The week passes quickly. New books and magazines make their way into my saddlebag and then out again, as I travel a new circuit each day. Gulliver's Travels, Popular Mechanics, Women's Home Companion and a variety of children's picture books. Not everyone can read so children's books are popular because of the illustrations.
On Friday, I leave Mockingjay behind and walk a couple of miles to the central library, eager to meet the other librarians in the program.
There are four in my district, Johanna, Lavinia, Cecelia, and myself. I am the youngest and only unmarried woman in the group. Lavinia and Cecelia even have children. Both have unemployed husbands, though, who tend their children while they work.
Mr. Adkins opens the meeting by showing us a pile of books and magazines that were recently donated. Next we go around the table and talk about our week.
It's interesting to listen to the other librarians' experiences. Some have become such personal friends with the people they visit that they're exchanging recipes, like they're members of the family.
"How are things going?" Mr. Adkins asks me.
"I could use more books and magazines about romance. It seems to be quite popular on my routes."
Johanna snorts loudly. "Clove used to say that as well. I told her it was because of the illustrations on the cover with those half-naked women."
I bite my lip to stop from laughing aloud. I'd had the same thought myself. The covers of some magazines, Love Story for instance, were sensationally drawn to entice the reader to look inside. A few people had refused particular issues because of the picture on front, calling it indecent.
"There was a book Clove said that everyone kept requesting," Johanna continues. "Something about a rich man."
"The Rich Man's Pearl," I murmur.
I'd just passed along the well-worn paperback yesterday to an elderly woman. It surprised me that an old, wrinkled granny would be interested in such a sentimental tale.
The story synopsis on the back cover described it as romantic yarn about a man who gives up everything to win the heart of the woman he loves. I would have supposed that that elderly patron would prefer more practical reading matter. Surely she was long past caring about such frivolous concerns.
"Lucky you," Johanna says. "I got the routes with all the religious folks. All they want are Sunday school papers and to pray for my soul."
After listening to Johanna's forthright remarks for the past hour, I'm not surprised that some folks might want to pray for her redemption.
We go through the new donations with Mr. Adkins after the meeting ends. We mend the bindings of books with masking tape. Torn pages are fixed with scotch tape.
A few magazines are so frayed that they cannot be repaired. Mr. Adkins rips the pages apart.
Johanna reaches across the table and snatches a photo of the British royal family that comes from an old issue of Life magazineout of the stack of pages. "I can use this picture for the book I'm making."
I look to Mr. Adkins. "You mentioned that we make books, too, on my first day."
"Scrapbooks," he says, pointing to the stack of loose papers that Johanna has set on the table in front of her. Photographs, illustrations, and articles from magazines have been neatly trimmed and glued onto the pages. She's also handwritten a couple of recipes down.
"We need more materials to distribute and this is a way to make our own," Mr. Adkins says. "Everything we have comes from donations. The WPA only pays salaries, nothing more."
The others have also brought their saddlebags along, something I hadn't thought to do. They empty them and then re-stock them with different books and magazines. Mr. Adkins tells me to stop by Monday morning before heading out to do the same.
At the day's end, I walk home invigorated by my conversation with the other librarians. Still, I'm glad that it's Friday. This is my first week of employment in years, and I'm tired. I look forward to sitting in the front room and listening to the radio this evening.
But when I arrive home, Dr. Snow sits in an armchair in our front room drinking tea with my mother.
She scowls, as she sets down her cup. "I tell you we can't do it. I will not have a man living here with my unmarried daughter. It isn't proper."
"Respectability should be the least of your concerns, Lily." The doctor picks up his cup up from the side table to take a sip.
My eyebrows rise. I greet the doctor and ask what's going on.
"I went to see the patient you told me about, Peeta Mellark."
"How's he doing?" I sit down next to my mother on the sofa, clench my hands, and brace myself for bad news.
"Much better."
I let out a silent sigh of relief. Thoughts of his piercing, blue eyes have drifted through my mind several times over the past few days.
"You saved his leg," Dr. Snow says. "Unfortunately he'll never get better if he stays in that house. There's no running water, no electricity and the bathroom is outdoors. Quite frankly the living conditions are unsanitary."
The living conditions of Peeta's home are similar to nearly everyone on my library route. No one has indoor plumbing or electricity.
"I need to see him regularly to make sure his leg heals properly and I can't be traveling into the hills a couple times a week. I was just telling your mother that it would be best if he were to board here for the next month. Your sister's bedroom is empty."
Does Dr. Snow mean to help us to earn some extra money? I guess my acceptance of a WPA job has caught his notice that the Everdeens are in serious financial straits.
But as I consider the logistics of taking in a boarder - more especially a man who makes me anxious just thinking about him - doubts fill my mind. How could it work? I am gone from the house all day. Would my mother physically be able to tend to Peeta if he needs help walking? Her health has been up and down over recent years.
Besides, how does Peeta have money to pay us? His sister-in-law didn't even want to call the doctor because of the expense.
I shake my head. "I don't think we could do it, Dr. Snow. Maybe there's another family that could help."
The doctor gives me an odd look. "If only it were that simple. The thing is, I'm not asking you to do this. I'm telling you to do it."
A frightened look crosses my mother's face and my stomach drops at the tone in his voice. Something is wrong.
"I don't understand."
"You haven't told her, have you, Lily?"
My mother's face is white.
"Told me what?"
"Your mother owes me money. A great deal."
I turn to her. "For what?
When she doesn't answer, the doctor chimes in. "I paid your sister's tuition for nursing school with the proviso that she'd come to work for me afterwards at a partial salary until I was fully reimbursed."
Shocked, I turn to my mother. "Was Primmie aware of this arrangement?"
"No, I didn't tell her. But it was the only way I could send her for training."
"I don't understand why you would do this, Mama."
"I meant it to be a good thing," my mother explains. "Primmie would have had a guaranteed job after graduation. How was I to know she'd fall in love with a doctor and move away?"
She's blaming my sister for her financial problems? My thoughts flit rapidly ahead to other expenses. "But how did you pay for her wedding then?"
My mother bites her lip. "I took out a loan against the house with the bank. I had to. What would people think of our family if Primmie had a small wedding?"
I shake with anger.
There is one last card I can think of to play to persuade Dr. Snow to change his mind about turning our house into his personal nursing home.
"Did he tell you who shot him?"
The doctor nods. "I'm fully aware of Peeta Mellark's situation. He's not the first man in those hills I've had to treat."
"Well, I don't want the authorities showing up here and getting us into trouble too if he's wanted for a crime."
"What happened?" My mother asks.
I lower my voice. "He was shot by revenuers."
My mother scowls. "Now Coriolanus..."
But Dr. Snow breaks in. "Peeta Mellark has not committed any crimes. He was shot by some idiot revenuer that mistook him for his brother, who is a moonshiner.
"Believe me, if Peeta had done something, other than being at the wrong place at the wrong time, they would already have him in custody."
It seems, then, we have no choice, although I do wonder how Peeta pays Dr. Snow for his care. In moonshine?
But I guess it doesn't concern us since no money will come our way in this transaction; rather by taking Peeta in, we will begin to pay down our debt to Dr. Snow.
Grimacing, I look to the doctor. "All right then, when can we expect him?"
"As soon as I can get him moved here."
After he leaves, my mother lashes out. "I don't want a strange man in this house. What will the neighbors say? What will Gale think?"
"Who cares about the neighbors, Mama. Tell them he's a long-lost relative paying us a visit. As for Gale, I think he'd be glad that we're paying off our debt to Dr. Snow."
What will Gale think? He knew why I had to take the WPA job, but I think he'd be shocked to see how low the Everdeens had sunk. Would he reconsider our engagement if he knew of my mother's secret debts.
It occurs to me that my mother might owe money to others in town as well, but I'm too aggravated and too hungry to ask about it now. I need to make some dinner for us.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Peeta Mellark moves into our house Sunday afternoon. I have no idea how Dr. Snow transports him down the hillside, but he is on crutches as he gets out of the doctor's car. His face is pale as he maneuvers the steps up to our porch and inside the front door. The doctor follows him carrying a satchel.
He is every bit as good-looking as I remember, maybe even better because he has shaved and combed his hair.
My mother decides he will not sleep in Primmie's bedroom because it is upstairs, too close to our rooms, and with his injury it would be difficult for him to go up and down the stairs.
Instead, we put him in the study downstairs. The room, which is almost as large as the cabin where I first met Peeta, contains a daybed, an upholstered armchair, a desk, and a wall of books that used to belong to my father.
It has a big window that overlooks the untended side yard of the house.
Peeta sits on the daybed and surveys the room. A smile appears on his face. "Yes, this will work fine."
"Well, I hope so." My mother's tone is curt.
Dr. Snow asks about the bathroom and my mother frowns. Our house has only one bathroom and it is located across the hall from the study. She is angry that we must share it with this stranger for the next month.
"Well, I'll let you get settled Peeta," the doctor says and Mama and I follow him out, closing the door to give Peeta his privacy.
We go into the front room and Dr. Snow gives us brief instructions about Peeta's care. Other than providing meals and checking on him a couple of times a day, we aren't required to do anything. The doctor will stop by every few days to change the dressing on his calf.
Once Dr. Snow leaves, I go into the kitchen to fix our Sunday dinner. Mama and I usually eat a large lunch on Sunday after attending church. Dinner is light, generally soup and toast.
But I have no idea when or what Peeta has last eaten, so I make a sandwich for him, and ladle out a bowl of potato soup.
I put it all on a tray, carry it to his room, and knock lightly on the door.
"Come in," he calls out.
I open it and find him on crutches standing in front of the bookcases. He turns to look at me.
"I brought you some food."
A grateful smile crosses his face as I set it on the desktop that will act as his table.
"Thank you." He comes over and awkwardly reaches past his crutches to pull out the desk chair, before sitting down.
I head for the door.
"Miss Everdeen, thank you and your mother for taking me in."
We had no choice, I want to say, but I keep my mouth shut. Instead I say, "Call me Katniss."
"Thank you Katniss for everything."
"Your welcome." I close the door behind me.
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
I don't see Peeta until the next morning when I carry breakfast in to him. I knock lightly on the study door before dawn. I expect that he is still asleep but I will leave the food on the desktop for when he wakes up.
However, the floor lamp is lit. He sits in the armchair reading.
"You're an early riser," I say, setting the tray on the desk.
He puts the book down onto his lap. "This room is astounding. Do you keep all the library books you lend out here?"
It takes a moment for me to understand what he means. He thinks that our home library is the central library for Dandelion.
"No. These books belonged to my late father."
"He certainly read widely."
"He did." My hand flies to my chin as memories of my father wash over me. He was a scholarly man who loved academics but instead chose to make his mark in the business world after his family suffered financial loss during the years following the Panic of 1893. Not a day goes by when I don't think of him and miss him.
I wonder what he'd think of our current predicament.
Smiling slyly at me, Peeta picks up the book in his lap and reads aloud. "See how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!"
I startle at his words, and drop my hand from my face and to my side.
"Is that from Romeo and Juliet?"
"Yes. You left a copy with Delly. I saw it on the shelf and wanted to finish reading it."
Other than my father, I can't think of any man I know who would willingly read Romeo and Juliet. I doubt Gale ever has.
A twinge of guilt hits me as I compare my fiancé with Peeta.
"I'm going to work now. My mother will bring in your lunch this afternoon."
"Thank you, Katniss."
I leave the room wondering about Peeta. If Dr. Snow is correct and he isn't a moonshiner, how does he earn a living?
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
My mother complains about Peeta's presence in the house. She is suspicious of him because he is too quiet.
I say he likely spends the day reading or sleeping. "He is supposed to be recovering, Mama."
Dr. Snow visits him while I am at work. According to my mother, they talk for a long time behind closed doors.
After a couple of days of eating alone in his room, Peeta invites himself to join us in the kitchen for dinner. My mother fumes in silent rage, speaking only when necessary. I am polite; but I, too, am annoyed. I'm tired at the end of the day and don't want to socialize.
But Peeta melts my icy mood by mentioning things he's read in my father's books. His face becomes quite animated, intense even as he speaks, making me all the more curious about him. He seems much too refined for someone who was raised in the hills surrounding Dandelion. His table manners are quite impressive, too.
The next evening he asks me about my work as a traveling librarian. I've haven't talked about my job to my mother because I knew she was against me taking it. But I find myself describing the day's ride and the people I met. Of course, Peeta knows most everyone on my circuit. He leaves me in stitches telling me funny tales about them.
Without thinking, I find myself mentioning the scrapbook I've started.
"I can draw," he says. "Maybe I can help you with it."
My mother, who has listened to the entire conversation with pursed lips interrupts to ask me about Gale. "Have you written to your fiancé yet? I'm sure he'd be most interested in your work.
"Katniss' fiancé works for Senator Undersee in Frankfort," she boasts to Peeta."
Peeta nods, and reaches for his crutches and stands up. "Thank you for the delicious meal," he says as he abruptly leaves for the study.
As soon as the study door closes, I whisper loudly to my mother. "Why did you do that? It was plain rude."
"I can see exactly what's going on here Katniss and I won't have it."
"What's going on?"
"I've never seen you like this. Flirting. Laughing at silly stories. You're falling for him."
My face grows red at her accusation. "I'm not. Can't I have a simple conversation with a man if I'm engaged?"
My mother snorts. "Is that why you haven't worn your ring once since he's moved in?"
I haven't worn the ring because I'm scared of the stone falling out of its setting or getting damaged while I'm working. It's a beautiful ring, but not very practical for the life I'm currently leading.
Besides what does my mother know about Gale's and my engagement? Only yesterday I received a letter from Gale in which he described a dinner he'd attended at the Senator's home and the long conversation he'd had with the senator's daughter.
Madge filled me in on the latest gossip in the state capital. There's so much scandal here. It's a big help to know what's going on.
If Gale can converse so freely with the senator's daughter, discussing who knows what kind of scandals, there's no reason I can't have a friendly conversation with Peeta about library books.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"How's Peeta doing?" Delly asks when Mockingjay and I arrive at her cabin next.
"Good. I expect he'll be fit to come back home to you in a few weeks."
"Oh, but he doesn't live here," she says. "He was only visiting."
My eyebrows rise. "Where does he live?"
"Chicago."
"Up north?" A knot forms in the pit of my stomach. I'll likely never see Peeta again once he leaves our house then.
You're engaged, I remind myself, a phrase that springs to mind repeatedly every time my thoughts fly to Peeta.
Delly nods her head vigorously. "Oh yes, Peeta's famous up there. He sells his drawings to all the magazines."
My eyes narrow. This woman must be telling a tall tale. If Peeta is a famous artist, why have I never heard of him?
Still, he can draw quite well, as he so plainly showed me the previous evening when he drew a sketch of me on Mockingjay for the cover of my book.
And if he had a good job, it would explain how he could afford to pay for Dr. Snow's care.
Delly excuses herself to got inside and retrieve Romeo and Juliet.
"What a horrible story," she says as she hands me the book. "It's too bad that Friar Lawrence was a fool. It seems to me that he could have fixed things differently so that Romeo and Juliet could have run off and had a good life away from their feuding families.
A smile comes to my lips at her re-imagined conclusion. "So you'd change Shakespeare's ending then?"
"I like happy endings. I don't need to read something sad where nothing works out in the end. I have enough troubles of my own."
I do, too.
I give her a copy of Love Story magazine. I'd been saving it especially for her today.
"Goody." She snatches it from my hands. "Maybe I can read a little before the kids wake up. But I'm still waiting for The Rich Man's Pearl," she reminds me.
As is nearly every woman on my circuits. I need to read that book.
I turn to go but she stops me. "Could you tell Peeta that I got a letter from Rye? They're letting him out soon. My brother Sam is helping me in the meantime."
"All right." Had Peeta been at the cabin to watch over Delly and her children while his brother was in jail? It's none of my business, still I find myself growing intrigued about the man living in our study.
As I ride home that evening I consider Delly's revelations. Who is the real Peeta Mellark?
Author's Note: Richard Drew, an employee of 3M, invented masking tape in 1925. In 1930, he invented scotch tape.
The Panic of 1893 was an economic depression in the United Sates that lasted until 1897 and affected every part of the economy. It was accompanied by violent strikes and massive unemployment.
Pulp magazines were popular, inexpensive fiction magazines that were published between 1896 to the 1950s. The term pulp comes from the cheap wood pulp paper the magazines were printed on. At their peak of popularity in the 1920s and 1930s, they often sold up to a million copies per issue. It's estimated that in 1934 there were about 150 "pulp" magazines being published, one of which was Love Story. Pulp covers were printed on higher-quality (slick) paper. They were famous for their half-dressed damsels in distress. Covers were important enough to sales that sometimes they would be designed first and authors would be asked to write a story based on the cover.