When Sarah sat back down, her legs were shaky. “Probably from being sick,” she muttered, refusing to acknowledge any other reason for her weakness.
Shirley returned from lunch, and Sarah clocked out. She still didn’t have much appetite, but it was nice to take a few minutes to rest. When she came back to the counter, Shirley handed her a folded piece of paper.
“Owen asked me to give you this. It’s a list of some books he thought you might find informative. I take it the two of you settled your differences?”
Perplexed, Sarah met the older woman’s gaze. “Not in so many words, no. He asked what I thought about the books, and I told him. Did he say anything when he gave you this?”
“No. Just asked me to give it to you.”
“Huh. Okay.” There were three titles on the list. Sarah folded the paper and put it in the pocket of her skirt. “I’ll take a look at them before I leave. Thanks.”
The rest of the day, Sarah found herself fingering the paper at odd moments, her mind going back to Owen’s visit. His behavior utterly confounded her. Tired of worrying, she shrugged his kindness off as an anomaly. Just because he had been civil one day, she wasn’t expecting the same treatment the next time she saw him. She’d always had a strong sense of self-preservation, ever since overhearing Paul Turner laughing with her sister that day in the drama room. If Owen Campbell was trying to get her to drop her guard by being nice to her, he was going to have to do a lot more than recommend some books, no matter how interesting they might be.
Chapter Fifteen
AFTER OWEN FINISHED SUPPER THAT evening, he settled down at his desk to catch up on the correspondence that had collected while he was away. One of the first letters he wrote was to inform Eli of the day’s events. With the standard greeting out of the way, he went straight to the heart of what was bothering him.
I’m confused, I don’t mind admitting. When I ran into Sarah the other day, a smarmy insurance agent was sniffing at her heels. Then, I found out she was reading the very books I’ve been waiting for; I was startled. I handled that badly, something that I seem constantly to do around her. She got sick right after that, from what Shirley said. Knowing that just made the guilt worse.
I went to pick the books up today, and the gladness that went through me at seeing her… I don’t like it. But then she talked to me about the books. She’s so damned smart, Eli. I wanted to stay there at the counter all day. I don’t know what spurred her interest in the subject of the paranormal and Appalachian folklore. It was all I could do not to ask. She didn’t volunteer anything beyond what I asked her, and I could tell I made her uncomfortable.
I’ve really not handled things well, and I don’t know how to rectify that. I left her the names of some books I thought she might possibly find interesting. I included one of my own in the list. Maybe next time I go into the library, I’ll find the courage to ask her if she’s read them. Given the way I’ve acted around her, she probably threw the list away as soon as Shirley gave it to her.
I will continue to endeavor, as I promised I would, to repair the damage I’ve caused. Much as you feared, I do not think it is a task that will be easily nor quickly accomplished.
Owen sat back. Upholstered leather with wheels on the base, his chair was a luxury, a reward he’d purchased after he sold his first three books. It also made the countless hours he spent hunched over a tablet or the drawing board pass that much faster.
He’d started writing when he was eighteen, and through a lucky set of breaks, his books had taken off like wildfire. The boon allowed Owen to live very comfortably.
Picking up his favorite drawing nib, in lieu of a signature, he sketched out a quick scene of a deer looking up, surprise reflected in its gaze. For whimsy, he added a half-eaten bunch of daisies hanging out of the deer’s mouth. He always added a sketch to his private letters, something to make Eli and Amy smile.
Setting the unfolded letter aside so the ink could dry, he stretched and stood. He looked around the open, airy space that comprised his studio and sleeping quarters. After royalty checks had started to come in with regularity, Owen had decided he no longer enjoyed sleeping in a drafty barn. Even though his father had made the barn as comfortable as possible, nicer than many people’s houses, it was still a barn. He could have lived in the farmhouse, but he wasn’t comfortable there anymore. The memories were too strong and too negative.
When he’d mentioned to his uncle what he wanted to do a couple of years earlier, Eli and two of his sons had come up from Laurel County to help Owen build the new house. They and their families were the only ones who had ever seen the inside of it.
From the outside, the house looked very unassuming. The structure was small, but had two stories, along with a porch hidden in the middle of the roof. The downstairs contained his library, where he devoured book after book, his thirst for knowledge never quenched. Attached to the back was a small kitchen and laundry room, with a half-bath hidden under the stairs.
The upstairs was one large room, the only wall being the divider between the open space and the full bath. At one end, Owen’s desk and drawing board sat in front of a large bank of windows. His bed, large to fit his frame, was in the middle of the room, against the wall between the bedroom door and the windows. The foot of the bed faced another window, which was set into the wall beside a wide glass door that opened onto a small deck. The deck had stairs that led up onto the roof, where Owen had designed a space to sky watch.
The house was heated by a fireplace on each floor and met Owen’s needs nicely. From the outside, it looked like a slightly modified barn. Most people weren’t even aware of his home’s existence, thinking Owen still lived in his parents’ old house.
Looking out the windows across from his bed, Owen watched storm clouds gathering off in the distance. Frequent bolts of lightning shot down from the sky, illuminating the purple violence of the roiling clouds. He opened the door, letting the spring air flood into the room. Lifting his head, he sniffed the wind, his eyes half-closing with pleasure. A chill shook him, and he let the wolf emerge enough to enhance the experience of the wind rolling over him. The myriad of scents it carried tickled his lupine senses in a way his human side couldn’t experience.
He considered going outside for a run. He was wired from his encounter with Sarah earlier in the day. Glancing longingly at the mountain that rolled away from the house, he sighed.
“Too much paperwork, old man. There’ll be other runs.”
Tamping down his frustration, he closed the door and went back to the desk. As he addressed the envelope and folded the letter to Eli inside it, he wondered again what Sarah had done with the list of books.
“I’ll simply have to ask,” he finally decided. “There’s no way around it.”
Sarah was curled up on the window seat in her bedroom, the window cracked enough to let in fresh air. She heard thunder in the distance and shivered with anticipation. Nothing was as cleansing as a good storm, she thought, her attention momentarily diverted from the book she was reading.
One of the books Owen had recommended, Tobias Hedge Versus the Opossum, was a children’s storybook. Given the genre, she’d been surprised to find it on the list, and if he hadn’t included two other fairly studious volumes, she would have thought he was sending her a message that he saw her as a child. However, once she picked up the book and glanced through it, the recommendation made sense. Inside, she found much more than the typical children’s novel. Instead, it was closer to the original Grimm’s Fairy Tales, complete with stunning watercolor illustrations. Unlike Grimm’s books, which were set in Europe, Tobias Hedge took place in Appalachia.
As she perused the book, she recalled what she knew about the series. The author was one she’d heard of at Berea, even though she hadn’t gotten a chance to read his works before tonight. The series was written for older childre
n, and from what Sarah remembered, was all the latest rage. A native of eastern Kentucky, H. O. McLemore was reputed to be a brilliant recluse.
One of the girls in Sarah’s class, Gracie, had a theory. “I think he’s horribly disfigured from fighting in the war, and when he came home, wounded, the girl he was promised to ran away in horror. So he took to his cabin and writes to drown his sorrows.”
“Children’s stories?” Sarah questioned. “I don’t know. I think he’d be more apt to write along the lines of Steinbeck or Hemingway if that were the case.”
“No, Sarah,” another female student had protested. “It’s for all the children he’ll never have. You have to read these books.”
Sarah had laughed, brushing off their devotion to McLemore as a passing fad. But once she began reading the book Owen had recommended, she couldn’t put it down. The way the words flowed on the page, they seemed to wrap around her. The stories were deftly woven, a blend of the folklore that permeated mountain culture with new twists on the tales. Though the writing was original, there were enough glimmers of the traditional present to make it feel familiar.
After pausing only long enough to lay the book down and visit the bathroom, Sarah rushed back in and continued from the spot she’d marked. She might not understand Owen’s behavior, but the man knew what he was about in recommending books. As soon as she got to work tomorrow, she was going to check out every book they had by H. O. McLemore and devour them all.
Chapter Sixteen
OWEN WAS NERVOUS. IT HAD been nine days since he’d last been to the library, and he was almost afraid to go back and see Sarah again. What if she hadn’t read the books? Perhaps more threatening to his peace of mind, Owen wondered what it would mean if she had. On top of that, he castigated himself for including one of his own titles in the list.
“What are you going to do if she read it and didn’t like it?” he asked himself on the drive to town. He’d asked the question a hundred times in the last few days and was still no closer to an answer than he’d been the first time he’d wondered.
He was in between projects and had decided to take a little time off to do some genealogical research. Writing and illustrating his books was a passion, but researching lineages was something almost as important, satisfying another need. Ever since he’d learned the truth about himself, he’d been determined to find out where shifting originated. He’d discovered that his family wasn’t alone in the special gifts they had, and that the gifts hidden from sight by ordinary people were as varied as the people who bore them.
Shirley had let him know on his previous visit that the library was expecting several boxes of new material. He’d called that morning to see if they had arrived, and when Shirley confirmed they had, Owen was as gleeful as a kid in a candy store.
“I guess this means we’ll be seeing you today,” she remarked. He could hear the smile in her voice.
“You guess correctly,” he assured her.
Torn between his excitement over having new records to peruse and his trepidation at seeing Sarah, Owen parked in the pay lot near the library. He checked his leather satchel before he got out, making sure the paper and sharpened pencils inside were secure. To get to the library, he had to walk past the insurance agency where Sarah’s would-be beau worked. Owen stayed on alert as he went past the building, but saw no sign of the other man.
Heart pounding with anticipation by the time he reached the library, he took a minute to compose himself before going inside. When he reached the front desk and saw only Shirley and Callie working, the moment was rather anticlimactic.
Shirley greeted him with a knowing smile. “You were expecting someone else, I presume?”
Owen felt his face heat, and he gave an abashed shrug. “Maybe. I’m still happy to see you, though. How are you?” He gave her the books he was returning and leaned against the desk.
“I’m fine, sweetie. And you?”
“Well enough, I guess. So tell me about this new collection. Is it as good as you thought it would be?”
They chatted for several minutes about the new genealogy information. Owen was getting ready to go upstairs and start his research when he heard an exasperated sigh coming from the bookcases behind him. Shirley’s expression tightened, and Owen turned in time to see Sarah emerge, the smarmy insurance agent right behind her.
“Sarah, sweetheart—” the man started.
“I am not your sweetheart,” Sarah grated. “For the very last time, Tony, leave me alone.”
Owen felt himself go hot and then cold all over, and he straightened away from the desk, fully intending to lend assistance. He never made the first step, though.
As he watched, Tony reached out to touch Sarah’s shoulder. Sarah’s elbow flew back, making solid contact with the other man’s midsection if the grunt he emitted was any indication. The hardback book in her hand flew up to connect with Tony’s chin as he bent over from the first impact. The momentum of her move sent him to the floor, where he lay groaning in pain. His hands flew up to his mouth, where he’d apparently bitten his tongue when Sarah hit him with the book.
“Oh, no! Tony, are you okay? I am so clumsy. This sort of thing happens to me all the time,” Sarah said, standing over the injured man. To Owen’s utter astonishment, and not slight satisfaction, as she bent over the insurance agent, she managed to drop three of the books she’d been carrying… right on Tony’s groin. The man’s face, already red from the encounter, turned positively purple.
A laugh, hastily disguised as a cough, sounded from behind him, and Shirley rushed around the counter to where Sarah stood. She quickly took possession of the remaining book, which Owen thought was hovering quite ominously over the whimpering Tony.
She drew Sarah back a few steps. “Oh, this is an unfortunate accident. Sarah, I think you’re overset. Why don’t you take a break? I’ll take care of Tony.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Without glancing at the front desk, Sarah fled toward the back of the library.
Shirley helped Tony sit up and inspected the damage to his chin. “Oh, I think you’ll survive. But I don’t want to see you back in here pestering that girl again. Because if you are, I’ll call Gibson up at the insurance agency. He’ll not be pleased when I’m finished enlightening him. Do you understand my meaning, Mr. DeWitt?”
With a sullen “Yes, ma’am,” Tony managed to get to his feet. He didn’t look back as he hobbled out the door, wincing with every step. Shirley, Callie, and Owen watched him go, not speaking until the door closed behind him.
Shirley came back to the desk, one of the books Sarah had used so effectively in her hand. “Not one word of comment,” she told a highly amused Callie. Blood stained the corner of the cover, with some soaked into the pages. “Well, that’s ruined. Get the information off this and then dispose of it for me. We’ll have to order a new copy.”
“I’ll cover the cost, if I may,” Owen said. “That was worth watching.”
Shirley sent him an exasperated look. “I understand why she did it, but I’ll still have to have a word with the girl. Mind you, it might be a word of commendation. Don’t you have some research to be doing?”
Owen saluted her with a smile, greeted Callie, and headed upstairs, certain of three things. One, Sarah wasn’t interested in the least in the insurance agent. Two, she could handle herself well in difficult situation. And three, he never wanted to get on the wrong side of her and a book.
When Sarah returned to the library floor a short while later, she felt calmer, though still a bit humiliated by the whole debacle.
Shirley pulled her aside when she reached the front desk. “Tell me what happened. I didn’t even know he was in here.”
Embarrassed, Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. “I turned around, and he was just there. I figured he’d given up because he hasn’t been back in since I told him
I wasn’t interested. Anyhow, he kept getting closer and closer to me, even though I told him to back off. When he touched me, I lost my temper. I’m sorry.”
Shirley held up her hand. “Do not apologize. He had no business touching you, especially with you telling him to leave you alone. And you aren’t in trouble. But I have to caution you against attacking the patrons, otherwise we’ll both hear about it later. With that said, you had every right to defend yourself from unwanted advances. I’m proud of you for the way you handled him, Sarah.” To Sarah’s surprise, the other woman enfolded her in a quick hug. “Now, why don’t you go upstairs and work in the children’s department the rest of the day? Tell Nellie I sent you up there.”
“Thank you, Shirley.”
Taking the rolling cart full of returns for the children’s department with her on the elevator, Sarah let her eyes fall shut as the elevator doors closed. Why, she asked herself, did it always seem like Owen was there to witness every humiliating thing that happened to her? When the elevator dinged, she opened her eyes with a tired sigh. He’d probably run as fast and far as he could after seeing her attack on Tony. At least he’d been the only patron in the library at the time.
“Hey, Nellie. Shirley sent me up,” she told the older lady who ran the children’s department. “Where do you need me?”
The gray-haired grandmother looked at Sarah over her half-glasses. “Looks like you have plenty of books to check back in. Why don’t you start there, and I’ll let you know?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sarah took over an hour to sort through the hundred or so books on the cart. Each one had to be looked up in the file of check-outs, and its card replaced in the paper slot at the back of the book. Sarah noticed that several of the books had hold stickers.
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