The Giving Quilt (15 page)

Aghast, Linnea, her colleagues, and the library's most loyal patrons promptly responded. They wrote clear, fact-based letters to the editor. They made impassioned speeches before the budget committee. They passed out bookmarks at the circulation desk listing the top twenty ways public libraries benefited their communities. They urged patrons to contact city hall to make their wishes known. If their opponents knew the facts, they assured one another, they wouldn't dream of closing the library.

The mayor and city council seemed firmly on their side until word of the conflict caught the attention of Ezra McNulty, a talk-radio firebrand Linnea and Kevin had always considered more of a showman than a journalist. On one slow news day, he read aloud a letter he had received from a member of the group Close the Book, California, an affiliation of parents and citizens dedicated to removing books they deemed offensive from school and public libraries. “After reading about the budget debate online, I infiltrated this seemingly wholesome small-town library and examined the shelves,” the writer, known only as “Concerned Citizen,” had said. “Within minutes I found nearly all of the books on the American Library Association's list of the one hundred most challenged books. More shocking yet, several of the most offensive books—
The Great Gatsby
,
The Catcher in the Rye
,
The Grapes of Wrath
,
To Kill a Mockingbird
,
The Color Purple
,
Beloved
, and
Lord of the Flies
—were protuberantly displayed in the middle of the children's department! It makes me absolutely sick to think that my tax dollars help pay the salaries of the subversive librarians who peddle this trash to children.”

Ezra McNulty applauded Concerned Citizen's investigative reporting and urged his listeners to visit the Close the Book, California website to learn how to support their cause. “Think this couldn't happen in your town?” he asked, lowering his voice ominously. “How long has it been since you've visited your local public library? If it's public, shouldn't it represent your values? Do you know what's on those shelves? If you don't, you should. I tell you, folks, you'd be outraged.”

Linnea didn't listen to the program as it was broadcast. She had been working at the time, and she never tuned her dial to that station anyway, preferring music and the far more rational and less strident news coverage found on public radio. She listened instead to an online, archived edition in the library director's office with Alicia Torres, the president of the Friends of the Library Foundation, and Gary Moore, a representative from the city department of human resources. The three watched Linnea pensively as she listened.

“We've received dozens of letters of complaint,” the library director said when the program broke for a commercial. “More were sent to city hall.”

Linnea took a deep, shaky breath, thankful beyond measure that Concerned Citizen had not mentioned her by name, other wise the outraged listeners surely would have sent more letters directly to her home—or staged a protest in the public easement in front of her house.

“The books were
protuberantly
displayed,” Alicia said acidly. “Someone's been abusing his thesaurus. And how clever of him to successfully navigate our defenses to infiltrate our library. Only a highly trained navy SEAL could read the sign on the door and know to pull instead of push.”

“Alicia,” the library director said, “I understand your anger—I share it—but let's focus on our next step. Linnea, do you have any response to this?”

Linnea managed a shaky laugh. “Other than shock, disgust, and dismay?”

The library director folded her hands upon the top of her desk. “If Ezra McNulty phoned the library today and asked why those books were set out on the shelves of the children's department, what would you tell him?”

“Well, first I'd clarify that they were in the young adult section, not on the shelves with the picture books and early readers. Then I'd explain that the books in question were part of a display about Banned Books Week.” Linnea's explanation was for the human resources representative's benefit; Alicia and the library director already knew. “Those books are also included in the Conejo Hills High School curriculum and have been on the syllabus for years. We've never had a single complaint from a parent or library patron in all the time I've worked here.” Suddenly her heart lurched. Were they going to tell her she no longer did?

The library director must have seen the alarm in her eyes. “We're on your side, Linnea. We know you've done nothing wrong.”

With a glance Gary's way, Alicia added, “Our concern is that our opponents might use this completely fabricated controversy to justify closing the library.”

Nodding, Linnea too turned her gaze upon Gary, who wouldn't necessarily be on the library's side as far as city budget cuts were concerned. “May I ask why you're here?”

“To meet you, and to witness that you've been apprised of the situation.” He dug in the inside pocket of his suit jacket and handed her his card. “Close the Book, California has a history of suing cities, libraries, and individual librarians. If this should happen to you, I'll be your contact person within city hall. I can help you secure legal representation and advise you of your rights as a city employee.”

Linnea felt the blood drain from her face as she accepted his card. “You're just giving me the worst-case scenario, right? This isn't likely to go to such extremes, is it?”

He thought carefully for a moment before replying. “It's best to be prepared.”

“You will not be a scapegoat,” the library director told her as soon as the meeting ended and Gary and Alicia left. “You aren't going to lose your job over this.”

Linnea thanked her and took what little reassurance she could from her words. Perhaps she would not be fired straight-away, but eventually they might
all
lose their jobs over this.

Praying that Ezra McNulty would find a more interesting topic for his radio program and the whole contrived controversy would soon blow over, Linnea resumed the usual pattern of her workdays by sheer force of will. She refused to consider the likely opinions of Close the Book, California when she met with the director of acquisitions, and she did not flinch when her office phone rang. She wrote a column for the library newsletter and chose three new novels for the Tween Book Club. In anticipation of the upcoming annual “Great Artists” unit, she pulled appropriate books from the stacks and checked the events calendar for a suitable date to schedule the “Saturday with the Artists” program. It was then that she realized none of the first-grade teachers had contacted her about coordinating their efforts as they had always done before.

Bemused, she phoned the teacher she knew best, Theresa Salazar, and offered her assistance with coordinating resources for the children. Before Linnea could ask which of several local artists she might prefer the library to invite, Theresa broke in. “Oh, Linnea, I'm so sorry. With everything that's been going on around here with the budget, I completely forgot to tell you.”

“Forgot to tell me what?”

“Did you know the district laid off most of our art teachers last summer?”

“No.” Linnea felt a pang of remorse—and apprehension, as if a warning shot had whizzed past her ear. “I didn't.”

“We've been left with only one teacher at the elementary level, and since she can spend only one day at each school, we had to cancel the ‘Great Artists' unit.”

“You're kidding,” exclaimed Linnea. “It's one of the highlights of the year.” Her own children, now in high school and college, remembered the unit fondly, and Linnea and Kevin still displayed the artworks they had been inspired to create in the living room.

“I know. I know. For us teachers as well. The parents were upset too, but the furor's died down since the news came out last semester. I suppose people are worried about other things these days.” Theresa sighed. “For a while I hoped that the budget would be restored and we could return the unit to the curriculum next year, but that's looking less likely now.”

Linnea agreed wearily that none of them should expect anything but smaller budgets for the foreseeable future.

After they hung up, Linnea sat at her desk, heavyhearted. Her gaze fell upon the stack of “Great Artists” books she had pulled. She ought to reshelve them, now that the program was canceled.

She studied the books awhile longer before leaving them on her desk.

As far as she knew, Ezra McNulty did not mention the Conejo Hills Public Library on his program again, but a week after the unsettling conference in the library director's office, an ad appeared in the
Call
announcing the formation of a local chapter of Close the Book, California. All interested citizens were invited to the inaugural meeting at the food court at the mall, where they would organize and strategize.

Linnea's younger son offered to attend the meeting as a spy. Her daughter thought Linnea and her colleagues should crash the meeting wearing buttons identifying themselves as “subversive librarians.” Linnea thanked them for their suggestions but decided to ignore the incipient group rather than dignify them with her attention. She wanted to believe that her community was sensible and tolerant and that so few of her neighbors would be interested in their mission that a local chapter of Close the Book, California would never form.

But form they did, and although their membership numbered only about two dozen, they were loud and relentless. They pressured the city council to hold a public hearing on the proposal to close the library, and eventually the council gave in and agreed to schedule a hearing as soon as possible. As it happened, the first open date on their calendar, taking into account various members' previously scheduled summer recesses, wouldn't come until early September.

The lengthy delay no doubt incensed the members of Close the Book, California, but the staff of the Conejo Hills Public Library cheered. Surely the city council could have cleared an earlier date in the calendar if they had wanted to, but instead they had imposed a cooling-off period in which fiery tempers could subside, certain radio personalities could grow bored and move on to other trumped-up outrages, and library supporters could come up with alternative solutions.

“The city still has to balance its budget,” the library director cautioned the senior staff. “They have to cut spending somewhere, and if they don't cut our funding, they'll have to cut spending somewhere else. We are vulnerable.”

Linnea mulled over the director's words long after the meeting ended. They carried truth relevant beyond the budget matter, truth she could not ignore.

Needs had to be met, and if what was essential couldn't come from one place, it had to come from another.

She stayed up late that night thinking and feverishly working up a plan. The next day, after receiving the go-ahead from the library director, she e-mailed Theresa Salazar and the other first-grade teachers to tell them of her intention to lead a “Great Artists” program at the library throughout the month of May. Young children needed to discover the wonder of art, and if the overworked, beleaguered art teacher couldn't do it that year, Linnea had to step in and give what she could—her time and talents—to make it happen.

Delighted, the teachers wrote back immediately to offer Linnea classroom materials and suggestions for programs and events. After hours, they helped Linnea decorate the children's department with materials borrowed from their classrooms as well as her favorite prints of famous works of art, and they lent her books of their own to enhance Linnea's displays. “I've never lent a book
to
a library before,” Theresa remarked as she handed over a well-loved collection of coffee-table books full of enthralling photographs from the Louvre, the Met, the British Museum, and the Hermitage.

Every Saturday Story Time in May featured stories of artists, both famous and fictional: Tomie dePaola's
The Legend of the Indian Paintbrush
, W. Nikola-Lisa's
The Year with Grandma Moses
, Michael Garland's
Dinner at Magritte's
, and other enchanting tales. With donated supplies begged from an art supply warehouse in Los Angeles, Linnea covered the floor near the back wall of the children's department with drop cloths, placed canvases on easels arranged side by side, set out paints and brushes, propped up a
Starry Night
poster nearby, and encouraged children of all ages to contribute to the library's own version of the iconic Van Gogh evening scene.

Van Gogh also inspired Linnea's favorite activity of the entire “Great Artists” program. Moving the puppet theater out of the way and setting up a low table and child-sized chairs in its place, Linnea arranged cut sunflowers in a vase, set out paper and crayons, and encouraged children to draw a picture of the bouquet. Throughout the day, Linnea would glance up from her desk or the stacks to find a child or two, or perhaps more, seated at the table, brows furrowed in concentration as they colored. When the children finished, Linnea admired their drawings and invited them to follow her to her desk, where she showed them two laundry baskets, one filled with green fabric of all different hues, the other with brown and gold. She invited the children to select a green fabric for the centers of their sunflowers and a brown or gold for the petals. Then she photocopied the drawings, wrote the children's names on the back, and confided to them that they were now part of a very special, very secret art project that would astonish and delight all who beheld it.

In the evenings at home, Linnea would trace the features of the children's drawings onto freezer paper, creating appliqué templates, which she used to cut flower centers and petals from the green and gold and brown fabrics the children had selected. As soon as she accumulated enough fabric sunflowers, she arranged them on a piece of creamy, light beige background fabric three feet wide and four feet long, pinned the flower shapes carefully in place, and machine zigzag-stitched them to the background. She added stems and a vase based upon those in Van Gogh's paintings, and after framing the center still life with accenting borders, she delivered the top to one of several volunteers from her guild for machine quilting and binding. By then more children would have completed their sunflower drawings, and Linnea would begin appliquéing anew.