last item.
Community sponsors.
Somewhere between City Hall and Main Street, the idea has continued to grow. Grants could certainly help, but they usually take months to secure. The budget vote isn't months away. If Cedar Hollow is going to save its library, the people who use it may have to become part of the solution.
I open the state library website and begin reading. Before long, my desk is covered with notes, deadlines, and names of organizations I'd never heard of.
"So that's what determination looks like."
I glance up to find Mrs. Davis standing in the doorway with two returned books tucked beneath one arm.
"I was wondering how long you'd watch before saying something."
She smiles as she sets the books on the desk.
"I didn't want to interrupt."
"You weren't interrupting."
I lean back in my chair and rub my forehead.
"I met with Dana."
Mrs. Davis’s smile fades.
"I'm guessing it wasn't good news."
"It wasn't the news I wanted."
I summarize the proposed cuts while she listens without saying a word. She nods once or twice but otherwise lets me finish before speaking.
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."
"I wasn't either."
"What happens now?"
I glance at the legal pad covered in notes.
"Now I stop waiting for City Hall to solve the problem."
Mrs. Davis studies the list.
"Grants?"
"Grants. Foundations. Local businesses. Anybody who believes this place matters."
She picks up the pad and reads through it carefully. Then she pauses.
"What about a Friends of the Library group?"
I look at her.
"I was just thinking the same thing."
Her eyebrows lift.
"Really?"
"I honestly don't know why we don't already have one."
Mrs. Davis gives a soft laugh.
"We tried once."
My chair rolls back as I sit a little straighter.
"You did?"