A Small Plastic Horse

Because I write picture books, you’d assume I attend book fairs to sell to parents and children.

Mostly true.

But an unexpected sale always happens.

At a fall fair, a woman strolled among the children’s section, pausing at my table to read Library Girl: How Nancy Pearl Became America’s Most Celebrated Librarian. It focuses on the pivotal experiences in her childhood that eventually catapulted her to legendary prominence in her field.

The woman and I spoke briefly. She continued on her way.

Not everyone buys a book.

But she returned at the end of the day with a friend in tow and showed her my book. They moved away, speaking in hushed tones, turning the pages, discussing the Author Note. I tried not to watch but could tell this was not a light-hearted moment.

Finally, they approached me with their story.

A dear friend’s adult librarian daughter had recently died. “Friends are delivering flowers and food, but we’d like to do something personal about Kate (not her real name). Your book fits perfectly because she loved being a librarian.”

I signed and added: In honor of Kate.

Because the book includes Nancy’s toy horses who helped her feel brave in an anxious moment, I always have the child pick a small plastic horse for courage from the container. “It might help your friend, too,” I suggested. They studied the collection for the horse with the necessary power.

“This chestnut horse,” said one, “because it’s the color of Kate’s hair.”

Sometimes at a book fair, I’ve learned when to hold back tears and simply smile.

So from time to time, I think of that grieving mother, who, after the flowers have wilted and the last muffin has been eaten, clutches a small plastic horse, and gallops through memory fields.

With Kate.