After a brief conversation with Reed, I went back to my tea.
The opening of the new wing of the library is an important event for me.
The George Thornberry Wing is what it will be called—a place where children will be able to discover the world of books as George once did.
He would be happy knowing that his name was associated with something so meaningful.
Finished with my tea, I began to get ready for my morning shift at the library.
Three times a week, I volunteered there, helping out in the children’s department.
I read fairy tales to the kids, helped school children with book selection, and sometimes just talked to teenagers who came to the library not so much for books as for the silence and understanding they lacked at home.
This work gave me a sense of need that I had been deprived of for so long.
The children looked at me not as a burden, not as a source of inheritance, but as a person who could give them something—knowledge, attention, kindness.
On my way to the library, I met Martha Finch—my new friend and housemate.
An energetic widow in her seventies, a former math teacher.
She was one of the people who had helped me settle into my new place.
“Edith,” she waved at me. “I’m going to the bakery for fresh bread. Do you want me to bring you anything?”
“Thank you, Martha. I’m fine.” I smiled. “I have a big day today and I’ll have lunch in town after the opening ceremony.”
“Oh, yes. Today is the opening of your George Wing.” She nodded. “That’s very good of you, Edith. Such a generous donation. Such a tribute to your husband.”
I thanked her and continued on my way to the library.
After that night at the restaurant, news of my donation spread quickly through Blue Springs.
People’s reactions varied.
Some thought I was a heroine.
Some thought I was a crazy old woman who had disinherited her own children.
But I didn’t care.
I knew I’d done the right thing.
At the library, preparations for the opening ceremony were already in full swing.
Workers were setting up the stage in front of the new wing.
Volunteers were hanging garlands and arranging chairs.
Miss Apprentice—the head librarian—was running between them, dispensing instructions with an energy surprising for a woman of her age.
“Edith,” she exclaimed when she saw me. “How good of you to come. We need help with the books for the new shelves. Can you select the children’s books that you think should be displayed first?”
I happily agreed.
I spent the next few hours going through books ranging from classic fairy tales to contemporary stories.
Each one I evaluated in terms of what would appeal to children of different ages.
It was an enjoyable job, reminding me of the times I used to read Wesley and Thelma before bedtime.
Memories of the children no longer caused such acute pain as they used to.
I accepted the situation for what it was.
They didn’t grow up to be what I wanted them to be, but they were my children, and I still loved them.
It’s just that now that love was more detached, without illusions or expectations.
At noon, I returned home to rest before the ceremony.
Walking into the apartment, I saw the blinking indicator for new messages on my answering machine.
The first one was from Wesley.
“Mom, it’s me. I wanted to tell you that Kora and I are coming to the library opening tonight. I know you didn’t invite us, but it’s a community event and we… we want to support you. Please call me back if you get this message.”
The second message was from Thelma.
“Mom, I’m calling to say I can’t make it to the ceremony today. I have an emergency order at the store. I need to get the flowers ready for the wedding. I know it’s a big day for you and I’m very sorry. I’ll call you tonight to see how it went.”
I grimaced.
Some things don’t change.
Wesley had probably hoped that his presence at the ceremony would somehow soften me up. Perhaps he still thought he could convince me to change my mind about the inheritance.
And Thelma, as usual, found a reason not to come.
Rush order was an old excuse she’d used for years.
After a light lunch, I started getting ready for the ceremony.
I showered, styled my hair, put on the same dark blue dress and pearl necklace, a gift from George.
Finished getting ready, I sat down in a chair to get some rest before Reed arrived.
My gaze fell on the picture of George on the dresser—the only one I’d taken from the old house.
It showed him the way I loved him best: laughing with a slight streak in his hair, wrinkles around his eyes from his frequent smiles.
“What would you say if you saw me now, George?” I mentally asked him. “Would you approve of my decisions?”
And I could almost hear his answer.
You are living for yourself at last, Edith. Of course I approve.
The doorbell heralded Reed’s arrival.
He looked excited and happy, wearing a stiff suit that made him look even more like his grandfather.
“Grandma, you look amazing,” he exclaimed, kissing me on the cheek. “Are you ready for your finest hour?”
“I don’t think you could call it my finest time,” I grinned, picking up my purse. “But yeah, I’m ready.”
On the way to the library, Reed talked about his schoolwork, his plans for the summer, how he and Audrey were thinking of taking a little trip down the coast.
“Wouldn’t you like to come with us, Grandma?” he suddenly asked. “It would be great. Quiet beaches, small coastal towns, great food.”
“Honey, you’re a young couple,” I smiled. “You don’t need an old grandmother as a third extra.”
“You’ll never be an extra,” Reed said seriously. “Not for me. Not for Audrey. She really wants you to go, too, by the way. She says, ‘You tell the most interesting stories.’”
I was touched.
Perhaps I really could go with them for a few days.
It would be a new experience—traveling without commitment, without having to take care of anyone, just for fun.
“I’ll think about it,” I promised. “In the meantime, let’s focus on today.”
When we arrived at the library, the square in front of it was already filled with people.
The white chairs arranged in rows in front of the makeshift stage were almost all occupied.
The new wing of the library, built of light colored brick and glass, gleamed in the afternoon sun.
Above the entrance hung a golden plaque, still covered with cloth.
George Thornberry Wing.
Miss Apprentice met us at the entrance, glowing with excitement.
“Edith, at last, we’ve been expecting you. Your place in the front row, of course—and for your grandson, too.”
She led us to the seats for the guests of honor.
I spotted Wesley and Kora in the crowd, standing off to the side, looking around uncertainly.
When Wesley saw me, he waved and started making his way toward us.
I nodded back but didn’t linger, following Miss Apprentice.
As I sat down, I looked around at the crowd.
Many familiar faces—neighbors from the old neighborhood, new friends from the house where I now lived, parents of the kids I worked with at the library.
And among them, Lewis Quinnland, in an elegant light gray suit.
Noticing my gaze, he nodded slightly and smiled.
After that evening at the restaurant, we saw each other several times. He stopped by the library, seemingly by chance, when I was working there. He invited me for a cup of coffee and asked me how I was settling in at my new place.
In his company, I felt not like an old widow, but just a woman—an interesting conversationalist.
The ceremony began with the mayor’s speech, a standard speech about the importance of education and culture for small towns.
Miss Apprentice then spoke, talking about how long the library has needed expansion, and how my donation made it possible.
“And now I would like to invite to the stage the woman who has brought us all here,” she announced. “Mrs. Edith Thornberry.”
To a round of applause, I took the stage.
I had never liked public speaking, but today I felt strangely calm.
I knew what I had to say, and I knew it would be the right words.
“Good afternoon, friends,” I began as the applause died down. “I am not a great master of speeches, so I will be brief.”
“This wing is named in honor of my husband, George Thornberry—a man who loved two things more than anything: his family and books.”
I paused, looking at the people gathered.
“Books open doors to other worlds. They teach us to empathize, to think, to dream. They help us realize that we are not alone in our feelings and thoughts.”
“George believed in the power of books. He read to our children every night, even though he was tired after work. He believed that a good book could change a child’s life.”
I saw Wesley and Kora squeeze closer to the stage. Wesley’s face was tense, as if he expected me to say something unpleasant about him.
“My hope is that this new wing will be a place where the children of Blue Springs can find books that will change their lives, where they will learn to love reading the way my George loved it, and where they will realize that the most important things in life are not material possessions, but knowledge, love, and kindness.”
I looked right at my children.
“Sometimes we forget these simple truths. Sometimes we get too caught up in the pursuit of material things, forgetting what really matters. But it’s never too late to remember. It’s never too late to change your life.”
With those words, I turned to Miss Apprentice, letting her know I was done.
