Or, as though she were somehow testing me. I couldn’t tell for sure but there was a certain tension in the room when she sat down; an expectant buzz of nervous energy that was entirely in my own head, I knew, but nonetheless tangible.
I stepped back from the bookshelf I had been looking at, and left it to join Miss Smith.
“How is the library organized?” She asked. Now that she was out of her fencing gear, her hair was drawn up into a bun on her head, with a cascade of loose hair hanging to the nape of her neck. Silver chopsticks stuck out at a sideways angle from the bun, etched with some kind of intricate filigree.
I frowned, and looked back at the bookshelves. I hadn’t really been paying attention. It wasn’t alphabetical. It didn’t seem entirely based on subject, though, either. If it was based on the age of the books I wasn’t qualified to judge whether that was so or not. All the same, this was surely another puzzle that she was presenting me, and I was determined to figure it out. I reflected on the books I’d seen in the short area of the library that I’d explored, trying to figure out what exactly warranted a pattern within the books. The books about animals were interspersed, as well as the fauna. The languages within each region of the library seemed unclear, though I could only wonder if they were based on different time periods. I drew away from her, looking towards the woman for permission for a moment. Agnes simply smiled, gesturing for me to step towards the books. There was a pattern within the books, and while it didn’t immediately jump out at me, I wasn’t one to give up easily.
“Well... it seems to be organized by region. It’s not immediately obvious, as there are a variety of languages in each section—but, if I’d have to wager a guess, I’d guess you’re going from Europe, towards the West by order of time period. See here,” I paused, stepping towards a particular section and withdrawing two books that were far apart. “This section seems to be devoted to the United States, based on what I’ve learned in school and through my own studies out of curiosity. If one bought into the theory that Christopher Columbus or even Leif Erikson was the first to discover the actual region of the states, you would expect another answer. But this seems to go from... What I would guess is an indigenous South American language, to a form of Iroquoian, to Spanish. Which indicates that it spans through the original inhabitants of the States, to the Southeastern Native Tribes, to the language of Ponce de’Leon, a Spanish explorer,” I drew in a deep breath, realizing I had rambled on a bit. I could only hope it was correct answer, but it was the only thing that seemed to make the vaguest semblance of sense.
Agnes stared at me for several moments before her lips curled in obvious delight, her eyes shining excitedly.
“That’s good, very good,” the other woman said quietly, rising from her seated position to lead me across the library. I couldn’t help feeling curious, not sure why she’d placed herself in a chair if she wasn’t planning to stay there. I felt like this was all part of some big test, though I wasn’t sure quite what she may be testing. She had said I was hired already, but I was confused as to what sort of work she was having me complete. All I’d done is guess how the books were arranged, and before that, I’d guessed how to find her location to begin with. If the whole job consisted of solving puzzles, I wouldn’t be particularly bothered—yet somehow, I felt there was more to it. Something deeper, something vaguely adventurous in ways I couldn’t yet identify.
I trailed behind her, nonetheless. She traced her fingertips along the spines of the books, humming under her breath as she led me deeper into the library, to some cornery that seemed to be used for deeper studies. Sitting behind the desk, she steepled her fingers in front of her and smiled at me.
“So... are you going to explain what sort of actual work I’ll be doing, Miss...” I trailed off, still not positive how she would prefer for me to refer to her.
“Agnes is fine, dear, just Agnes,” she said, brushing me off and gathering some papers in front of herself. “All will be explained in due time. I haven’t had someone ask so many questions since dear Robert, I wonder...,” she paused, glancing towards me with a faint smile. “In any case. I do have one additional task I’d like for you to complete. The documents on this desk belong in the file cabinet to the left—organize them in the appropriate order,” she said, the order gentle yet leaving no room for argument. I hesitated, glancing over the papers and realizing that the good majority of them weren’t in any language I could understand.
Granted, they did seem to be in the same language at the very least. While it was one I couldn’t identify, I was certain there was some deeper clue. She wouldn’t be leading me on some wild goose chase with no end goal in mind—of that much I was confident. As strange as the situation was, there was something almost intoxicating about being granted the ability to flex my mental musculature. All of my prior jobs were very simple in nature, just like the one I’d been working at the frame shop. It was never the same exact task, but they all had the some systematic task that required very little additional thinking.
I may have been remarkably average, but I wasn’t boring by any means. At least, I certainly didn’t like to think so. In any case, I was sure if I finished this last bit of work, Agnes would give me some further direction on why she was having me complete these strange puzzles.
Considering the papers on the desk, I sorted through them for a moment, searching for some sort of deeper pattern in the words. It was more difficult than I’d like to admit, made all the harder by the fact that I couldn’t even place the language. However, one thing that I noticed was that a certain word or arrangement of symbols was repeated periodically through the papers, in varying degrees of... depth, I could gather. It was a long shot, but I could only hope that through repetition of the words, and the length of the paragraphs following the specific symbols bore some deeper meaning regarding the arrangement.
Opening the file cabinet, I flipped through the drawer before coming across a section labeled very clearly with the word I’d all but memorized. Searching through that specific section of the files, I arranged the pages I’d been given in what I could only guess was order of ‘relevance’. It was more or less a crapshoot, but I had come too far to simply give up at that point.
After arranging the files as appropriately as I could guess, I took a step back and waited for Agnes to scrutinize my work. She rose languidly, seeming almost uninterested in spite of the gleam in her eyes. She strode closer, peering into the file cabinet and giving the sorted files a cursory glance. She hummed under her breath, swapping out two papers before sighing softly.
“It’s good for a first effort. There will be plenty of opportunities to learn, and I certainly can’t expect you to know everything on your first day,” she murmured. I smiled a bit nervously, not sure if she was actually pleased or otherwise.
“Err,” I began, trying to think of a proper way to articulate myself. She stepped towards me, her face pleasant.
“There will be additional tasks throughout the library, tasks I’m assigning you to find and complete. They will be similar to those prior, and I expect you to put in your best effort. I don’t abide by slackers, Ms. Bean,” she said, the words sounding almost threatening in spite of how kind her voice was. There was something about the woman, an air of mystery that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I realized I was staring when she slowly raised a well-sculpted brow, and I forced a nervous smile.
“Of course, Agnes. I wouldn’t dare,” I assured her, unsure of the consequences of going against her instructions but quite sure I didn’t want to find out. She seemed content with the answer, clapping a hand firmly on my shoulder as she offered me a toothy smile. Her teeth were almost blindingly white, and I might have asked something as silly as what dental products she used if she hadn’t shuffled towards the door of the library at that moment. I watched her go, drawing my lip between my teeth as I tried to figure out what I had gotten myself into. She paused before leaving, taking a moment to stoke a fire I hadn’t noticed roarin
g. The hearth was magnificent, and the temperature was just warm enough to be the peak point of comfort—at least, as far as I was concerned.
“Good luck, Abigail,” she said casually, slipping out of the library without another word. I wasn’t sure when she would return, but I wasn’t going to let myself slack off just because the somewhat odd woman wasn’t looming over me. Even if I wasn’t completely sure about this so-called job, I was actually enjoying myself to an extent. Though Agnes had a rather intimidating presence, there was also a deep kindness that seemed to resonate from her; an undeniable joy that she seemed to find in life. I tried to ignore the part of my brain that was concerned with assigning her some arbitrary age, or at least an age group. It wasn’t as if I was going to walk up to her and blurt out some demands to know more about her.
The rest of the afternoon into the early evening was spent busying myself in the library, finding anything that seemed out place and properly restoring order. When the sun began to set, its rays nearly blinding me through the windows, she walked back into the library and considered the work I’d done. She meandered through the library and I obligingly followed behind her, somehow knowing that she expected it.
After a cursory look through the room, she glanced at me with a small smile.
“I didn’t expect you to do nearly as well as you have. I suppose that fault lies with me. In any case, this is all I will require from you today. The work day begins at noon on the average day, so I’ll expect you to be here on Monday at twelve sharp. Punctuality is very important to me,” she hummed. I hadn’t expected to be dismissed so soon, though hours had passed.
“Will every day be like today?” I inquired curiously. She chuckled, shaking her head as if it were the most ridiculous notion in the world.
“Of course not,” she assured me. I gave slight pause, feeling as if something was still amiss.
“I meant... will I be tested every day, like this?” I implored, hoping for some deeper insight. Agnes seemed to sense my unease, but made no move to comfort me in spite of it. She simply stepped towards the hearth once more, stoking the fire.
“Have a nice holiday, Abigail.”
Chapter Three
In spite of knowing otherwise, I couldn’t help wondering if the time I’d spent at 222 East Wafer Street was a figment of an imagination gone wild. I certainly didn’t recall ingesting any hallucinogens, and that seemed one of the few logical explanations for the sort of ‘trip’ I’d experienced. However, I drove past the street which had cemented itself in my brain on the way to my father’s house, as if to see if the mysterious house had disappeared overnight. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately depending on your perspective, Agnes’ house was the same as it had been when I’d left. Utterly unchanged, from the strangely vibrant flora to the high-reaching architecture of the home. I tried to assure myself that it was proof enough that I’d not gone utterly mad, but I didn’t have time to stop in and exchange pleasantries. I planned to enjoy the holiday with my father, just as Agnes had suggested—whether she be a real person or otherwise.
My father lived on the outskirts of town, down several winding roads that still confused me to some extent, in spite of the numerous times I’d travelled down them. He was all that really remained of my family, save for some distant cousins twice removed or something of the like. My mother had died during childbirth, and I was an only child. My grandparents on my mother’s side resented me with all the passion of a burning flame, seeming to think I had taken their daughter from them too soon. My father’s parents lived miles and miles out, too frail to make the trip every year, or well, any year. As such, it had been my father and I alone for most of my youth, and though he was something of a gruff man with a grizzled exterior, he was all I’d ever really had. That sounds much sadder than I’d intended, but for the duration of working my way through college, I scarcely had the time to pursue things like a relationship. It wasn’t for me, I suppose.
It wasn’t to say I’d never had any boyfriends, of course, but I wasn’t particularly well known for being a social butterfly. Agnes was the only acquaintance in my life that I currently had contact with—which wasn’t saying much, considering I didn’t have her phone number or any way to speak to her aside from knocking on her door with a polite ‘how do you do’. I was sure that wouldn’t be well received, though I couldn’t be sure if Agnes had anyone she was spending the holidays with. I found myself wondering what sort of family the eccentric woman might have had. Did she have children with those same vibrant red locks? Was there an estranged husband? I realize it probably seemed strange that I was so fascinated with the woman, but that air of mystery that surrounded her made it difficult to banish her from my brain, even as I continued down the back roads towards my father’s house.
She expected me back after Christmas, Monday at twelve sharp she had said. I was briefly grateful that I put in the effort to be impeccably punctual for my first visit. She did imply that lateness was something she would not tolerate. Even still, if she wouldn’t tolerate it, what could she do? Fire me? I had scarcely even learned anything about this job I’d found myself wrapped up in, drawn too deep to properly escape. I liked to tell myself that I wouldn’t be bothered to lose the apparent job that I’d not quite accepted as my own, but it added a necessary bit of spice to my remarkably average life.
The holiday was even a relatively droll time for me, considering my father and I didn’t exactly celebrate. He cared very little for the festivities, and the last time I’d bought him a present he had promptly returned it to the store before driving to my place to deposit the money back into my reluctant hand. In spite of how much I loved my father, his nature made him the sort that even I didn’t want to repeatedly cross. I was under no illusion that he would do something as extreme as insulting me, or God forbid, hurting me. It was just that I couldn’t stand to stare into his disappointed eyes.
It seemed invariable that I would experience some disbelief at the very least, considering I planned to get his advice on this new and remarkably strange job of mine. I needed an outside perspective, of that much I was very sure. I was too caught up in my fascination with the experience, the opportunity to hone my mental skills. It was almost like solving some kind of intricate puzzle, something grand and fantastic that would take years to put together. That may have been a little dramatic, but I did have to wonder about the longevity of my position with Agnes.
Shaking off the thoughts, I pulled into the parking spot in front of my father’s house. His beat up convertible was in the garage around the side of the house, so it pretty much went without saying that this spot was reserved for me. I didn’t know if my father had much company otherwise, but I also didn’t want to consider the possibility that my dad may have been much more socially apt than myself. For all his rough exterior, he had an outgoing personality. I doubted he spent too much of his time cooped up at home.
He greeted me at the door with a fond smile, pulling me in for a tight hug. I threw my arms around the bear of a man, reveling in the familiar touch of a loved one. Though I was something of a meek little mouse, that facet of my personality evaporated in the presence of my dad.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said, his voice a deep and rich baritone. I took a moment to take him in, not having had the time (or motivation) to visit him for some time. His dark hair was beginning to grey in spots, the stubble on his face just long enough to be prickly. His eyes were the same vibrant shade as my own, but he often joked that it was all I got from him. Apparently, I was otherwise the spitting image of my mother.
“Hi daddy. Are you going to let me in?” I smiled, allowing him to guide me through the front door. I could smell the venison roast that he’d cooked, my stomach rumbling in anticipation. My father very rarely prepared the dish unless I was coming over, and even then, it was only on the rare occasion. I was all too pleased that the holiday season seemed to be reason enough to go all out, but before I could wander into the kitchen, he nudged me towards the sofa.
<
br /> “It still has a bit of cooking to do. I’ll get you a soda,” he offered, moving away before I even had the chance to answer. I smiled to myself, stretching out and calling out to him.
“I’ll take a beer if you have one.” He didn’t seem particularly entertained, stepping out of the kitchen and pushing the carbonated drink into my hand.
“Not with you driving. I’m not going to be responsible if you smash into some unsuspecting driver,” he said firmly, though the light twinkle in his eye seemed to indicate he was joking. I could never really tell, even after being raised by the man. I sipped my soda, watching as he sank into his easy chair with a soft groan. “So, what’s new in your life, kid?” He asked, propping his feet up. I hesitated, realizing that a better opportunity to discuss my new job likely wouldn’t present itself. I didn’t want to go in full force, but it was unlikely I’d get another chance. I rummaged through my purse, still vaguely embarrassed that I’d kept the article clipping in my wallet even after solving the mystery—at least, the beginnings of the mystery. I handed it over to him, and he considered it with a quirk of his brow. I could see how deeply he was scrutinizing the offending newspaper clipping, and I could only hope that he didn’t think me entirely foolish for answering the ad.
“I got hired for a new job after seeing that ad in the paper. It’s kinda funny, I know it seems to be a bit nonsensical, but...,” I trailed off, catching the strange look he was fixing me with.
“Is this job... legal, dear? I know neither of us have a lot of excess dough to hand out, but if you’re up to something strange, I’d be happy to help you get out of a tight spot,” he offered, his expression earnest, if not a bit troubled. I was torn between being offended and amused, reaching out to take the clipping from his hands.
The Peculiar Case of Agnes Astor Smith Page 2