“A . . . what?”
“A proclamation of courage for preventing open warfare.” I looked over my shoulder at the two women, who were happily debating the merits of illustrators Brian Selznick and Barbara Lehman. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Oh.” She let out a long, shaky breath. “It just seemed like the thing to do.” She glanced at the happy pair. “It won’t last, though,” she said in a low voice.
“Cease-fires never do. But we can enjoy the peace while it lasts, right?” I grinned, and, though it took some time, a smile spread across her features, changing her face from wan, pinched, and pale to pretty and pale.
“So how about it?” I asked. “Are you looking for a job? Low pay, long hours, and you get to work with the finest citizens of Rynwood.” I tipped my head toward Auntie May and her new sidekick. “No benefits, naturally, and the only perk is you get to read any book in the store.”
The phone rang. I looked around. Lois wasn’t in sight and Sara was headed this way, weighed down with more books than she should be carrying. “Excuse me.” One of these days I’d have to get the book cart’s broken caster fixed. Right after I got the car’s oil changed. Which would come right after I mended Jenna’s hockey sweater. But, really, did a hockey jersey need to be mended? I mulled over the allure of a tattered sports uniform as I hurried to the phone.
“Good afternoon, Children’s Bookshelf.”
“Yo, Beth.”
I held the phone a few inches from my head. After I’d pushed the volume button half a dozen times, I put it back against my ear. “Hey, Marina.”
“Hey, yourself. Is she there?”
“My store is packed with people, O Red-haired Ray of Sunshine. Please be more specific.”
“Perky today, aren’t we? Did we have lunch with the handsome Mr. Garrett?”
“No, we did not. Today is Christmas book day.”
“I forgot all about that.”
I lowered my voice. “It was ugly for a while, but a small miracle happened and all is well.”
“Miracle? Tell me all.”
“Later. I’m trying to interview someone, and I really want to hire—”
“But you can’t!” Marina wailed. “I told you. I know the perfect person for your store.”
“And I have the perfect person standing fifteen feet away from me. Yours will have to find another job.”
“No, listen to me. She’ll be great, I know she will. She’s smart and personable and knows a lot about books and—”
“And she’s too late. I’ve made up my mind, Marina,” I said firmly.
“But you can’t do that!”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. The morning headache I’d staved off with ibuprofen was coming back. “Marina, this is my store. Last I checked, I get to make the decisions.”
“Well, sure, unless they’re stupid ones, and I’m telling you—”
“Marina, I’ve decided.”
“Won’t you even talk to her?”
“Not if Yvonne takes the job.”
“Fine,” she snapped. “Then you might lose the chance of getting your best employee ever. Yvonne would be . . .” She finally listened to what her ears were hearing. “Did you say you want to hire a woman named Yvonne? Is she really pale and about five feet tall?”
All was becoming clear. “Dark-haired and softspoken.”
Marina’s sigh blew loud in my ear. “I don’t know whether to kiss you or cut you off from my brownies.”
“Oliver says kisses are yucky.”
“Then a kiss it is.” She smooched a long wet one into the phone. “Got to go, kiddo. Love ya!”
I replaced the receiver. Yvonne was on her knees, helping to shelve fluffy polar bears. Though I’d decided to hire her the minute she’d picked the copy of
Her difference wasn’t in the way she dressed: Her jeans were standard denim, her shoes were dark brown trail boots of the type ninety-nine out of ninety-nine adults wore through Wisconsin winters, and her coat was the standard Lands’ End navy blue.
I watched her chat with Sara. What was different was the nearly infinitesimal pause that came before she said anything. The swift mental calculation that could only come from a history of saying the wrong thing.
There was something else about Yvonne, too, and it tugged at my mothering instincts. She had that bruised look, the look kids get when they’ve had too much to bear. It was in the set of her shoulders, in the way she held her hands close to her body, in the wariness of her gaze. A thousand things could have caused this, but all I wanted to do was help make it go away.
The bells had jingled while I was on the phone with Marina. By the time I tracked down a special order and finished helping a substitute teacher find the perfect book to calm unruly children, Sara and Lois and Yvonne had finished displaying all of the Christmas gewgaws and most of the picture books. After I’d answered the phone another half dozen times, rung up a few sales, and wrapped two books in Christmas wrapping paper, it was four o’clock and the Christmas display was complete.
“Well, looky there.” Lois flung her arms wide. “It’s done. Two hours late, but no one died, and the Ladies Who Tongue-Lash went away happy.”
“It looks marvelous,” I said, and it did. We didn’t have room to display all the books face out, but they’d picked and chosen the most attractive covers to display prominently. Dancing snowflakes hobnobbed with a jolly Santa who looked benevolently upon a baby Jesus who was making a Christmas tree chuckle with delight. “If this doesn’t help people feel Christmasy,” I said, “nothing will. You’ve done an outstanding job.”
“It was all her.” Lois jerked her head at Yvonne. “I don’t have an artistic bone out of my two hundred and six. Are you going to hire her, or what?”
“I’ve already asked, Ms. Manager.”
“And she said what?” Lois demanded.
In fact, she hadn’t said anything; the phone call from Marina had interrupted the offer I’d been underselling.
Yvonne was toying with the collar of her crewneck sweater. “You want the job,” Lois barked. “What could be better than working for minimum wage evenings and weekends? And holidays. Low man on the totem pole gets holidays, you know.”
I caught Lois’s eye and frowned, shaking my head. She was acting as if Yvonne was already a long-term employee, and I didn’t even have a W-4 for her. As that thought came and went, another took its place.” “You are an American citizen, aren’t you?”
Yvonne started. “I what? Oh . . . yes.” Her smile was small and brief. “Born and raised.”
“Not around here,” Lois said. “You don’t have an accent accent, but the way you talk isn’t quite right.”
“Lois,” I said.
“What?”
Honestly, sometimes she was as bad as Marina. “Yvonne hasn’t said if she wants the job.”
Lois gazed at the tin ceiling. “Of course she does.” She shifted her gaze and skewered Yvonne with a laserlike glare. “Don’t you?”
Yvonne’s shoulders lifted and fell. “I . . . I just . . .”
“Take it,” Lois commanded. “You’ll regret it every time you open your paycheck, but”—her voice softened —“you’ll love every minute you’re in this store. It’s a magical place.”
“I . . .” Yvonne clasped her hands, then unclasped them, then clasped them again, wringing her hands in classic nineteenth-century gothic style. She looked up at me. “Can I talk to you?”
“Um, sure. I know just the place.” I glanced around at the empty store. “Can I bring back a cookie for anyone? Chocolate chip?”
Sara grinned. “Yes, please.”
Lois heaved a martyred sigh. “Oatmeal raisin. Two of them.”
Five minutes later, Yvonne and I were seated at a small round table, our shoulder blades resting
