13. Chapter 13 Maggie #2
"Oh, years ago. Before computers. Before online catalogs. Before half the people in town retired."
"What happened?"
She smiles with the kind of affection reserved for old mistakes.
"We found six volunteers."
"Only six?"
"Five, if we're being honest. One gentleman joined because he thought we were discussing the Friends of the Fishery and didn't realize his mistake until the second meeting."
I laugh.
"What did you do?"
"We kept him anyway. He made wonderful cookies."
I shake my head.
"So why didn't it last?"
Mrs. Davis looks out toward the main library where two children are searching the shelves while their mother browses nearby.
"I don't think the town was ready."
Her answer lingers in the air.
I follow her gaze.
The Stories Saved Me wall is nearly full now. New notes have been added since this morning. A little boy proudly points one out to his mother before racing toward the children's section. Near the front windows, a retired couple is discussing the latest Book Trail clue with complete seriousness.
The library doesn't feel empty. It feels alive.
"I think they're ready now," I say quietly.
Mrs. Davis turns back toward me.
"What makes you so sure?"
I smile.
"Because nobody had to convince this town to love its library."
I gesture toward the reading room.
"They've been showing me that every day."
She follows my gaze, and a smile slowly spreads across her face.
"I've worked here for twenty-eight years," she says. "I don't believe I've ever heard anyone say it quite like that."
I reach for my notebook again.
"Then maybe we've been asking the wrong question."
Mrs. Davis tilts her head.
"What question should we be asking?"
Instead of answering immediately, I write four words across the top of a clean page.
Friends of Cedar Hollow Library
I underline them once.
Then I look back at Mrs. Davis.
"I think it's time we stopped asking whether the town wants to save its library."
I close the notebook with a quiet snap.
"I think it's time we asked them to help."
Mrs. Davis is still smiling at the notebook when she suddenly snaps her fingers.
"I know exactly where you need to go."
I look up.
"Where?"
"Sweetwater Diner."
I glance toward the clock.
"For pie?"
"For lunch."
She pulls out a chair across from my desk and sits down as though she's about to share an important secret.
"Every Tuesday, for longer than I can remember, a group of business owners meets at Sweetwater."
I tilt my head.
"A meeting?"
She laughs.
"They would be horrified if you called it that."
"What do they call it?"
"Lunch."
"And that's different?"
"Entirely."
I smile.
Mrs. Davis folds her hands together.
"The banker is always there. So is Jim Harper from the hardware store.
Walter Jenkins, the attorney, usually arrives five minutes late and blames traffic, even though there are only three stop signs in town.
Dr. Collins from the clinic comes whenever patients allow it.
You'll usually find one or two ranchers, the owner of the feed store, and whoever else wanders in. "
"It sounds... unofficial."
"It is."
"So why does everyone know about it?"
She gives me a knowing look.
"Because if you want to know what's happening in Cedar Hollow, you don't start at City Hall."
I grin.
"You start at Sweetwater."
"Exactly."
She leans back in her chair.
"They've celebrated new businesses, raised money for families after house fires, organized volunteers after storms, and somehow convinced three different mayors that downtown needed flower baskets."
"I had no idea."
"Most newcomers don't."
Her smile softens.
"They're simply neighbors who care about their town."
The words stay with me.
Neighbors who care about their town.
Maybe that's exactly what the Friends of the Library should become.
Mrs. Davis glances at the clock.
"In fact..."
She smiles again.
"It's Tuesday."
An hour later, I step into Sweetwater Diner with a notebook tucked under my arm and considerably more nerves than I expected. The lunch crowd fills nearly every booth. Near the back of the restaurant, one long table is occupied by exactly the group Mrs. Davis described.
Walter Jenkins, the attorney, is in the middle of telling a story that has everyone laughing.
Jim Harper from the hardware store waves a french fry for emphasis while arguing about fence posts with Tom Reynolds, whose family has been ranching outside Cedar Hollow for generations.
Across from them sits First State Bank president Linda Brooks, reviewing paperwork between bites of grilled chicken.
Dr. Collins has just arrived from the clinic, still wearing his white coat.
Mrs. Davis hadn't exaggerated.
This isn't a meeting. It's a tradition.
Mrs. Davis is already at the table and catches my eye from across the room. She gives me an encouraging nod before waving me over.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she announces as I approach. "I'd like you to meet Maggie Hale."
Every conversation stops. For one slightly terrifying moment, every person at the table looks at me. Then Jim Harper stands and pulls out an empty chair.
"Well, don't just stand there," he says. "Anybody trying to save our library deserves a seat."
The tension in my shoulders eases immediately. I sit down, introduce myself, and explain the council's proposal. No one interrupts. No one checks a phone. No one looks bored.
When I finish, the table remains quiet for several seconds.
Finally, Walter Jenkins folds his hands.
"So."
He looks around the table.
"I suppose we'd better save a library."
Heads nod all around.
Linda Brooks is the first to speak.
"The bank can sponsor the Friends group once we get the nonprofit paperwork."
Walter smiles.
"I'll handle the incorporation documents and help with the paperwork."
Jim Harper points across the table.
"I'll build whatever display tables or donation boxes you need."
Tom Reynolds nods.
"My ranch hands can help set up events."
Dr. Collins adds, "The clinic will sponsor a family reading day. We already support literacy programs. This fits perfectly."
The offers come so quickly I can barely write them down. My notebook fills with names, phone numbers, and ideas.
Fundraisers.
Sponsors.
Volunteers.
Business partnerships.
By the time the waitress refills our lemonade glasses, the Friends of the Cedar Hollow Library has somehow transformed from a hopeful idea into a community project.
I look around the table in disbelief.
"I thought I was coming here to ask for help."
Walter smiles.
"You did."
Jim Harper laughs.
"You just underestimated how much this town likes saying yes."
For the first time since Dana handed me the list of proposed cuts, I can actually see a path forward.
Not because I found the right answer.
Because I stopped trying to find it by myself.