by Solly, Clare
“Thanks,” Robert said as he held the door open for her.
Shortly after he walked her into the library and introduced her to the librarian, he left Dottie in the library asking her to stop by and say goodbye when she was leaving campus.
A very cute woman in her early thirties who went by Miss Harmon, was not your typical librarian. With a blue streak in her hair and a dress with lightning bolts all over it that said in script across the chest something about being sorted into a house Dottie knew that she was a “fun librarian.”
“You can call me Jen, if there aren’t too many students around,” Miss Harmon whispered as she led Dottie back to a far corner that had now windows. “Here,” she pointed, “is the reference section that is barely used in our computer age. I moved it over here when I first started as not many people come in for the old yearbooks. Mostly its only alumni who use it, and its less distraction for everyone over here.” She winked at Dottie. “Help yourself to any of them, and feel free to use the table,” she pointed behind her. “Just don’t worry about shelving anything. I’ll have my aides do it. They need the practice.”
“Thanks,” Dottie said grabbing a few of the tomes in front of her. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
As Jen walked away, Dottie thought about asking if she could take pictures. But then she remembered the no phone rule. If there was anything she needed, she could always make notes and ask Richard to take care of it later. Or she could come back, after school was out so that way, she wasn’t a bad example for the students.
Cracking the first yearbook, Dottie was sucked into the pictures and the recent history. All of it was so fascinating. Dottie wondered to herself why she never looked at the old yearbooks before. There was so much wonderful information about the school and the town here. Her mind started to build an exhibit for the museum in her mind that showcased the yearbooks. The oldest she could find was one from 1819, but the oldest with pictures was 1912. The table was piled with books when the bell ending fourth period rang. Jen walked over and said, “Just so you know, that was the end of fourth period, and I usually get a rush of students during fifth, using their lunch break in here to study or just escape the cafeteria.”
“Oh, thanks for the heads up,” Dottie said, just as she was pulling from the shelf a few yearbooks from the 1920’s, “I’m supposed to go back to yearbook class and check in there.”
“Did you find what you were looking for,” Jen looked hopefully at Dottie.
“Not yet.” Dottie closed a book in front of her. “Are you sure I can’t help clean up?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jen said, “Really. I have so many aides in sixth period and they want things to do. They’ll have a blast going through all of this. In fact, I might mess them up a little more and make it a challenge,” Jen said with a twinkle in her eye.
Laughing, Dottie said her goodbyes and walked back to Mrs. Rhuel’s classroom. She spent the next two periods gazing through the 1920s on the computer. A couple of the student editors helped on other monitors. Apparently three of the computers were linked to the hard drive with the scans on them of past yearbooks and school published newspapers. Dottie described to them the photo they were looking for. As they scrolled and scrolled, time ticked by. This mystery was becoming more and more intriguing the more she hunted. Dottie’s eyes became tired and she started to worry that they wouldn’t actually find the picture of the two holding the horseshoes.
“Hey, is this it,” asked a girl who looked barely old enough to be in high school, with her brown hair pulled back by a fabric headband revealing her freckles and big eyes.
Dottie walked over, blinked when she saw the image on the screen and then started jumping up and down. She hugged the girl around the shoulders briefly then leaned over her shoulder to look, “Yes! Yes, that’s it Kara! You found it. What does it say?”
Rigidly the girl read, “Winning the annual winter horseshoe competition with a ringer, Virginia Yolls and Samuel Edwards, seniors, show off their winning shoes. Although the game is usually played in summer, this tradition of winter horseshoes dates back to the opening of the school. With the centennial celebration this year, the game was brought back with the hope to remain a tradition in the future.”
“That is so wonderful. Can you print this out for me?” Dottie asked.
“Already done,” Kara said smiling. “Would you like it emailed as well?”
“Sure,” Dottie grabbed the print out from the printer baffled by the young lady and her expedience. “Did you notice anything else about horseshoes in that edition?”
“I didn’t, but I can keep looking,” Kara said.
The bell rang.
“But it will have to be tomorrow. I have to go to Calculus,” Kara said as she grabbed her backpack off the floor next to her. “This was fun! Thanks,” she said as she dashed out the door.
Dottie leaned on the table she was standing next to and sighed as she looked at the picture of the smiling couple on the screen. “It’s too bad I can’t keep looking on my computer.”
“You can come back anytime. And if we can figure out how to remote our server over to the museum, I’ll give you a call,” Mrs. Rhuel said.
“Thanks,” Dottie said with a sigh. “What time is it?” she asked realizing that she had been at the school all day. It was a good thing she had put a sign on the museum door yesterday saying it would be closed for the day.
“We’re just about to start last period, so it’s two-fifteen pm.”
“Well, that would explain why I’m so hungry,” Dottie said. “I think I’ll be going. Thank you, and your students, for all of the help. I’m sure I’ll be back,” Dottie said as she walked out of the door.
Meandering through all of the students was slow as if walking through drifts of snow through. Eventually Dottie found her way back to the office.
“He’s in with a parent,” said the secretary. “You’re welcome to wait, but I have no idea how long they’ll be in there.”
“That’s alright. Just let him know I found what I was looking for, but I think there is more research to do, and I’ll call him later.”
“Will do,” said the perky, curvy older lady with a short and spiky blond pixie cut. She seemed genuinely happy.
“Thanks. Have a great day!” Dottie smiled, feeling the secretary’s effervescence spread to her as she drove away from the school.
Chapter Seventeen
When she arrived at the museum, she ran up the steps and around to the kitchen entrance, reaching up for the key she hid over the door frame. It wasn’t on the corner where she usually left it. She felt across the doorframe, feeling the rising panic. That was odd, it wasn’t there. She tried the knob. It was open. The door creaked as e she opened it then quickly closed it behind her. She opened and closed a couple of drawers looking for the key. She shrugged it off. It was probably in a pair of her pants in the laundry. She would check when she got home. Excitement of the picture in the yearbook pushed the thought of the missing key out of the way and Dottie quickly unlocked the door then quickly put the key back on the frame and walked in. She rushed up the stairs. At the top she turned left and walked into the Logan room, it shared a wall with the much larger Baker room. The photographs were all on the floor leaning up against the walls. Dottie walked directly over to the photo, pulling the printout from her back pocket and unfolding it. Already knowing it was the exact same photo, she wanted to make sure.
“Hello Virginia and Samuel!” she greeted the picture and waved. She crossed her legs at the ankles and lowered herself to the floor and leaned back on her hands. Dottie felt so proud and carefree in this moment. Pushing herself up, she took the paper and set it on the floor in front of the picture and sat back again. An idea started to form. Looking around the room at the blank walls, Dottie felt inspiration flowing from them. Voices from earlier today echoed through her mind.
“Anything you need,” said Robert.
“These are never looked a
t except when an alumnus comes…” said Miss Harmon.
“Centennial celebration,” read Kara.
“We could share the server…” said Mrs. Rhuel.
Everything seemed to snap together at once, if only…
Dottie hopped up and dashed out of the room. She ran down the stairs, and a flashing light made her glance through the doorway to the ballroom. Preoccupied with the need to find paper, Dottie ignored the feeling something was different. She ran into the kitchen, rifled around for a pen and the spiral notebook she had left on the counter with some of her brainstorming for the exhibit and a to do list for Hetty’s exhibit.
Hetty. Traitor! The thought flashed across her mind, and she said out loud, “No, she is my oldest friend, and there must be an explanation. I just don’t have time for that right now.”
Grabbing the notebook, her eye caught the tub of cookies that were left, and she grabbed for it. Taking one cookie and putting it in her mouth, then grabbing a second thoughts, of Harold and cookie contract flashed across her mind.
“I don’t have time for that either,” she said waving the thought away like a fly.
Roughly she snapped the lid back on, sealing away that idea until she had time to process it. Leaning on the counter she roughly drew a sketch of the room and started drawing the flow of the exhibit. Would the room be big enough for what she wanted to do? She chewed on both the cookie and the idea. Maybe.
Full of vigor, Dottie grabbed the book and went to the maintenance closet and threw the door open, leapt in and pulled the cord on the light. She reached for the toolbox, but it wasn’t in its normal space. In fact, nothing was. She looked around the room to find that shelves were now labeled, and everything seemed to be organized. What volunteer would have done this, she wondered. Squatting down, she found the toolbox was on the bottom shelf. Opening it, she found it too was organized. Pondering how this happened for a moment, but then filing it away to deal with later, Dottie grabbed the tape measure and ran up the stairs, seeing a flashing light again, as she passed the ballroom. Later. She had to get this idea down before it escaped.
Measuring walls and pictures, then sketching and taking notes, the idea blossomed. Dottie scrambled to the floor and lay on her stomach on the floor kicking her feet up. She was in the position just like she used to do when she studied many afternoons in this very museum. She wrote it all out and reviewed the plan. It would work. She even jotted down some alternative ideas just in case she couldn’t get all of the pieces to fall into place. Taking a deep breath, she sat up and reached for her cell phone. But it wasn’t in her back pocket. Feeling a bit like she was missing a part of herself, she looked all around the floor. It wasn’t there. She ran down to the kitchen. Checking the drawers and the counters she found nothing. Dottie ran to the maintenance room. She hadn’t left it on the shelves and didn’t see it on the floor. She traced her steps, up and down the stairs. Nothing. Wait! It must be in the car. She ran to the front door and fumbled with the lock, seeing a flashing light again coming from the ballroom, but still ignoring it. Dashing to the car, she threw open the driver’s side door, but it wasn’t on the seat. She leaned over and felt in the crevices and the seam of the seat. Nothing. Pulling up on the bar and yanking the seat forward, she saw it! It had dropped under the seat and slid back. Hitting the lock button on the door, she unlocked the back and grabbed the phone. It was still off. Waiting for it to power on, she closed up the car and walked back into the museum.
Suddenly, her phone was a deluge of noise and notifications. Apparently, Dottie had seventy-two notifications in the time her phone was shut off. Seventeen were from Harold, four from Hetty, one missed call from Frank, a few texts from Robert. The list went on.
Not wanting to deal with any of it at the moment except to talk to Robert about yearbooks. She selected his number and hit the green call button. Dottie held her breath until she heard his voice at the other end.
“Dottie—”
“Robert,” Dottie was so excited she cut him off. “I have a crazy idea, and I need your help to make it happen.”
Chapter Eighteen
Hanging up the phone Dottie felt hopeful. A “we’ll see what we can do” from Robert was a good sign. She walked around The Logan Room again in a circle to see if she could gather any more inspiration. This would work. If she could just borrow some of the yearbooks from the school. Frank and Murray always said they would make display cases for her. More elaborate plans like enlarging pages of yearbooks and hanging them flew into her mind. Or, she could even get those poster turnstiles, putting blown up copies of yearbooks, so visitors could turn the pages of the year books. With the newer yearbooks, there might be extra copies that visitors could turn through, but the older ones she would display in glass enclosed bookcases lining the walls as they were more fragile. She would move the glass covered cases in from the library and put them out in the middle of the floor in this room.
“That might be a little congested,” she said to herself. Suddenly she was hit by a great idea. “What if I used both rooms for the exhibit?” Dottie exclaimed out loud. Throwing her arms up over her head as if she was rejoicing a goal scored. Racing with excitement, her heart beat like it was trying to get her lungs to dance. Dottie felt hopeful for the first time in weeks. Despair had set in earlier this month with the board deciding to close the doors, then the roof needing patching and replacing almost crushed her spirit entirely. Dottie didn’t want to assume that this idea for this exhibit could fix everything, but if she could just show the board that there was hope for the museum. The museum could attract guests. She wanted to prove that this museum meant something to the community, whether or not they remembered the museum still existed.
Feeling parched and overloaded with ideas, Dottie went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Every idea spurred a different one and she was so filled with ideas and excitement. This exhibit could have several phases. Her mind churning with ideas, Dottie unconsciously grabbed a glass from the cabinet, then walked to the sink and let the cool water run. Not turning off the faucet, Dottie chugged the glass of water letting both the water and her ideas absorb. Filling up the glass again Dottie took another swig.
Feeling as if the thrum of ideas was settling into her mind and coming together as a big picture, Dottie wandered back to the staircase. She took another sip at the bottom of the stairs and through the clear bottom of the glass she saw the flickering light again. Lowering the glass, she looked into the ballroom and almost spat out her mouthful of water.
There in the middle of the ballroom was a fully lit and decorated Christmas tree. Dottie’s jaw dropped. The sparkling magnificence was breathtaking. As she looked at the flickering flashing lights her eyes teared up a little. She had been wanting to decorate for about a week. In fact, she itched to put up Christmas decorations the day after Halloween, but her father’s birthday was November twenty-second, and there was a family rule that no Christmas decorations could go up before his birthday. Even though he lived in a different state, Dottie still upheld that tradition. And then with the notice the museum would be closing she had been focused on trying to keep it open. And she had yet to put up a tree.
This tree was perfect. She was so mad at herself for driving off and leaving the tree in Joe’s yard. It was probably still there, covered with snow. It upset her to think about that night. To think about him in general was frustrating, in many definitions of the words. The tree lights flashed again as if to demand her attention. It was an amazing gesture. But who could have done it? How? When? Tons of questions flashed through her head.
Circling the tree, Dottie took it all in. These were her ornaments from her apartment. The angel she made in second grade. A droopy looking reindeer. Santa with a large sack of toys thrown over his back. Several train ornaments that had been collected over the years given to her by her father. Her great literature ornament collection that Joe had given her one of five every year from when they were nine years old to fifteen, and this was her f
ather’s train running around the bottom. Unable to help herself, Dottie lay down on her stomach and watched the train go around and around. Mesmerized watching the train underneath the flashing lights on the tree, she felt like a child again. Her mind relaxed and her concerns flitted away as her brain recalled stories her father used to tell her of all of the people who lived in the miniature village under the tree.
After about fifteen minutes, the phone beside her buzzed. It was a text from Robert. She could have the yearbooks! On loan, of course. But if the events went well and the museum stayed open, they would discuss making the museum the high school’s official archives.
Pushing herself up and off the floor with her arms, Dottie sprang into action. Ignoring the content of Hettie’s texts, Dottie sent a quick: Can you help me with the exhibit tonight?
She sent off a quick email to Mrs. Rhuel and Miss Harmon over at the high school asking when she could come by and pick up the items the museum was borrowing. As a final thought she put her cell phone number at the bottom. All of her emails had the land line for the museum at the bottom, but she didn’t know how close she would be able to be to the phone in the office or the kitchen. After hitting send she turned the phone’s ringer on.
Dashing upstairs, she wrangled the “exhibit closed for renovation” curtains out and put one in front of the room where the yearbook exhibit would be. Then she carried one up to the Baker Room. As she was setting it down, she looked up at the ceiling. It looked as good as new. Happily, she sighed. Something seemed to be going right. Taking her phone out of her back pocket, she searched for a number and hit send. As she put the phone to her ear, she knew exactly who was responsible for the tree.
“Frankincense and Myrrh Hardware.”
Chapter Nineteen