The Bibliophile (The Librarian Chronicles Book 3)

by Christy Sloat

  A slow growing blush appeared on her tan skin. She pulled her hair forward as she began braiding it.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, as she fingered the delicate strands of hair.

  “Oh,” she said, as if I caught her. “I tend to plait my hair when I feel nervous. It calms me.”

  “Well, can I come back?” I felt funny then, as if sea-sickness had consumed me. My stomach rumbled and my head grew fuzzy.

  “Rose, I think something’s going on. I don’t feel well,” I said, reaching out to steady myself.

  “What’s wrong? Adam? Oh no, don’t leave me.” Slowly I began to feel myself disappearing from her world, and I hated it. I hated that I didn’t kiss her before I went. So in a desperate attempt to let her know my intentions, I reached out and planted a soft kiss on her full lips. She leaned into me, grasping my collar, to hold me to her longer and her lips moved slowly but firm as she gave me the most beautiful kiss.

  “Come back to me, Adam.”

  Twenty-Two

  Rose 1765

  Adam had been there solidly but then he disappeared completely. There was no explanation besides he was gone. Day’s had passed and he had yet to return. I watched for him in the daylight hours and thought only of that kiss at night. I was consumed by him completely.

  Love wasn’t the term that I felt for him but I knew in my heart that I wouldn’t want to kiss another after touching his lips. He was warmth and light when the darkest times had come upon me. Learning of the Winthorp’s death had been hard to hear that day. Adam had come all this way to see me, and had experienced the scene of their deaths in such an awful way.

  Not able to bury them, due to weather, I had gone to their home and laid crosses in front of their home. I took on the duty of caring for their livestock, and made sure that no ill fate would fall upon them by welcoming them to my home.

  There was nothing I could do for them but pray. And pray I did. I began to find a rhythm in the days since Adam’s leaving, one that kept me busy.

  In the early morning hours, I checked for eggs, laid out the last of the fresh hay, and fed the animals, both mine and my beloved lost friends. Checked Handful’s wound and gave him extra love. After breakfast I cleaned snow away and did my daily cleaning chores around the house. Checked on our food storage and took stock of what we had left.

  I walked to the top of the mountain at midday and searched for signs of people. Be it Adam, the tribe, or my family. When I saw no one, I walked home and fixed dinner. I cooked a meager meal of eggs, whatever barley or oats I had left, and dressed for bed. There was not much to do when the snow took over Raven’s Ridge, but I knew a trip to town for trading was coming soon. I was in need of supplies and company. I could always go to the Cherokee to trade goods but I never quite knew where they were. Mother always had a good sense of direction, not me. Though if I traveled there, I would find it I am sure.

  Staring at my finished blue dress, I knew I would never wear it. I would have no choice but to trade it for food upon the day I went for supplies. As I closed my eyes, I imagined myself in the dress and dancing. All eyes would on me as I’d prance across a wooden floor and into the arms of Adam, who’d bend down and kiss me. He said he’d taken a liking to me the last visit he was here, and while I wasn’t certain, I thought that meant he had feelings for me that were either friendship, or meant something more.

  My thoughts went to him daily, and it wasn’t hard to realize I liked him, too.

  ***

  Adam 2019

  “You must have gone crazy, kid,” Angela screamed as her red hair flung about her face. I tried not to laugh at the way her face turned almost purple as she yelled at me. “Going to see your mom and then recklessly seeing this girl in the past. Do you have any idea the changes you made in their futures by doing that? Do you think only of yourself?”

  Had I thought about changing my mom’s future by going to see her? Sure I did.

  Had I changed Rose’s future by kissing her? Probably not.

  “I’ll admit telling Rose about time travel wasn’t my smartest moment but I don’t regret it. I don’t think I ruined my mom’s future. She was almost expecting me, Angela.” I stood now, grabbing a beer from the fridge. I cracked it open and gave it to Angela. She needed it more than I did. “Listen, my mom filled me in on everything. So you can spare me the dramatics, and you can stop calling me ‘kid,’ too. It’s demeaning. I don’t call you old lady, do I?”

  “Touché, kid. I mean, Adam,” she said. She sipped the beer and sat down on the couch.

  “Angela, I have had a lot of time to think about this time traveling stuff. And I don’t want this job.” I thought this news would shock her but it didn’t. Instead she looked relieved. “I love my mom, but this was her thing, not mine. She seemed to think that I was chosen for this but I can’t imagine doing this and making it my sacred duty.” Even saying the words were ridiculous. It wasn’t for me. “With that said, I will help Rose, and Rose only. After that, I’m done.”

  She raised the glass and nodded. “Can’t say I blame you, Adam. I ain’t cut out for another round of being someone’s guide. It’s a great job, but to be honest, I am just too damn old for it. I just… I just don’t see why your mom seemed to think you needed to take the job on. No offense. She knew I was retiring when she passed.”

  Not able to resist the beer I grabbed one for myself then joined her on the couch.

  There was something about Angela that made me like her. She was brutally honest, true, but I couldn’t help but think that it was destiny that we would become friends. Sure, she yelled at me when I first told her that I went back to see my mom but with that aside, I think she liked me.

  “So, she knew you didn’t want this job again?”

  She nodded and said, “When I last saw her, I told her, and she said she’d only ask that I looked after her boys. I made it very clear that when she left, I was never guiding another traveler.”

  Made sense. Why would she want to help another traveler once mom passed? “Guess you are kinda looking after me now.”

  “Guess so,” she said as she fixed her hair. “Hey listen, I am sorry for what I said about your dad. I didn’t mean to say all that. I just don’t have the best memories of him is all.”

  That made two of us. Now that she brought him up, I wanted to clear up something she brought up the last time I saw her. She said that he was a monster and he was the reason she was dead. I knew this wasn’t true, because cancer took her life, not my dad.

  “I don’t blame you for thinking my dad is a son-of-a-bitch but he didn’t kill my mom. He did kill her dream, and I get that’s what you meant. If I didn’t see her this last time, I’d never know that.”

  She nodded and set the bottle down. “Yeah, I shouldn’t have opened my fat mouth. There is bad blood between us. Any man who marries right after his wife dies is a monster in my book. He hated time travel and she loved it, ya know?”

  “I know,” I said. “But I won’t be taking her place. Until then, you know my intentions for helping Rose. So, will you help me, help her?”

  She grabbed her beer and raised it in the air. “Here’s to helping poor Rose.” I clinked my glass to hers and she said, “I think you got it bad for her ki—, I mean Adam.”

  “Here’s to Rose, who I won’t deny that I got it bad for.”

  Twenty-Three

  Adam 2019

  I spent the majority of my work morning reading books on survival in the wilderness. Reading had helped calm me and I was anything but calm lately. I wanted to go back to Rose right away but finding the time was hard. Angela promised that she would guide me tonight. She said she would bring supplies, whatever that meant, and so I spent the day killing time.

  Not mentioning how close the bond was between Rose and I seemed like a good idea at first, but as I r
ead more books, I realized maybe that was a mistake. So many trials and tribulations before America gained their freedom from Britain’s rule. And the atrocities that the Native Americans faced were just as bad. Perhaps I should be a bit more honest with Angela about it all before I went back.

  Angela was my mom’s closest friend, her confidant, making me feel just a tad bit closer to her. But telling her that Rose’s voice was calling to me before I travelled to see her might come across crazy. We New Yorkers were a quirky bunch but there was still a fine line.

  “Can you help me find the newest book by Alicia Smitherson?” a voice asked, pulling me from my survival book. Alicia Smitherson, what a joke she was. Published at a young age, she was a bright young writer with the world at her feet. Until the day came that she felt the need to copy plots of other books and put them into hers.

  She gave independent authors a bad name and booksellers who supported them a bad rap.

  “I don’t carry her books,” I told the woman. She stepped back, and raised her hand to her chest in disbelief.

  “And why not?” she asked with a strong tone.

  “Because I don’t support authors who plagiarize, and she is the worst of them all. Not only did she copy the works of one of the most famous Sci-Fi authors of our time, she actually keeps doing it. And her readers don’t care.”

  I thought the lady’s eyes would bulge from her head from the shock alone, but once I blamed her selfish and so-called supportive readers, that really did it.

  “How dare you! You don’t know her at all; she’s really quite sweet, and talented. You should be ashamed of yourself for attacking and bullying her. And to think, you work at a book store.”

  “No ma’am, I own a bookstore. And I am a self-proclaimed bibliophile. There is nothing I love more than the written word. Trust me, I’ve been teased for being a book nerd my whole life. So, when I say I don’t support an author, it’s hard for me. But the real bully here is Alicia. She continues to take profits from thievery, and no one makes her accountable for it. Being nice doesn’t give her the right to steal from Kimberly Harris, does it?”

  Once I spoke this lady’s language, she became increasingly calm. Her hand relaxed and she even pulled up a seat to join me at the table.

  “You really do love books don’t you?” she asked, as she came closer, trying to see what I was reading. “My name is Charise, what’s yours?”

  “Adam. Nice to formally meet you. Sorry I had to burst your author bubble.” She laughed and then apologized for getting so bent. Despite our different opinions we sat together, talked books and I gave her some new, trusting authors to read.

  “I used to own my own store you know? In the Hamptons, a million years ago.” She smiled, as if remembering the good days. “So, I know what you’ve been through here. It’s not easy.”

  I shook my head. It wasn’t.

  Since planning to go back, I was confused about what I would do with my shop when I went back this next time, and who would run it. Leaving it closed risked people getting angry and banning my place altogether, but finding and hiring a part-time salesman, or woman, would help keep me in business.

  “Do you miss it? You know, running your shop?”

  She smiled, and the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes got bigger. Her face lit up as she recalled memories of her bookstore.

  “I once had Beverly Ann in my shop signing the first copies of her Beach Romance series. Ah, the people loved it. Then, Morty died, and I had no choice but to close up. My Hampton days were all over for me. But I still read every day, and I try to support small business owners. Whatever happened to that young girl who used to work here?”

  Smiling, and trying not to think too hard on how badly that stung, I said, “She quit. She had to move away at short notice, so it’s just me.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was close enough. The real truth was, I hardly thought of her at all anymore. Time heals all wounds, is right. Even though I never thought I’d get over that one.

  “Well, Adam, you have a great store here. Real potential for greatness. I hear lots of wonderful things about it.”

  Charise patted my hand and stood up. Following suit, I grabbed a book off the shelf. An unknown writer, who had been ignored because she was simply quiet and just loved to write instead of pushing her books on people. Unorthodox in the writing world, but not unnoticed by me.

  “I think you’ll love her books, she’s got solid talent, and she’s very supportive of her small group of readers.”

  “Well thank you, Adam. I’ll take it.”

  I rung her up, and the thought came to me. My hands began to sweat and I couldn’t believe I was even thinking it. I hardly knew this woman, but to trust her with my store, my baby, was craziness.

  “Do you have a job?” I asked, and after it came out, I could’ve kicked myself. “I mean to say, do you want one here?”

  Her eyes did that thing again when her smile lit up her face. “I would be delighted to work again. But you hardly know me.”

  I nodded, it was true. “I need someone who knows books. Someone I can trust. And you seem trustworthy. I’m going away for a few days, and I need someone to ring up customers, and lock up.”

  My mom told me once that you know when you meet someone after talking with them after five minutes if you can trust them. Something about Charise told me she wasn’t going to rob me blind or hurt my store. She was just a lonely lady who had time on her hands. A bibliophile, like me, who loved words.

  “Wow, I… no one has wanted my help for some time. So it feels nice to be asked. When do you need me?”

  “Monday?”

  She stepped back, as if taking it all in. “Well then, I guess we have some things to go over if I start that soon.” She set down the book she bought. “So, let’s get started.”

  ***

  Rose 1765

  My pack was loaded on the horse. Its contents enough food to get me through the three-day journey to the nearest trading town. It also held the blue dress that I planned to sell or trade, a set of my mother’s homemade jams, a knife, and the rest of the lace that I hadn’t used on the dress.

  Arthur’s horse, Hammond, had been the main horse for these trips and he was itching to get out of his stall. Betsy, the mare, was angry and snorted at me when I chose him instead.

  “This is why I chose him, because you’re plain rude, ma’am.”

  Hammond was loaded solidly and carried behind him a small cart where I would store the food I planned to buy. I hadn’t much money, but enough to get provisions.

  As I crested the hill, I turned back and looked at my home. It sat looking lonely and cold. “I’ll come back soon.”

  The chill had died down some, as the snow storm passed. I knew Hammond, being a strong horse, would be able to make his way through the snowy woods ahead. I myself was covered head to toe in furs to keep warm and dry.

  If only Adam could see me now, he’d laugh.

  I wished he was with me, but he was gone, and like last time, I didn’t know if I’d ever lay eyes on him again. As I began the journey away from Raven’s Ridge, I remembered not that long ago thinking that I wanted to move far away from here someday. What an awful thing to think. How selfish and horrible was I to think such thoughts? Now, I’d given anything to be able to survive this winter, and wouldn’t dream of moving away.

  Adam might stay, or he may never visit again, but no matter the outcome, I would be a permanent resident of the lonely ridge. How I would manage, I’d figure it out. Until then, I was young and able, and I would never leave.

  Just then a sound came over the mountain pass leaving me numb in fear. It sounded human but bears could do the same. Had I unknowingly stumbled across a bear den on my travel so far? I’d gone ten miles at least, and could have I suppose.

  Hammond’s ear
s fell back and then perked up, straining to listen for the sound again.

  The sound came once more and I knew this time it wasn’t a bear, but human.

  Whether it was a stranger, or a friend, I didn’t know yet, which was the reason I pulled my father’s gun. I didn’t want to use it but being a woman alone in the forest, one couldn’t be too safe.

  “Who’s there?” I called out to the vast nothingness that overwhelmed me.

  A tree branch broke, and the loud crunch of snow underfoot to my right. I pointed the gun toward it and peered my eyes as far as they could go, trying to see through the trees and blinding white snow.

  “Who’s there?” I asked once more, though my voice trembled. Could it be Adam? Oh, I would be a fool to point a gun at him after what I did the first time we met. But just in case I kept the gun at the ready.

  “We mean no harm,” said the voice, a woman. “We live on this ridge. We want to go home.”

  Wait one second, I knew the voice so well it made my heart pound as I put the gun back in the holster and jumped from the horse. I was running before my feet knew quite what they were doing. My mother’s face came into my vision and I sprinted faster. A smile that lit her eyes up like the night sky welcomed me as she spread her arms wide. I fell into her, almost knocking her over. She was home and she was safe.

  “My daughter, oh my beautiful daughter,” she cried as she held me. “What stories we have to tell at fire.”

  I nodded, finding no words but a large lump in my throat.

  “Well look who you found!” my father said as he looked up from behind her. Laying in a sled covered in furs he held out his arms to me. Asking nothing I jumped to him and held him close.