15
Standing Room Only
As usual, Councilman Sparks did not know what to make of the latest message Lottie had left in the inbox on his desk. It was a mere fifteen minutes before he was about to head down the hall for the budget approval. “CCBC SAYS SRO”—she had printed in big block letters on his notepad. At the moment, however, further clarification would have to wait until she returned to her post in the outer office—most likely from one of her frequent trips to the ladies’ room.
When she finally showed up a few minutes later, Councilman Sparks was hardly calm and collected as he blocked the door frame while holding her mysterious note in his outstretched hand. “What the hell does this mean, Lottie? You’ve got to give me a break from all these abbreviations. It took me half the afternoon in your absence last week to decipher that we were out of printer solution when you left me a message that read, ‘OOPS—NEED REORDER.’ ”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Lottie replied, although she hardly sounded contrite. “I thought I had mentioned it to you earlier that day. The out of printer solution, OOPS part, I mean.”
“Never mind that. What does this latest hieroglyphic of yours mean?”
He moved aside so she could sit down at her desk, whereupon she started thumbing through some notes she had made to herself that morning in his absence. “Oh. They called around nine before you came in.”
He took a deep breath to steady himself. “Who are they?”
“The Cherry Cola Book Club,” Lottie explained at last. “You’ve been so involved with them lately, I thought you’d understand my abbreviation.”
He was frowning now. “You mean Miz Mayhew—of all people?”
“Yes, it was her.”
“Then why didn’t you just write—” Once again, he realized he was fighting a losing battle and retreated from this latest argument on her terms. Then he made a mental note to ring in the New Year by advertising for a new secretary. He’d endured this comedy of errors long enough. “I’ll settle for SRO. What does that mean?”
Lottie had an almost triumphant look on her face, obviously proud of stumping her boss one more time. “Standing room only. Miz Mayhew said that you should expect a full house for the budget approval. She was on her cell phone and already in her seat waiting, she said.”
“Those people never give up,” he mumbled as he rolled his eyes. “They’ve tacked up petitions all over town. But I checked out a couple on Commerce Street like the hardware and the antiques store, and I wasn’t impressed with what I saw.” He checked his watch while narrowing his eyes. “Anyway, it’s time to put all this foolishness to bed, Lottie. You hold down the fort while I give Miz Mayhew and her entourage the bad news.”
Maura Beth had not exaggerated when she had spoken to Lottie Howard and told her that there would not be an empty seat in the Council Chambers. All seventy chairs were occupied, and there were at least a dozen more people standing against the wall in the back of the room. As for her Cherry Cola Book Club friends, they were all seated with her on the front row. They had taken no chances and shown up thirty minutes early to ensure maximum physical presence, particularly that all-important eye contact with the councilmen as the budget process unfolded.
There were other friendly faces that Maura Beth was pleased to see among the crowd: James Hannigan, Audra Neely, Vernon Dotrice, Emma Frost, Terra Munrow—even the Crumpton sisters. But there were many others she did not recognize, and she assumed that they were the rank and file of citizens they had managed to reach with their campaign to save the library. That had to be a hopeful sign as the session got under way.
However, Maura Beth noted, as the tall, severe-looking City Clerk, Mrs. Benita Porter, began her robotic reading of each budget item, glaciers had been known to move faster in their trek to the sea.
“This is like listening to a recitation of the phone book,” Connie whispered to Maura Beth out of the side of her mouth. Mrs. Porter was taking forever working her way through the Sanitation Department budget, then had hit a snag regarding the question of how much money to allot for road salt during the upcoming year.
“Nobody knows how much snow we’ll get,” Chunky Badham was pointing out. But he was not about to let up. “Last year, we got three big snows and that ice storm. My wife even had enough to make snow ice cream for me. Plus, I like to have gone off the road and into a ditch during that one we had last January. And it was because we didn’t have enough road salt to put out where I live in the Netherfield Community. Now I realize we only have about twelve people out my way . . .”
He kept droning on and on, and neither of the other two councilmen saw fit to interrupt him.
Maura Beth felt her annoyance registering as an adrenaline rush. Here they were going on about how much extra road salt to purchase, while threatening to do away with her library entirely was waiting in the wings. She began playing mind games to calm herself. Which would the good people of Cherico prefer: a sprinkling of salt or books to read? In any case, an extra thousand dollars was finally appropriated for road salt, and there were no objections from the citizens attending, putting the stamp of approval on that specific budget item.
Utilities came next, and Maura Beth caught Councilman Sparks’s gaze as Mrs. Porter waded through that particular appropriation. There was an unusual smugness to his handsome features, and her instincts were telling her that he intended to send her packing. But she held inside the folder on her lap the ultimate defense against such a decision—the voice of the people.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, Mrs. Porter announced, “The Cherico Library.”
To Maura Beth, those three words felt like bullets penetrating her flesh. She played another game in her head and breathed deeply. Would she end up suffering a fatal wound or live to order and process books for another day? Being in the line of fire was the pits. “Here we go,” Maura Beth whispered to Connie, and the two of them gave each other a reassuring smile.
Councilman Sparks rose after Mrs. Porter had reviewed the costs of running the library for another year, line item by line item—a total of $85,000. “It is our intention,” he began, “to redirect this money to a new project for Cherico. It is our belief that you, the taxpayers, are not getting your money’s worth with our library facility. We further believe that using this money to prepare land just north of town for industrial use will attract new industry and good-paying jobs to Cherico, thus increasing our tax base and improving our infrastructure. At some time in the future, perhaps we will then have collected enough money to improve and reopen the library. But it is the City Council’s decision to close the library as of December 31st and begin preparations for the industrial park. We will now entertain feedback from you, the taxpayers.”
As other hands and voices were raised all over the room, Maura Beth shot up immediately, brandishing the folder she had been so jealously guarding. “Councilman Sparks!” she exclaimed, taking no chance of being overlooked.
“Miz Mayhew?” he replied, refusing to match her urgent tone and careful to maintain his smile.
“On behalf of many of the taxpayers of Cherico, I would like to present to you today this folder of petitions requesting that the City Council keep The Cherico Library open. I have taken the time to check the names and addresses of all the signatures on these various petitions and have found them to be residents of our town, each and every one. No made-up or dead people, no jokes, no fakes. These are the taxpayers you represent, and as you will see, I have calculated and compiled the total number on all the petitions for you. Eight hundred and three people have expressed their desire to see The Cherico Library stay open. These signatures came mostly from various businesses around town, all of which are well-known to you, as well as the library itself. Those eight hundred and three signatures represent almost half the number of registered voters in this town—one thousand six hundred forty-five, according to public records.”
Councilman Sparks was having trouble keeping his smile in place. “That doesn’t necessarily mean those eight hundred or so are all actually registered voters. Some of them could even be children or teenagers.”
“That might be true,” Maura Beth returned. “Although I think the underage signatures would probably be limited to the library. But in any case, children and teenagers grow up to be voters, Councilman. You above all should know that. Surely that’s not going to be your argument against these signatures.”
His smile had completely disappeared now. “Hand me your folder, please.”
She reached over and gave it to him, taking a moment before continuing. Here was Scarlett at her best, daring anyone to take advantage of her.
“Furthermore, I’d like to say that the library’s present budget is hardly adequate, even for a town of five thousand. But as the director, I’m not asking for an increase or a raise—only to continue to do my job for the people of Cherico. We’ve initiated a number of events recently that have this town buzzing about the library. I hardly have to remind you of that since you’ve attended some of these meetings, such as The Cherry Cola Book Club. I urge you and the other councilmen not to turn your back on what is fast becoming a popular and valuable community resource.”
“Listen to her, Durden!” Miss Voncille exclaimed, rising to her feet. “You can postpone that industrial park or find some other way to fund it. My parents always told me that there was some slush fund hanging around from the days the library started up originally. I believe there was some question as to what really happened to some of the money the women of the town donated at the time. Wasn’t your father on the Council back then? Being the historian that I am, I’m also quite sure that no one has ever bothered to look into that whole matter. As the saying goes, they just let it ride.”
Councilman Sparks had gone from being supremely confident to actually looking uncomfortable for all the chamber to see. “Give me a few minutes, please,” he told her, sitting back down and thumbing through the petitions Maura Beth had presented to him. Then the folder was passed around to his cohorts. Finally, after the trio had huddled for a good five minutes with their backs to the crowd, Councilman Sparks turned and rose again, his best campaign smile restored to full glory.
“It is the decision of the City Council to postpone the industrial park for another year and to fund The Cherico Library for the corresponding year—”
Enthusiastic applause and cheering erupted across the room. Maura Beth jumped up, embracing Connie and Miss Voncille, who were sitting on either side of her, and the rest of the book club did the same with one another along the front row.
“If I might continue!” Councilman Sparks cried out, and he had to repeat himself to gain the floor before the commotion died down. “Over the next year, we will be monitoring the library in hopes of seeing increased circulation figures and use of the meeting room facilities by the citizens of this town. It is to be understood that we will be reviewing funding of the library at this same time next year. For the time being, however, we cannot go against the will of the people in this regard.”
“Thank you, Councilman,” Maura Beth said, nodding his way.
“Please remember that this is a one-year reprieve, Miz Mayhew. There are no guarantees.”
“I understand that. Or rather, Scarlett understands that.”
She watched him struggling to keep his face from turning sour. Ever the politician, however, he somehow managed. But Maura Beth’s smile was genuine and full of the thrill of victory. Above all else, she had played the game and won.