Page 36 of Charlotte

“I know.” Lottie looked toward the road until Peterson disappeared beyond the mercantile. “I only wish knowing less did not make me imagine more.”

“Then imagine kindly.”

The words settled into her.

Imagine kindly.

Not foolishly or blindly. Kindly.

Lottie could do that. The rest of the morning was given to library matters, which meant Mrs. Schulte’s lists, Mrs. Beck’s enthusiasm, Mrs. Hanford’s objections, and Val’s steady ability to turn all three into progress.

After breakfast, they carried the brackets and two smaller crates to the meeting hall. The larger trunks would need men and a wagon, and after yesterday’s dock accident, everyone had strong opinions about how book trunks ought to be moved. Lottie had stronger feelings than opinions. The sight of that injured boy had not left her.

The meeting hall looked plainer by daylight. Benches lined one wall. A long table stood near the front. Dust had gathered in the corners, and the windows needed washing. One pane rattled when the wind came off the lake.

Lottie loved it.

It was not a library yet. It was hardly even a room ready for books.

The possibility was there.

She set the botany volume on the table and placed Mr. Peterson’s list beside it.

Cornelia opened the brown-paper bundle and counted the brackets. “Enough for a starter shelf.”

“Only one?”

“One shelf is a beginning.”

Mrs. Schulte, who had followed them in with a notebook of her own, nodded firmly. “One shelf can be admired by donors. Donors who admire a shelf may be moved to fund another.”

“Especially if there are cookies nearby,” Mrs. Beck added from the doorway.

Mrs. Hanford looked around the hall. “There must be rules.”

“There will be,” Cornelia said.

“Written rules.”

“Delly will insist on it,” Lottie said.

Mrs. Schulte brightened. “Your sister is very useful.”

There was that word again.

Useful.

Lottie looked down at Peterson’s list.

Perhaps she had been careless with the word because she had heard it all her life as praise. Delly had made herself useful when their parents died. Lottie had made herself useful to Mrs. Whitmore. Women without money, position, or protection learned early usefulness kept bread on tables and roofs overhead.

Mr. Peterson, however, had flinched from it as though usefulness had been a chain, not a compliment.

No person ought to be only useful.

She had said that to him.

Now the words sat beside the shelving list and asked whether she believed them for herself. By noon, the meeting hall had been swept, the starter shelf planned, and three arguments had been tabled for later. Lottie had made a list of categories: Scripture, poetry, instruction, household, history, nature, and stories. Cornelia approved of most of them, though she suggested children’s books deserved their own place within easy reach.