Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

A COMMUNITY CONVERSATION

Jack

A fter Woodlock and his merry band of banners showed up at the library yesterday, I knew I couldn’t miss Vicky Swanson’s community meeting tonight. I wanted to let Holly know I plan to attend, but I haven’t seen her since our conversation on the library steps. She worked into the wee hours last night and was already gone when I woke up on the loveseat this morning. I know she came home because there was a fresh pot of coffee when I woke up. But it was the only evidence she’d been there.

As I hurry down High Street, I pull out my phone to shoot her a quick text. Before I get the chance, I hear my name. I turn around to see Delphina and Quinn jogging behind me. They neatly avoid colliding with a dog walker who holds three leashes in each hand. All six pooches wear reindeer antlers and red sweaters. They also, shockingly, don’t react to two women zooming past them. I’m still marveling at the dog whisperer when Quinn and Delphina reach me.

“Going to the library?” Quinn guesses.

“I am. Are you? I didn’t think the Citizens Upholding Normal Traditions meeting for concerned residents would be a big draw.”

Delphina laughs. “That’s because you don’t know Mistletoe Mountain.”

Despite her cheerful tone, this proclamation puts me on edge. Is the town going to be receptive to Woodlock’s spiel? Walking into the packed library meeting room does nothing to ease my concerns.

Every seat is filled and we squeeze into the line of people standing shoulder to shoulder along the back wall. My best friends from the county police force are present for crowd control. Officer Ned stands in the front right behind Anderson Carson, who’s shaking hands with a woman who can only be a local television reporter, judging by her full face of makeup and the guy following her around with a camera on his shoulder. The front row is filled with faces I recognize as members of Clean Books, Healthy Minds. The only person I can’t place is the slight dark-haired woman wearing slacks and a bright red turtleneck sweater. She sits in the middle of them holding a “Citizens Upholding Normal Traditions” sign on a wooden stick.

I tap Delphina and gesture toward the woman. “Is that Vicky Swanson?”

She snickers. “Yeah, nice of her to self-identify as a—ow!”

Quinn gives her a sharp elbow to the ribs. “Be nice. Remember?”

“I remember,” Delphina pouts.

“Remember what?” I ask.

“Holly made us all promise to take the high road tonight. No matter what.”

Who’s all, I wonder? Then I study the sea of people more closely. Although the seats in front have been claimed by Woodlock and his followers, there are a lot of folks from town in this room, and I realize most of them are wearing white. I turn back to Quinn and Delphina and notice they’re both sporting snowy white sweaters.

“Did I not a get a memo?” I ask, gesturing toward my blue shirt.

“Apparently not,” Quinn grins.

Before I can pursue the subject, Holly races into the room. She blinks and comes to a stop when she spots me.

“Jack, I didn’t expect to see you here.” She lowers her voice. “This meeting isn’t directly related to the case against you, but I need you to promise not to speak up.”

I nod. “Got it.”

She gives me a knowing look. “Promise.”

“Fine. I promise.”

I hold her gaze until Anderson sniffs from the front of the room. “Counselor, we’re all waiting for you.”

Her smile tightens as she walks up the aisle to sit next to Noelle. Noelle wears a white sweater dress, Holly, a white pantsuit. Yeah, this was definitely coordinated. I lean against the wall and wonder what else they have up their sleeves.

Anderson raises his hands like a preacher at the pulpit and the chatter dies. “Most of you probably know me, but for those who don’t, I’m Assistant District Attorney Anders Carson. Thank you all for coming out tonight. It’s heartening to see such a strong turnout for this important community meeting. Especially during this busy time of year. So I’ll turn this over to Mrs. Swanson so we don’t keep you away from your holiday celebrations any longer than necessary.”

Vicky Swanson starts to rise, but Holly steps up to the microphone. “Before we hear from Mrs. Swanson, I want to say something in my role as counsel to the library. This is a community meeting. While we welcome interested spectators from outside Mistletoe Mountain, only residents of the town will be permitted to speak.” She looks James Woodlock dead in the eye and holds up a stack of papers. “The post office provided a list of every name and address in our zip code. If you aren’t on this list, we will not be hearing from you this evening.”

A rumble of complaint ripples through the protesters.

Officer Ned takes a step forward. “Anyone who disagrees is welcome to leave.”

The crowd quiets and I shake my head in admiration. Woodlock 0, Holly 1.

Holly gestures toward Vicky. “You’ve got the floor, Mrs. Swanson.”

The older woman walks to the microphone stand still clutching her sign. She stands, ill at ease, and scans the room. Her gaze falls on Woodlock and she seems to gather her thoughts.

“Hello. I’m Victoria Swanson.” She glances toward Holly and says, “I live at 128 Lake Road.” She waits for Holly to nod before going on. “I called this meeting because it came to my attention that some of the books that were placed in my little free library without my permission last week are unsavory. Now, I called the police because there was a strange man lurking in my yard, but once the district attorney explained what kind of materials had been added to my library, well, I knew it was a bigger issue. It impacts the whole town.”

Holly turns and gives Anderson a look that could freeze water. He looks away fast.

Noelle leans forward. “Mrs. Swanson, are you saying Mr. Carson told you the books had been banned in other towns?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I didn’t know. Now, Ms. Winters, you know how I feel about some of the inappropriate books that I see on the library shelves. Witchcraft, bad language, sex.” She says this last word in a hush. “But these books in my box, they’re even worse.”

Noelle waits a beat. “Are you finished?”

Vicky looks like she’s not sure. She shifts her gaze to Woodlock, who makes a ‘more’ motion. “Um, I just think we, as a community, need to commit to wholesome literature. For the children. Thank you.”

She hurries back to her seat, red-faced.

Noelle rises. “As the library director, I could spend the next hour telling you why Mrs. Swanson’s view is so dangerous and harmful to the children. But maybe it would be better to hear it from them.” She holds up a copy of the graphic novel, Persepolis . “This is one of the books in question.”

Farah edges her way to the front of the room and stands in front of the microphone. “I’m Farah Abboud. I’m a senior at the high school, and I work here part-time at the library. I’m going to college on a full scholarship next year. Persepolis was my favorite book when I was in middle school. It was actually a series, but I read them all in a collection. It was the first time I read a book about a girl like me.” She fingers her hijab absently. “And the courage the characters showed in the face of the Iranian Revolution, especially Marji, gave me the courage to try new things and accept who I am.”

She looks directly at Vicky Swanson for a moment before she steps away from the microphone.

“Thank you, Farah.” Noelle holds up copies of Mommy, Mama, and Me and Charlotte’s Web. “Now, we’re going to hear from Sunny Min and Brent Stillwater.” She gives an encouraging smile, and Farah ushers the little girl who flipped the switch to light the tree on Friday night and the chess-playing ringer from the children’s wing to the front of the room. The kids hold hands tightly.

Noelle removes the mic from the stand and crouches beside them. “Who wants to go first?”

“I will,” Sunny says. She leans forward and takes the copy of Mommy, Mama, and Me in her hands. “When I was little, I loved this picture book.” She pauses as soft laughter floats through the room at her phrasing. Noelle gives her an encouraging smile. “I loved it because it showed a family like mine. It would make me sad if other little kids didn’t get to see pictures of families like theirs.”

“Thank you, Sunny,” Noelle says.

“Your turn, Brent,” Sunny says. “You got this.”

There’s another chuckle from the crowd.

Brent gives a serious nod. “ Charlotte’s Web is a sad book, but it’s a really good book. And I don’t know if you know this, but people sometimes want to ban it because the animals can talk in it. It’s not real, Mrs. Swanson. I know animals can’t talk. But Charlotte really is a very smart spider. That’s all.”

Farah takes the kids back to their parents to a smattering of applause.

Anderson frowns and reaches for the microphone. “It’s all well and good to cherry-pick a few heartwarming stories, but some of these books lack any redeeming qualities.” He rifles through the pile of books Noelle has laid out on the table behind her. “Like this one.” He shakes a copy of The Sign of the Olive and the Dove. “It’s subversive. Anti-government. Dark and dystopian.”

My skin heats. My pulse spikes. I’m not going to let this stand. I can’t.

I take a step forward. Quinn yanks me back.

“You promised,” she hisses.

From their spot along the side wall, Ivy and Merry are pinning me twin death glares. I raise my hands in surrender and lean back against the wall. Meanwhile, Holly has snatched both the book and the mike from Anderson’s hands.

“You cannot be serious. Jackie Samuel’s Resistance series teaches empathy, courage, and optimism. It shows teenagers the power they have when they band together and raise their voices, the way Farah and her classmates did yesterday with their peaceful counter-protest. This series inspired me to go to law school, to work to make things better instead of lying down and accepting the status quo.” Her voice shakes with feeling and fierce conviction.

I struggle to keep my composure in the face of Holly’s impassioned defense. My heart hammers against my ribs as she cradles my mother’s book. She’s articulated exactly what Mom hoped to accomplish with the series. The desperate need to tell her the truth of who I am claws at my throat, but I swallow it back. Not here. Not now.

Just then Vicky Swanson stands up, whispers “excuse me,” and runs out of the room. When she streaks past me, I’m sure I see tears in her eyes.

I follow her out into the hallway. As I do, just before the door swings closed, I hear Anderson discrediting Holly’s position as "emotional,” but I know Holly can take care of herself. Right now, I’m not so sure Vicky Swanson can.

She stands facing the window, her thin shoulders shaking. I take two mugs of hot cocoa from the table Merry’s Sweets has set up outside the meeting room and walk over to join her.

“Hot chocolate?”

She turns to me, swiping tears away from her cheeks. After a long moment, she takes the outstretched cup. “Aren’t you …?”

“I’m Jack Bell. I started this mess by putting those books in your library box.”

She frowns. “No, my Pete has it right. I started this mess.” She looks at me wryly. “Pete, he’s my husband, you know what he said to me?”

“I don’t.”

“He said I deserve a lump of coal in my stocking for kicking up such a fuss.” She shakes her head and sips the hot drink. “He didn’t even come tonight. Said he couldn’t in good conscience. Said Douglas would be appalled.”

“Who’s Douglas?” Something tells me to ask the question gently.

“He’s our son. Was our son. He overdosed during his freshman year at college. I’ve spent fifteen years wondering what I could have done to prevent it. Maybe I shouldn’t have allowed video games. Or rap music. Or certain books. What could I have done so that he’d still be alive?”

My chest tightens. “I’m so sorry. And I obviously didn’t know your son, but I know this much: what happened wasn’t your fault.”

She sets the cup on the windowsill and wrings her hands, staring out at the glowing holiday lights on the square. “Maybe, maybe not. I don’t ever want another parent to go through that. But then, I hear those kids talking about what the books mean to them, and I think, maybe I’m wrong?”

I study her. She’s brittle and maybe a bit difficult. But her experience has shaped her. I see a woman in need of connection, community, and care, and I make a snap decision.

“I’m helping Noelle plan a Banned Books Bingo for the Bookmas Event. Why don’t you join the committee?”

“Oh, I don’t?—”

“I think you should. It might ease your concerns about some of the books. And we could use someone with a green thumb to help Ivy with the flower arrangements.”

She blinks behind her glasses then musters up a smile, just as the doors open, and the crowd pours out, making a beeline for the treats.

“I’d like that.”