Read Online Finding My Own Way by Peggy Dymond Leavey - Free Book Online

there’sanything.” When I left her she was trying to coax the ruffled wings to stand upright.
    I could see William Thomas already at work in his office at the
Pinkney Mirror
when I stopped in front. The bell on the door tinkled as I opened it.
    Mr. Thomas was bundling papers at a desk. He gave me an inquiring look over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses. “Yes?”
    â€œIt’s Libby Eaton, Mr. Thomas. Remember?”
    â€œOh, of course it is! Libby!” A smile lit up his pleasantly craggy features. “How are you?” He was holding a stack of papers down with his elbow while trying to untangle a ball of twine, but he let everything drop as he took both my hands firmly in his.
    â€œI’m fine,” I assured him. I looked back at the desk. “But it looks as if you might need some help.” Without waiting for his response, I took up the ball of twine and handed him the loose end. “I’ve moved back home now, you know.”
    â€œHave you indeed? How’d you ever get Irene to leave Toronto?”
    â€œI’m here on my own, actually,” I said.
    Mr. Thomas took the bundle of papers and dropped them down beside the front door, then turned to look at me more closely. “My goodness, if you aren’t the image of Alex!” he exclaimed. “You must really miss her, Libby.”
    I nodded. “I do, sir. I try not to think about it too much. Right now I’m concentrating on finding a job. That’s why I’m here.”
    â€œA job?” The notion seemed to surprise him. “What kind of a job?”
    â€œAnything,” I admitted. “I wondered if you might be needing a reporter. I’m a very good writer. In fact, I’ve decided that’s what I’d like to be.”
    William Thomas drew another pile of newspapers towards him and busied himself with the string again. “A reporter, eh?”
    â€œOr if you don’t need a reporter,” I hastened to elaborate, “I can do just about anything. Housecleaning. Typing. Cooking, even. Mending.”
    He ran a hand through his thick, grey hair, leaving it rumpled and standing on end. “Well now, Libby. I have someone who does my cooking and mending. And I’m not looking to hire anyone here at the paper at the present time.”
    â€œI see. Well, what about a proof-reader? My mother always said you could use one.”
    This time William Thomas laughed out loud.
    â€œOr maybe you could just use someone to keep this office tidy,” I suggested, looking around at the overloaded tables, the shelves filled with toppled books and papers.
    The newspaperman dropped into a chair on the far side of the desk. “Okay, I’ve got a few minutes. Let’s talk.” He tilted back, lacing his hands behind his head. “Have a seat, Libby.” He indicated the room’s only other chair. I drew it up across the desk from him. “Take the load off,” he invited.
    â€œLet me tell you what I do here, Libby. First of all, I look after everything myself. And I mean everything. So if Alex thought I let too many spelling mistakes slip by, it’s quite possible.
    â€œI do the gathering of news, write the copy, sell theadvertising, set the type and run off the papers. Even do the deliveries, which is what I’m about to do very shortly. Why do it all myself, you ask? Because there’s no money to hire any extra help. Sometimes I wish there was.”
    â€œI don’t need to make a lot of money, Mr. Thomas,” I explained. “Just enough so I can pay my household bills and buy a little food. It shouldn’t take much.”
    â€œAh, Libby. I wish I could hire you. Really I do. But things are different here from when your mother started, what, twenty, twenty-five years ago? We published three papers a week then, had two full-time reporters. Now we’re a weekly, carrying mostly local news, village council meetings.
    He brought his