Page 22 of Witch and Tell

“Please.” I motioned toward a chair. “Have a seat. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

The older boy slouched into the chair, instead, and pulled out a phone to play a video game. The younger boy, probably just old enough to read, wandered toward the atrium.

Their mother leaned over my desk. “It’s the person you have working in the kids’ room.”

“Mona?”

“No. Someone else. Short, stocky. Smiles a lot.”

Wanda. “She’s a new volunteer. She doesn’t know the books very well yet.”

The woman shook her head. “It’s not that. My son found a story he wanted to check out, and the volunteer told him he shouldn’t read it, that it wasn’t good for him.”

“What book was it?” News in the library world was rife with stories of censorship. Everything from Anne Frank’sThe Diary of a Young GirltoThe Handmaid’s Talehad been challenged. So far, no one in Wilfred had issues with our book selection. The biggest complaints I’d received were about the coffee—some patrons liked French roast, and others preferred something lighter.

“Pete the Cat,”the woman said.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Did you sayPete the Cat?”

“Yes. We have a cat named Pete, so my son was really excited when he saw the book. Then this lady tells us we’re making a mistake. What’s that about?”

Instead of replying what I thought, which wasI have no freaking idea, I calmly said, “I see. Thank you for telling me. I’ll have a word with her.”

Wanda had a drawer in Old Man Thurston’s desk for her library files. I taped a note to its outside: “Please see me. Josie.” Then on second thought, I added, “Head Librarian” and underlined it.

Not an hour later, Wanda appeared at my office door, holding the note as if it were coated in acid. “Josie?”

I swiveled toward her and gestured to the armchair near me. “Please, have a seat.” Thanks to Rodney’s frequent naps in the chair, she’d have cat fur on her rear end. Pete the cat would approve.

Clearly suspicious, Wanda lowered herself on the chair. “I only have a minute. I have work to do.”

I smiled. “That’s what I wanted to talk with you about.”

I felt a furry bump on my calf. Rodney. He had hidden under the desk. With my foot, I gently eased him out of view.

“Your job,” I began, “is to keep Children’s Literature tidy and to help people find the books they need.”

“Is this about the lady yesterday? The one who got so mad when I gave her my opinion about a book?”

“You’re entitled to your views, Wanda.”

“Of course I am.”

“But you’re not entitled to make patrons feel uncomfortable. The children’s room is set aside for kids to pull whatever books they want from the shelves. They should feel free to explore. Parents need to know they’re not judged if they choose a story for their kids that happens to feature something you don’t like. None of that can happen when you’re openly questioning their choices.” I kept my tone even and friendly and sensed the cheers from every shelf in Old Man Thurston’s office.

Wanda stood so suddenly that her chair bumped against the low shelf behind her. However, her voice was deceptively nonchalant. I could see a thousand thoughts racing through her mind—thoughts she wouldn’t tell me.

“I’m so glad we had this talk. I’d better get back to work.”

“Just a moment,” I said. “Does this have anything to do with Rodney? I noticed you seem uncomfortable when he’s around.”

She kept a hand on the doorknob. “I find it curious that a cat runs loose in a public institution.”

That was neither a yes nor a no. “If he bothers you, I can keep him upstairs when you’re here.”

“I didn’t say that. This is a bigger issue than Rodney.”

Maybe Mona’s foster charges bothered her, too? I was puzzled. “Tell me more.”