By the time the Train slowed, Missy had stopped trying to remember where she had first worn the hat.
It rested on her knees, perfectly at ease with itself.
Outside, rain traced the window. Beyond it stood a platform, a row of lamps, and a station sign.
LIBRARY OF Y’ALL
Beyond the station gates, a lamplit street led away through the rain.
“Is the library here at the station?” Missy asked.
“A short walk away,” said Bob. “The station shares its name.”
“Do you know why yet?”
“No.”
“Have you asked?”
“I was asked to bring you. I’ve been concentrating on that.”
Missy lifted the hat and stood. A little sand remained in the folds of her red skirt. She brushed it away, although she suspected her shoes were carrying considerably more.
The carriage door opened.
A woman waited beneath a black umbrella.
She wore a fitted black coat, black gloves, and dark sunglasses, despite the rain and the fading light. Her dark hair curved against her collar. One hand rested around the umbrella’s wooden handle.
Missy stepped onto the platform, holding the hat against her waist.
The woman looked at Bob.
“You’re late.”
“The Train is late,” he said. “I have been on it the entire time.”
“And you must be Missy.”
“I usually am.”
“Good. We have enough uncertainty in the catalog.”
There was the smallest suggestion of a smile.
“I’m the Head Librarian.”
Missy had imagined this meeting several times during the journey. In none of those versions had she been wondering whether to shake hands with someone holding an umbrella.
The Librarian resolved the difficulty by moving closer and sheltering her.
“Shall we walk?”
Bob jumped down beside them.
They left the platform by a short flight of stone steps and passed through the station gates. The Librarian led them along the quiet street, keeping Missy beneath her umbrella. Rain broke the lamplight into trembling reflections on the pavement.
“Did you find what you were looking for in Ocean City?” the Librarian asked.
“I wasn’t looking for anything.”
Her gaze moved to the hat.
“That does happen.”
Missy ran a finger along its brim.
“I knew it was mine before I remembered anything about it.”
“What did you recognize?”
“The feeling of holding it.”
The Librarian nodded.
Missy waited for an explanation. None arrived.
Ahead, Bob stopped at a puddle. He examined it, walked around it, and looked back at them with the satisfaction of someone who had solved a problem without forming a committee.
“Do you already know something about my hat?” Missy asked.
“I know that you’re carrying it very carefully.”
“That isn’t much.”
“It’s what I’ve observed.”
They walked on, the sound of the Train growing softer behind them.
Missy liked this answer more than she expected to.
A few minutes later, they reached the library. Its pointed roofs rose above the street, and warm light filled the tall windows. At the steps, Missy paused to shake sand from her shoe.
“Something from the beach?” the Librarian asked.
“It seems to have followed me.”
“Then we’ve met your first traveling companion.”
“Second,” said Bob.
“You weren’t in my shoe.”
“I have boundaries.”
Beneath the entrance arch, the Librarian folded her umbrella and placed it in a stand. Then she opened the door.
Warm air met them, carrying the smell of paper, polished wood, and someone’s recently abandoned tea.
Missy paused on the threshold.
From the street, the building had appeared large. From inside, it appeared to have taken that as a suggestion.
Shelves extended beneath galleries and branching staircases. Lamps glowed over reading tables. High above them, a ladder moved along a shelf without anyone visibly pushing it.
Near the entrance stood a desk marked RETURNS.
Bob walked past it with sudden purpose.
“Bob,” said the Librarian.
He stopped.
“Is this about the book?”
“You remember.”
“I’m still considering the ending.”
“You’ve had it for eleven years.”
“It’s a difficult ending.”
The Librarian held out her hand.
Bob looked at it.
“I was told this was a social visit.”
“We’ll discuss it later.”
“My preferred arrangement.”
He continued into the library, a little faster than before.
Missy followed the Librarian across the hall.
Above them, a ladder stopped beside a high shelf. There was a soft scrape, then the sound of a book sliding into place.
“Who’s up there?” she asked.
“Someone who prefers not to be interrupted.”
Missy lowered her voice.
“Did you want me to bring something?”
“You brought yourself.”
“Bob wasn’t very specific.”
“I noticed.”
The Librarian led her toward a reading table beside a tall window. From there, Missy could see the wet street they had walked along. Above the distant station roof, a little steam drifted into the rain.
The Train was still there.
The short walk had made their arrival feel more definite. A few minutes ago, she had been sitting in the carriage, wondering who would be waiting.
Now she was here.
The Librarian pulled out a chair.
Missy sat and placed the hat on her knees. Bob jumped onto the neighboring chair, turned twice, and settled with his paws beneath him.
“Why did you want to meet me?” Missy asked.
The Librarian removed her gloves, laying one neatly over the other.
“Bob mentioned you.”
Missy looked at him.
“What did you say?”
“Several things. All carefully selected.”
“That doesn’t reassure me.”
“I didn’t select them for that purpose.”
The Librarian smiled.
“He said you ask questions.”
“So do most people.”
“He said you wait for the answers.”
Missy considered this.
“Sometimes I interrupt.”
“I imagine you do.”
Rain moved down the window. In the street below, someone paused beneath a lamp to open an umbrella.
Missy traced the edge of the hat.
“I thought perhaps I’d done something.”
“Have you?”
“Probably. But I wasn’t sure which thing you knew about.”
For the first time, the Librarian laughed.
The sound was quieter than Missy expected, and warmer.
“No,” she said. “You haven’t been summoned to explain yourself. I wanted to meet you.”
Missy let her shoulders settle.
Bob closed his eyes.
“I could have told you that.”
“You could have told me several things.”
“Yes,” he said. “And yet we arrived.”
The Librarian drew her own chair closer to the table.
From the direction of the station came a faint whistle. Inside, someone turned a page.
Missy rested her hands on the hat.
“All right,” she said. “Where shall we begin?”
Leave a Reply