Drake was determined to know for certain by his next report and be on a plane home to his pub in the quiet country. The city, full of buildings and pavement, was wearisome.
***
Drake entered the antiquated library and looked around for any sign of Raegan before glancing down at his watch. Since he was about five minutes early, he made his way to Ms. Jensen at her usual station in the Corner Café. “Thank you,” he said as he leaned up against the counter.
“Don’t be thanking me yet.” Ms. Jensen smirked as she looked up from reading her cozy mystery novel, Rest, Relax, Run for Your Life. “I plan to see that you work hard around here, Mr. Fletcher, was it?”
“Yes, Drake Fletcher. And I am happy to be of service, madam,” Drake responded with a smirk of his own and a nod of his head. Before he could find out just what work Ms. Jensen had planned for him, the library door opened. Drake turned slowly to face the entrance and caught his breath.
Raegan had arrived.
He watched her come through the ornate double doors as he had so many other times. That day, however, was different. She seemed different. Drake couldn’t quite place why, maybe the set of her shoulders? The confident stride, perhaps? It was just a sense he had of a change.
“Good morning, Raegan.”
“You may call me Miss Sheridan, if you please, Mr. Fletcher,” Raegan responded formally. “Good morning, Evie.” Her face brightened ever so slightly as she acknowledged Ms. Jensen, and then it returned to a professional mask. “My office is this way. We will discuss your part-time job here at the library, following your interview.”
With that, she rounded the counter and made an immediate left. She climbed a two-tiered staircase that stood well-obscured by a bookshelf containing volumes on various types of soils.
Drake followed.
Upon arriving at the top of the staircase, another ornate door met them; however, that one gave him pause. He slowed to study the depictions of a magnificent forest scene with small fairies and what he recognized from folklore as sprites flitting among the flora. Realizing Raegan had preceded him into the office, he shifted his gaze away and entered the room.
As she unwound her scarf and placed her knitted headband on the hat rack by the door, Drake realized one thing that was different about Raegan.
Her hair.
It was flowing straight down her back, rather than in the haphazard knot of a bun she usually wore. As she turned to face him, her hair caught the sunlight from the row of windows situated around a long window-seat at the rear of the office.
Drake realized something else, that he had been wrong on two counts about Raegan Sheridan.
First, rather than a dark brown, her hair held shades of both brown and the deepest tinges of red, all interspersed. It fell in fiery waves below her shoulder blades. The second thing he knew he had been wrong about was his assessment of Raegan as plain. He stared at her as he waited for her to decide his fate and found her to be undeniably striking. It was at that point that he began to worry that, in all of the weeks of watching Raegan Sheridan, maybe he hadn’t been paying any attention at all.
He gave his scrambled brain a small shake and scanned her office, her inner sanctum, surmising a few more things about Raegan. Comfort and whimsy were evidently as important to her as organization. A desk was five or six feet from the door and drew the eye based on quality, craftsmanship, and unique coloring, the legs layers of multiple types of wood bringing light, dark, and even reddish-brown hues to the picture. The desktop was solid round and magnificent. It appeared to be a cross-section of a large redwood tree that had been at least seventy years old, judging by the rings visible.
A filing cabinet, partially concealed to the right behind the coat rack, was painted a daisy-yellow but showed meticulous labeling and no loose papers in sight. The two trays on a small table to the left of the cabinet held nothing in either inbox or outbox, evidence that paperwork was dealt with quickly and completely.
Not to be ignored, the chairs in the office were as unique as the desk, but it was there that the touch of whimsy manifested.
Three toadstools, or mushrooms, about two feet tall and carved from separate wooden pieces, were clustered on the visitor side of the desk, cushioned on the tops. To the left of the room, opposite the file cabinet and coat rack, was a lounge-chair that was anything but ordinary. Wide at the top, it sloped gently down to a point and was the perfect picture of a giant leaf, wrought completely from metal and painted a deep forest green.
Choosing the middle mushroom more than a little reluctantly, Drake seated himself directly across from the winged chair behind the desk in which Raegan positioned herself. And winged was a literal description, not the style of chair. Reagan Sheridan currently sat on, or in—he wasn’t certain which—a chair made of the same metal as the leaf lounge but shaped like a massive butterfly. Two turquoise wings spanning three or four feet made the small woman seem more diminutive and yet oddly mystical, almost faerie even.
“A beautiful office, Miss Sheridan,” Drake commented, realizing she sat patiently, waiting for him to finish examining the room.
Raegan folded her hands together atop the desk. “Thank you. About your position, um, job here at the library, have you brought a resume or work history of any kind?”
“I’m sorry. After we spoke yesterday, I was unaware either would be needed. I’m afraid I’m a little short on references at the moment, but I’m used to heavy work and handling things. Anything that your regular maintenance personnel would have done, just give me a list and it’ll be taken care of.” He hoped she wouldn’t argue with him when he had just offered to do any and everything that they could need around there, carte blanche. If that didn’t earn him a job, he didn’t know what would.
“I see.” Raegan unclasped her hands and reached into a drawer near the top of the desk, retrieving a manila folder, pulling free a sheet of paper. She turned it around so that it was face-up toward Drake and held it forward to him.
Drake took the paper and skimmed through what appeared to be a standard, though slightly thin, “Application for Hire” form. Evidently, Raegan wasn’t planning to make it simple at all. He wondered how soon she needed the form, pondered what exactly he could give for information when none of it would be verifiable.
Drake looked back up to find Raegan studying him. Quickly, she glanced away and gestured to a small tree figurine on his side of the desk. It was then he noticed the tree was hollow and contained several pens and pencils. It seemed immediately was the answer to his concern about when the paperwork was required.
Raegan seemed determined to show power in that particular instance, so Drake chose to pick up a dark blue pen. Not wishing to fill out the form sitting on a mushroom and being under a microscope, however, he braved the silence with a question, hoping that he could rattle the new business-like woman in front of him back to her normal relaxed and frazzled self. “Would you mind terribly if I were to borrow a book and fill this out at the window seat there?” He gestured behind her. Not waiting for a response, he took the pen and paper in one hand while standing up and reaching to grasp a book that was face down on the large desk.
“Excuse me,” Raegan started.
“Oh, no excuse needed, Miss Sheridan. I’m sure you didn’t realize how difficult it is to write perched on such an intriguing seat, but I’m afraid I may topple off at any moment.” With that, he continued around the desk, past the fuming Miss Raegan Sheridan, and seated himself comfortably in the center window seat. He leaned against one of the corner frames and proceeded to fill out the application.
Date, name, ability to lift more than forty pounds. The form was nothing out of the ordinary and blessedly short. Other than a few questions he preferred not to answer in full and answers he knew she wouldn’t accept without more questions, such as the one concerning his previous occupations and reasons he left, Drake had it filled out in no time.
Drake let out a sigh and was about to make his way back to
the desk where Raegan had begun tapping her foot impatiently when suddenly a loud crash came from downstairs.
Raegan swung her eyes to him for a split second before springing from her chair and making her way around the massive desk. Drake exhaled gratefully for whatever distraction had bought him more time, folded the paper furtively, and stuck it deep into his jeans pocket before quickly making his way after Raegan down the staircase.
“Oh! Evie, are you okay?” Raegan supported Ms. Jensen by the arm in the small room behind the Corner Café, the entrance directly across from the staircase to Raegan’s office.
Ms. Jensen shrugged off the assistance and massaged her left hip with a small movement of her hand. “Yes, I’m just fine dear. Only managed to stumble into the crate of coffee there when I came in, and the bulb went out. Startled me some, it did.”
“We heard such a loud crash,” Drake mentioned.
Ms. Jensen looked into the room and turned back to the two of them, waiving off their concern again. “I managed to knock over not only the coffee crate in the dark but then grabbed for my balance and bumped about seven of the round, blue tins of biscuits and several more boxes of cookies that were on the shelf next to it. Those of course fell off the shelf into the mop and broom, which came clattering down as well.”
Raegan slowly massaged her temples.
“Don’t worry about it, dear.” Ms. Jensen patted her shoulder. “Seeing that we have this strapping maintenance man here, he can clean and organize it all to rights in minutes as his first assignment.” She gestured to Drake.
“I suppose so but…” Raegan stopped and looked at Drake when she saw Evie rub her hip again. “But as soon as that is finished, I want you on a ladder replacing all of the other burnt-out bulbs in the library.”
Drake knew only the apparent pain and exhaustion of Ms. Jensen had made Raegan soften and give him the job. She obviously would do anything for the woman, which meant Drake needed to start ingratiating himself with her right away. “Yes, Miss Sheridan.” He made sure to enunciate slowly and clearly, happy to see a slight flush of embarrassment heat Raegan’s face in return. “And I thank you for this opportunity.”
He chuckled to himself. He could play the subservient if needed.
Interview concluded, Drake headed immediately into the storage room and started to work. He stacked cans of unspilled coffee in one area, and open cans whose contents were emptied all over the room during the fall went into boxes to be thrown out. Manual labor, he was more accustomed to that than the lying and spying required of him those days.
5.
F or two weeks, Drake labored under the stern taskmaster, Evelyn Jensen. There was not a light fixture in the entire twenty-two-hundred-square-foot library that had a single burnt-out bulb any longer. Boxes and crates had been unpacked in the storage room that doubled as a pantry, and all of the shelves were neatly arranged. Those had been re-done twice as there was an intense debate betwixt Ms. Jensen and him whether the foodstuffs should be arranged categorically or alphabetically. Old rugs had been rolled up and taken out to have years of dust beaten from them, though Drake was unsure he would ever again get said dust out of his eyes and nostrils.
Floors had been mopped until they shone and reflected lights back toward the ceiling. It was twice as bright in the library foyer as Drake had ever seen it. Raegan kept herself scarce during that entire period, rarely darkening the door of the library. When she did, it was with the constant habit of disappearing quickly into her sanctuary upstairs with the unmistakable sound of a closing door to dissuade entry or disturbance of any kind.
It was also during that two-week period that Drake had gotten to know Evie—as she insisted that he call her—and began ferreting out more small bits of Raegan’s history, though not as much as he would have liked. Raegan was an orphan; her parents died when she was a child according to Evie, first the mother when she was an infant and her father when she was only twelve. Raegan herself was born in a small English hamlet, though it seemed obvious there was some Irish background to her heritage—her father’s side, Evie said. When it was that her parents made the move to England, she had no idea, much less the why of the matter, and Evie wasn’t sure if Raegan even knew.
When he asked how Raegan came to own the library, the older woman just shrugged. “It’s always been Raegan’s, of course.” Nothing in the bare details he uncovered proved or disproved the question of Raegan’s identity as it mattered to Drake, and with only a week left before he was expected to report in, it was time to push Raegan Sheridan for the answers she alone could provide.
Drake wiped his palms on his faded jeans, closed the lid to the dumpster in the alleyway where he had been taking out the garbage, and re-entered the library. He stopped to look around and had to admit to himself that the library appeared to be a whole new place with all of the cleaning and minor repairs that Evie had set before him.
Finally, however, she had declared that it was up to Raegan which duties were next on his agenda, just the excuse he needed to seek out the elusive woman. Suspecting the ever-distant Miss Sheridan would be unhappy about his intrusion, he snatched three thumbprint cookies and a small plate, winking at Evie on his way past, and made his way to the staircase behind the Corner Café. Drake had already prepared a mental list of a number of larger repairs that needed to be made: two of the east windows needed repair, a mirror in the women’s restroom needed replacing, and more than a few shutters outside hung in disrepair and in want of new paint. With ammunition at the ready in case Raegan was hoping to call a halt to his part-time job, Drake was confident he would be able to continue in the role. He did not fool himself into thinking a few cookies would sweeten her attitude towards him enough to get the answers he needed, though.
At the top of the stairs, Drake again couldn’t help but lean in to look closer at the scene playing out on the wooden door. The fairies and sprites seemed to exist in harmony, a few flying through the air as if in a merry chase. Two fairies, a male and female, in a pool of water looked put out by a sprite splashing droplets of water towards them with a glint of mischief in his eye. Flowers were numerous and the petals overly large. A family of hedgehogs traveled in the background, and one hare could be seen at the very edge of the door, drinking just before the pond ended. And there, at the edge of the pond, stood a short little man that Drake hadn’t noticed before beside what looked to be a pot of gold.
Quite suddenly, the door opened, and Drake was standing within inches of Raegan Sheridan, his nose almost brushing her shoulder due to his intense study of the door which had pulled him in for a closer look. Straightening, Drake took a half-step back, not before inhaling the heady scent of wild rose emanating from Raegan.
For her part, Raegan didn’t look nearly as shocked, which meant she must have heard him coming up the stairs. She did, however, raise both eyebrows in question at finding him stooping at her door.
“Peering in keyholes, Mr. Fletcher?” Raegan asked, but Drake couldn’t tell if she was angry or amused.
He adopted a self-deprecating grin and shook his head. “Not at all. You did catch me admiring the artwork on your office door, however. It was carved by the same individual as the main entrance doors, was it not?”
Raegan placed a hand over her heart, briefly closing her eyes, and then stepped back to allow him inside. “Yes, the same man carved each door by hand. It took several years.”
“May I ask who the artisan was? I find it remarkable that he made the scenes so lifelike that one is really just waiting for them to flit right off the door and through the library.” Drake watched her closely, waiting for an answer.
Raegan turned away, seemingly lost in thought, staring toward the expanse of sky outside of the windows. “The artisan, as you call him, was Brian Sheridan, my dad.”
Momentarily shocked, Drake stood and stared at Raegan. Her father had masterfully portrayed the essence of the tiny magical beings on the doors? He wouldn’t have guessed. Maybe there was a possibility
of more to her past than he thought. Perhaps he was there on more than just a fool’s assignment or following the ramblings of an eccentric band of men.
Drake regained his thoughts and looked down at the plate of cookies he still held. Raegan seemed to have forgotten his presence; she stared out the windows, fingering a leather strap at her neck.
I am always trying to gain this woman’s attention, Drake thought wryly. He walked with slow but deliberate steps so as not to startle her, moving to Raegan’s side and softly touching her upper arm, extending the plate of cookies before her with his other hand. “Your father must have been quite a talented man. I brought you some thumbprint cookies, Miss Sheridan. Evie tells me they are your favorite, though, I’ve never tried one myself.”
“Thank you,” Raegan replied automatically. She inhaled deeply and took the plate of cookies before making her way not to the desk as Drake had expected, but to the large window seat instead. “Please, join me, Mr. Fletcher. Evie does make the best thumbprint cookies this side of the ocean, and I insist you have a taste. These appear to have raspberry jam in the center today, a treat indeed.”
Drake sat in the corner opposite Raegan, the cookie plate on the center cushion between them. Reaching forward, he lifted the top cookie to his mouth and looked towards her while taking the first bite. He knew she was watching for his reaction to the cookie, but he flattered himself that her stare remained transfixed as he licked raspberry jam from his upper lip. For a split second, her pupils dilated, and Drake felt his chest tighten. Raegan flicked her eyes upward, meeting his. He held her gaze as she studied him.
The Librarian's Treasure Page 2