by Ellery Adams
Nora knew how to keep Sheldon from sulking. “Would you like to find spots for the new shelf enhancers while I take care of the book pockets?”
“You haven’t even priced them yet.”
“Give me five minutes.”
Sheldon was humming by the time he found a home for the amber hobnail vases on a small table featuring novels with autumnal covers.
“It’s almost ten, and we have quite a crowd out there,” he said, making his way to the front door. “Our window is drawing them like moths to the flame. I bet they can’t wait to come in and . . . oh . . .”
Nora had been adding titles to the Halloween waterfall display next to the checkout counter when the rest of Sheldon’s sentence fell off a cliff. She stopped what she was doing and looked at him. It was ten o’clock, but Sheldon hadn’t turned the brass skeleton key to unlock the door.
He just stood there and stared outside.
“What is it?” Nora asked.
Sheldon turned to face her. “Not everyone in that crowd is happy. I’m sure some of them want coffee and books. But others came to pick a fight. I know that look. I know their type.”
Nora left the rest of the Halloween books on the counter. “There’s a line from Persuasion that says, ‘We none of us expect to be in smooth water all our days.’ ” She walked over to the door and peered out. “Get ready for rough seas, my friend.”
“O Captain, my Captain!” Sheldon bellowed before disappearing into the stacks.
His Whitman reference made Nora smile. She smiled when the first customers entered the bookstore and returned her greeting. She smiled when a woman said that she wanted to buy several books from the window display, but not until after she had a cup of coffee.
However, when four women strode into the shop with the assessing gazes of county health inspectors, Nora stopped smiling. The women huddled together near the window, pointing, frowning, and exchanging heated whispers.
Nora put up with this for several minutes, but when it was clear that they weren’t going to move, she decided to find out what they wanted.
“May I help you, ladies?” she asked in her silkiest saleswoman voice.
A brunette in a burgundy twin set and gray slacks pressed her hands together as if in prayer and said, “I sure hope so. I’m Connie Knapp, and these are my friends, Olga Gradiva, Bethann Beale, and Dominique Soto. We represent a group called the Women of Lasting Values. Have you heard of us?”
Nora hadn’t, but she’d encountered similar groups before. Groups like theirs were always the catalysts behind banned book discussions. The only surprise was that Nora hadn’t met these women sooner. For years, she’d run a bookstore free of complaints regarding her inventory or displays.
Guess it couldn’t last forever, she thought wryly.
“I can’t say that I have,” Nora replied.
Olga, a stern-faced woman with short gray hair, fished a pamphlet from her purse and gave it to Nora.
After glancing at the golden-haired family of four on the cover, Nora lowered the brochure and fixed her gaze on Connie. “I’ll look at that during my break. In the meantime, how can I assist you?”
“We’re concerned about your window display,” Connie said, smoothing her cardigan. “Using pagan symbolism and demonic rituals to trick impressionable young girls into buying books is manipulative and immoral. We’ve come to ask you—in the name of all the good women in this town who are raising their girls to follow traditional values—to take this ungodly display down. Will you do that? Will you do the right thing, Ms. Pennington?”
Nora saw two customers line up at the checkout counter. The first customer was holding four paperbacks. The second customer had three hardbacks.
“The purpose of this display isn’t to offend, and there’s definitely nothing demonic about it,” Nora said, struggling to keep her voice even. “It’s meant to show that women are powerful, magical, beautiful, smart, and strong. I hope that you’ll look at it again and see its positive message for women of all ages and backgrounds. I need to help other customers now, so enjoy your day.”
As Nora took up her position behind the checkout counter and gratefully attended to a very pleasant customer, Connie and her friends moved toward the exit.
Before leaving, each woman made a point to pause and look at Nora.
The coldness in their eyes and the hard set of their jaws spoke with the same force as words.
They’d come to Miracle Books to test Nora, and she’d failed the test.
Now, there would be consequences.
Chapter 4
There is no such thing as public opinion. There is only published opinion.
—Winston Churchill
Jed had to work Friday and Saturday night, so he and Nora made plans to spend Sunday together.
Sunday was the only day of the week Nora slept in. She’d turn off her alarm and let her body decide when it was time to get up. She’d spend a solid hour at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and perusing yard sale ads in the paper, before starting a load of laundry or a grocery list.
Today, she was still in bed, not quite fully awake, when she heard someone moving around in her kitchen. She’d left a key under the mat for Jed in case he wanted to come over in time for breakfast. He didn’t own a coffeemaker, and after pulling a double, he clearly wanted a higher quality brew than what the BP station had to offer.
Nora closed her eyes and enjoyed the sound of Jed making himself at home. This level of intimacy was fairly new territory for them. For over a year, their relationship had been strictly physical. But as time passed, they began to share their feelings with each other, and their relationship had deepened into something more mature and meaningful.
At the moment, however, Nora’s mind was focused on the physical part. She tiptoed into her bathroom to brush her teeth and hair, and then padded into the kitchen to give Jed a good-morning kiss.
“I was hoping the coffee would be done before you got up,” he said, brushing a piece of hair off Nora’s cheek.
Nora caught his hand and planted a soft kiss in the middle of his palm. “In that case, I’ll go back to bed. Wanna come?”
Jed replied with a kiss.
Later, well after the coffeepot had signaled the end of its brew cycle, Nora and Jed lay in bed, arms wrapped around each other, watching dust motes dance on a sunbeam.
Nora was always eager to hear about Jed’s work, so she asked how his shifts had gone.
He told her that he’d lost an elderly patient on the way to the hospital Friday night. The man had suffered a massive heart attack and Jed hadn’t been able to revive him.
“I never get used to it,” he said quietly. “That feeling of failing the patient and his family. It doesn’t matter if a hundred people tell me that I couldn’t have done anything more. If I’m the last person treating him—touching him—then I’m going to feel responsible.”
“That is why you’re so good at your job,” Nora said, stroking Jed’s dark hair. It had gotten longer over the summer, forming soft waves for her to comb through with her fingers.
Jed grunted.
“I’m serious. Even after treating hundreds of patients, you’re not jaded. You treat every patient with respect. You don’t give them nicknames or joke about their tattoos or birthmarks. I really admire that.” Propping herself up on an elbow, she asked, “How do you do it? Care about all of them so much?”
Jed looked at her, and his blue eyes sparkled like sunlight on the ocean. “I think about the team that took care of my mom. Whenever I’m tired, or feeling impatient, I picture those guys giving her oxygen, talking to her. Comforting her. I need to be as good as they were that night for the rest of my days and nights.”
Guilt dimmed the spark in Jed’s eyes and Nora wondered how long he would work double shifts to atone for causing the fire that had injured both his mother and his dog, Henry Higgins. His mother had forgiven him years ago. Would he ever forgive himself?
Running her fingert
ips down his unshaved cheek, Nora decided that Jed needed a break from his responsibilities, no matter how brief.
“I’m going to make you breakfast,” she said. “And how about we go on a hike later? We could pack a lunch, grab Henry Higgins, and leave the world behind for a little while. How does that sound?”
Jed let out a weary sigh. “More exercise? I just did my cardio for the day. What happened to lazy Sundays?”
Nora rubbed his flat stomach. “See this? I don’t have one of these. I don’t lift weights with firefighters in my downtime. I sit on my ever-expanding ass and read. So I need to climb some hills today. But for now, you should stay in bed. I’ll bring you a cup of coffee and the paper, and while you’re recovering from your cardio, I’ll make you a big omelet.”
“With bacon?”
“Don’t have any,” she said, getting out of bed. “How about sausage?”
Jed pulled a face. “Not if it’s that organic chicken stuff. It tastes too healthy.”
“And you call yourself a medical professional. I can’t even look at you.” Nora picked up a pillow and dropped it over his handsome face.
He sat up and tried to grab her, but she dodged his hand.
Jed flopped onto his back and stretched his arms out wide. “If I hadn’t missed just then, you wouldn’t be going anywhere. My strength is already coming back.”
“Oh, good. We’ll take the extra steep trail.”
Laughing, Nora went into the kitchen to cook breakfast.
* * *
They didn’t go hiking right away. Jed had errands to run, and Nora needed to hit the flea market and a few garage sales. She’d perused the classified ads and made a list of promising garage sales over breakfast, but had to set aside the rest of the paper to read later.
Unfortunately, Nora’s late start cost her the first pick of the garage sale treasures. The shoppers who’d arrived within thirty minutes of the advertised start time were already bargaining with the homeowner, and after three sales, Nora’s only finds were an old bank shaped like a mailbox and sixteen books in the Cherry Ames nursing series. Though the vintage books were in good condition and would make a charming endcap display, they also filled up Nora’s backpack. She’d have to drop them at Miracle Books before heading to the flea market.
Because Nora didn’t own a car, she was used to making multiple stops. She didn’t mind this at all. In fact, she looked for excuses to drive her moped around town. Not because she loved driving, but because her mode of transportation was just plain spectacular.
When Nora acquired the moped, it was canary yellow with pink floral decals. The color scheme didn’t suit her personality one bit, but Nora wasn’t going to spend her limited funds on a paint job. As a surprise, Jed and Nora’s friends paid an auto detailer to transform the moped from an eyesore into a work of art. It now featured rows of colorful book spines.
Drivers would often roll down their car windows and shout, “I loved The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo!” or “Pride and Prejudice is my favorite book!”
Nora would flip up her visor, smile, and say, “In that case, I have the perfect book waiting for you at my shop. Come see me.”
And eventually, the person would.
Nora’s moped was a billboard on wheels. When she parked in front of the big, red barn where the flea market was held, every shopper could see the graffiti-style text painted under the seat. They’d read, NEXT STOP: MIRACLE BOOKS, and make a mental note to drop by the bookstore the next time they had a few moments to themselves.
On Sundays, the barn was especially crowded, and Nora maneuvered around any dawdlers, heading straight for Bea’s booth. Bea had a large family, and all of her siblings, nieces, and nephews dealt in vintage goods. Because of this, Nora hoped Bea had fresh merchandise for sale.
Bea was wrapping a tin Halloween noisemaker in newspaper when Nora approached the booth. The customer buying the noisemaker was also trying to make a choice between a retro black cat or a skeleton ornament.
“Get both,” Bea suggested. “Things are always better in pairs. PB&J. Batman and Robin. Han Solo and Chewbacca.”
The woman grinned. “Now I’m thinking about Harrison Ford. Nice sales technique you’ve got there. Okay, I’ll take them both.”
While Bea wrapped the ornaments, Nora examined an art glass pumpkin paperweight for imperfections. Finding none, she cradled it in her palm as she continued to survey Bea’s wares.
“I set some things aside for you.” Bea reached under a table and pulled out a cardboard box containing two items. The first was a repoussé pillbox with harvest decorations. The second was a white pottery water pitcher with autumn leaves dancing around the rim. Several sheets of crumpled paper indicated that there’d been more than two items in that box at one point.
“These are great. Is there anything else?” Nora asked.
Bea shook her head. “I put the rest of it out. You’re usually here and gone by now.”
“Yeah, I’m running late today.”
“Is it because of that?” Bea jerked a thumb at the folded newspaper next to her cash box.
Nora cocked her head. “Sorry?”
“The article on page four.” At Nora’s blank look, Bea stared at her in surprise. “No one told you?”
Nora felt a prick of dread. “My phone’s been turned off. Can I see?”
“Oh, Lord.” Bea handed Nora the paper and moved to the far end of her booth to wrap the water pitcher.
Nora turned to page four and scanned headlines until the bold letters on the bottom third of the page jumped out at her.
LOCAL GROUP WARNS: BE CAREFUL WHERE YOU SHOP
The article opened with the line, “A special interest group, the Women of Lasting Values Society, is asking Miracle Springs consumers to take a closer look at area businesses. According to the group’s founder, Connie Knapp, being local and independently owned doesn’t guarantee that a business is worthy of our hard-earned dollars.”
“Oh, no,” Nora whispered. She knew where this was going but kept reading anyway. It was like being a passenger in a car on a collision course. There was no avoiding the crash, so Nora braced herself for impact and read on.
The article seemed to be a series of quotes given by Connie and some other group members. The women came across as concerned citizens and devoted mothers. They didn’t call out a single business by name.
Instead, they asked leading questions like, “Is a window display that includes symbols of witchcraft celebrating female empowerment or satanism? And can our impressionable children tell the difference?” or “Is CBD truly harmless, or is it the first step toward substance abuse? Would you buy medicine for a sick family member from a licensed practitioner or from a gift shop?”
A few members went on the defensive. A quote from Bethann suggested that Red Bird Gallery and Gifts had a notable lack of faith-based items for sale. Again, she didn’t mention the shop by name, but it was the only place in town that sold items made by the Cherokee. “I would never buy a dream catcher or a carved animal mask as a Christmas gift or wedding present. I want to spend money on items that reflect my family’s values instead of things that have no place in my belief system.”
The article was so biased that Nora had to pause midway through to check the byline.
“Olga Gradiva?” she spluttered. “She’s one of them!”
The article’s final lines warned the citizens of Miracle Springs to be aware of which area businesses might weaken the traditional family structure or negatively influence impressionable youth.
“Why are these harpies targeting businesses run by women?” Nora turned to find Bea staring at her. “Red Bird Gifts, Soothe, and my bookshop. It’s just wrong.”
Nora was so angry that she was shaking. She wanted to punch something. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. But she was surrounded by people who’d probably read the same article. Regular customers and potential customers. And because of that, she had to mask her fury.
B
ea didn’t bother haggling. She simply named a fair price and took Nora’s money. When Nora reached out to take her purchases, Bea grabbed her arm.
“I liked you from the start, book lady.” Her voice was tobacco-rough, but her gaze was tender. “You’re like me and mine. We work hard, take care of our own, and treat others right. But every now and then, folks come along and make trouble for us. You need to do what we do. Stand tall. Keep walkin’ your walk. Don’t let them change you. That’s when they win.”
Nora squeezed Bea’s hand in silent gratitude.
Not every woman in Miracle Springs was out to get her. She needed to remember that.
As she worked her way toward the exit, Nora felt eyes on her. The ticklish sensation on her back reminded her of the feeling she’d had after first meeting Celeste. But Celeste wasn’t her enemy. She was being targeted by the Women of Lasting Values Society too.
How many members do they have? Nora wondered, glancing around.
Spotting one of the tellers from her bank chatting with the manager of the grocery store, Nora raised her hand in greeting. They both averted their gazes, making a poor show of pretending they hadn’t seen her.
Keep walkin’ your walk, Bea had said.
Nora didn’t try to make eye contact with anyone else. She just wanted to get out of the barn. Sweat beaded her forehead. The air was stifling. It felt too thick to breathe. There were too many people. There was too much noise. People talking. People laughing. People slurping drinks. Someone cracked gum near Nora’s ear. To her, it sounded like gunfire.
Up ahead, light streamed through the open doorway and Nora lurched toward it, her bag of treasures swinging like a pendulum from her right hand. She swung it higher and higher, forcing people to skitter out of her way.
And then, finally, she was outside. She breathed in lungful after lungful of fresh, mountain air and wiped her forehead with the back of her shirtsleeve. After stowing her purchases in her moped’s storage compartment, she pulled on her helmet and drove out of the lot. Behind her visor, Nora’s eyes were dark with anger.
