Momma Grizzly #7
Entry 7 of 39
Continuing the memoir of Kelly Clegg. - Parce
I crossed the street and paused in front of the museum. Parents were lingering outside again. I had an overwhelming urge to storm in there, interrupt story time, and demand a conversation with Garrett. I’d done similar things before, as if monopolizing his time here would somehow entice him to stay longer. I had lost count of how many circular arguments we’d had about his volunteering in another state.
But I was here for work this time, and the building next to the museum soon had my full attention. The public library was no older than the other historical fixtures on this street, but neglect had aged it prematurely.
My mother-in-law, Maggie, was the only volunteer librarian these days. But even she was only there two or three days a week. Not many people were interested in the library now that every book in the world could be accessed on devices like the one in my pocket.
The library was long and low, and the door smelled like pine. The glass in the windows had turned opaque, and there were no obvious sources of ventilation aside from the occasional sputter of a retrofitted AC unit. “That place is nailed up like a coffin,” Gordon liked to say.
Just another ugly thought to dismiss. I walked onto the front step and dug my hand into my purse. Because of Maggie’s sporadic schedule, she had copied me a key. I let myself into the smelly old building.
The door groaned as I pushed it open. I made a mental note to oil the hinges for Maggie. She tried, bless her, but the maintenance needs of this place were outpacing her capabilities as she aged.
I flipped on a light. The main space was narrow, stretching back beyond the reach of the bulb above my head. The rows of shelves and old books between here and there offered some comfort, but I still couldn’t help thinking of a mausoleum. Near the entrance stood Maggie’s desk, dusty and steadfast. Beside that was another door for which I had no key.
As usual, I battled a crawling stomach from the moment the front door closed behind me. It wasn’t so bad when Maggie was here, but I couldn’t stand it when I was alone. The ancient, heavy air over Grünwald seemed to concentrate here.
I wasted no time heading for the reference section. The only sound was from my boots, muted by the tweedy carpet. I grabbed a couple of books whose titles looked promising.
Hill Country Heroes: Texas Men Who Fought and Died in the Second World War
A Brief History of Grünwald, the Hidden Gem of Texas
I brought my finds over to Maggie’s desk, found her stamp, and checked them out to myself. Satisfied, I left the cloying little library behind. I could do the rest from home.
“I have experienced something that only a select few in the world ever get to. I attended a Veterans Day celebration right here in Grünwald, Texas. Now, we all love our troops here in Texas, as well we should, but in this town it runs deeper than that. Our pride in our veterans is as foundational as the soil we stand on. Our trees drink it and breathe it into the air. Why is that? Why is Grünwald, above all others, so steeped in the values of duty and sacrifice?
Since the First World War, most boys in town, and a fair few of the girls these days, have gone off to serve in the military. Some make a career of it; many more come home to pursue other professions.
Grünwald was big on mentorships back then, and it still is today. If someone decided to forgo college after their military service, and go into HVAC or plumbing instead, the tradesmen were more than eager to take them on as an apprentice. After decades of this system working well, it became a tradition and then something of an expectation. Now, everyone in town is either a veteran or personally connected to one.
So when we throw our annual Veterans Day bash at the park next to the VFW, you can bet that everyone in town will be there, bringing in friends and family from all over. It’s in our blood.”
“Kelly,” I said out loud to my dining room/office in my best Ike impression, “this article is a steaming pile of crap.” I mashed my fingers on the keyboard and gazed at the open books on the table. It was time to face reality. I was officially in a slump.
I sipped on my third cup of tea and tried not to look at the clock. I wondered if it had been better if I had stayed away from the museum. Maybe I’d have an easier time concentrating on my work right now if I had left Garrett alone.
My phone buzzed on my desk. I glanced down. As I had expected, it was Sammie, probably letting me know they were back from the lake. I let it ring. I needed to get this done. I decided I would finish this paragraph and then text her that I wouldn’t be able to hang out tonight.
I forced another couple of bad sentences into the draft and picked up my phone. Sammie was calling a second time. My brow furrowed. She never blew my phone up like this.
“Hello?”
“Oh, my God, Kelly!” Sammie’s voice was so shrill I barely recognized it.
I jumped to my feet. “What’s wrong?”
“I was so stupid, I should have listened…”
“Sammie, what happened?”
“Something hit us, the car went off the road… I can’t find Emma Lee.”