I looked at her, perplexed. Waldeen didn’t talk much about her life before prison.
“Did you receive a formal education, Lovett?”
“I’m book read, sure enough, and learned from my mama and the books everything I needed.”
“I see,” she said, airish. “It’s a shame. Very few in here have education or formal training beyond fourth grade, if that.”
“I handled my pa’s finances and cataloged and took care of the library books just fine.”
“Library.” The warden tapped a pen on the desk.
I held my tongue, anxious to learn why she’d sent for me. I’d found out no one ever went to the warden’s office unlessit involved punishment. What could I offer her to make up for the damaged clothing?Then I took a small step forward.
“Warden, I don’t have money, but I can work the laundry debt off somehow.”
She pulled away from her quietness and drew her attention back to me. “The prison purchases the clothing in bulk. Even with a discount, the garments still run about thirty-three cents each. What do you propose, Lovett?”
I glanced at the small bookshelf behind her desk filled with dusty books and tattered covers. “I’m good at binding. I can even make scrapbooks for the library to be loaned out.”
“We’re about to lose our small library and more because of lack of funding and our low literacy rate.” She dismissed my offer with a flick of her wrist. “Now a lot of the prisons are making reading a prerequisite before an inmate can apply for parole. If I don’t follow suit and make this happen, I could lose—”
She stopped herself and gave a quick shake to her head. But I know’d it meant losing her job.
I dared to speak. “I could raise the literacy rate—grow readers.”
“Are you asking about the librarian position again? You were just in here.” Her eyes narrowed. “You should heed warnings.”
“Yes.No, ma’am.I wanted to help—”
“Running a library is no easy feat, Cussy Lovett. It’s tedious work and not as cushy as you may think—and what I generally assign to more experienced, educated girls,” she chided. “Even Regina has her high school certificate.”
“I have experience, Warden,” I gently pushed.
The warden rested her elbows on the desk and lightly pressed her fingertips together.
“Ma’am, I was a Pack Horse librarian for many years in Troublesome Creek under the WPA, beginning in 1935. I delivered thousands of books on my mount and grow’d lots of readers out in them hills.” I paused, gauging if Wardenwould silence me. When she didn’t, I continued, “In 1940, the Kentucky Federation of Women’s Clubs gave me an award for outstanding librarian service and dedication. I believe I could do a good job for you if—”
She cocked her head, staring in disbelief, shuttering my next words. “Why, I’ve read several articles about the Works Progress Administration. And there was such a librarian over in War Branch—or maybe it was in Beauty—who used to visit her aunt here in Pewee Valley.”
“We had lots of book women in them parts. Some were even working near the big city of Louisville.”
“Sit down,” she ordered, her eyes softening a little as she pointed to the chair. “Tell me more about the program.”
“When outsiders came in and told us we were poor, the government set about fixin’ it. Us. The women only had two options, the WPA said: Join its sewing project or deliver books.”
“Yet you remained poorer from the stingy coins Roosevelt and his program courted you with.”
“It was good pay, ma’am. A steady twenty-eight dollars a month for us womenfolk.”
“Hmph.”
For the next twenty minutes, we talked quietly. And with each passing moment, I could see something changing in the standoffish warden. That we were on equal ground, her sour face fading, opening with pleasure, friendly and welcoming, as we chatted and reminisced about our favorite reads and authors. The many families I had served back home.
“Grow’d readers, you say?” The warden chuckled lightly and checked her wristwatch.
I straightened. “Yes, ma’am, I did.”
“We have very few readers in here. Too few. If I don’t get those numbers up, my other programs will be in jeopardy. We already receive fewer funds than the men’s prison. And they’d love nothing more than to strip my funds to supply more gym equipment over there for the men,” Warden Sanders grumbled.
