A New Keeper

by J C Gilbert

After a few moments of searching, I found a sticker on the window. It had peeled in the heat and was almost impossible to read. I couldn't see what the opening hours on Friday were supposed to be, but if they were the same as the rest of the week, then they were definitely late opening up.

  What if they never opened?

  I leaned against the wall and waited. After a while, my phone buzzed.

  Where were you?

  It was Lilly. I had forgotten to tell her not to wait for me out the front of the school. Knowing Lilly, she probably missed the first class waiting there.

  Sorry, I’ll tell you about it later. Sorry.

  There was no reply. I felt pretty guilty. Lilly and I had a pretty robust friendship, and she was used to me flaking out, but it still sucks to let people down.

  At last, a car pulled up and parked outside the shop. I felt super awkward standing there and waiting. I imagined what was going on in the driver’s head and cringed. But I had no choice. I needed to get in there and get out as soon as possible.

  A woman stepped out of the car. “Good morning!” she said with an unnatural degree of cheerfulness.

  “Morning,” I said.

  She unlocked the door to the shop, stepped inside, and turned on the lights. I hesitated and then stepped in after her.

  She sat behind the desk, and I became painfully aware of all the rummaging I had done there the night before, and hoped that I had put it all back right. Would she suspect me if it were out of place?

  “Just give me a second,” she said. She unlocked the workshop door, disappeared for a moment and then came and sat back down. “Now, what can I do for you?”

  “Um, my mom brought a book here yesterday to be appraised. I need to get it back.”

  “What was the name of the book?” she asked.

  “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.”

  “Yes, well our appraiser isn't in yet. He usually unlocks. He must be running late.”

  “That's OK, I just need the book back.”

  “What did you say your name was?”

  “Alex Reed. My mom, Jane Reed brought it in yesterday but didn't hear back. I need it today for school.”

  “That shouldn't be a problem. Do you have the receipt?”

  My heart skipped a beat. “Receipt? No, I-”

  “I’m terribly sorry. I can’t hand over anything without evidence that it is yours. You understand. We can't have just anyone walking in off the street and claiming valuable antiques, now can we?”

  “But I have to have it!” I blurted.

  “I’m sorry. I suppose I could call your mother?”

  “No, I mean- ”

  “No?”

  “OK, sure. Give her a call.”

  The woman gave me a suspicious look and then started thumbing through some sort of vintage phone number filing system. “Jane, isn't it,” she said, more to herself.

  “Yes.”

  I could hear the phone ringing from where I was standing. Mom would probably want to ‘have a talk’ when I got home.

  “Mrs. Reed? Yes, hi, this is Caroline from Albany Antiques- No I’m afraid Mr. O’Connor isn't in yet. This is concerning your daughter… Yes, your daughter, Alex isn't it?” she made an eyebrow gesture at me, and I nodded. “Well, she is here at the store… Yes, she is… I was wondering about that. We don't get many school students here during the day. Or at all, come to that… Yes, well she has come to pick up the book you left with us yesterday. I was just telling her that Mr. O’Connor has not finished his report, and… Are you sure?… OK, that's fine… OK, until next time. Bye.”

  I waited expectantly as Caroline hung up the call.

  “I'll just get it from out back.”

  Relief washed over me. A few moments later the woman came back and handed me the book. It was amazing to have it in my hands again.

  “A beautiful book,” she said, with longing, “where did you get it?”

  “Just a book shop.”

  “What a find. Well, I hope you appreciate it. I know people who would kill for a book like that.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I hurried back to school as fast as I could, trying not to think about the kinds of people who would kill to have access to The Library.

  I resisted the temptation to dive into The Library and start searching for Mr. O’Connor. I was late enough as it was, and the last thing I needed right now was more trouble at school.

  As I walked through the front gate, I glanced about to see if anyone would see me enter. I was still early enough to make it to one morning class at least, and there was always a chance that nobody would notice that the quiet girl who sat at the back of the class was missing.

  Just when it seemed like I had gotten away without trouble, I caught the eye of a teacher walking by.

  It was Mr. Wilson.

  He didn’t smile or nod or anything, but I knew he had seen me. I suspected that I was fast becoming his least favorite student, but I couldn't worry about that now. I just had to get to class.

  All through maths class my mind was in The Library. It was a massive place, and Mr. O’Connor could be anywhere. I tried to imagine where a ninety-year-old antiques dealer would wander but came up with no obvious answers. There was a strong possibility that I would have to come clean and let the Librarian know that I messed up.

  When lunchtime came, I didn't stick around. I maybe should have apologized to Lilly again, but The Library was just more important right now.

  I fast-walked across the empty sports field. The sanctuary was quiet and welcoming.

  Books had many times transported me to another world here, but usually not so literally. I found a large tree to put my bag behind, sat down, and opened to the first chapter.

  As soon as I landed in The Library, I began my search. The Librarian didn't seem to be around. Good, maybe I could get this done quietly. My first idea was to go to the maps area. There were several old cabinets there which he would definitely be interested in. But when I got there, it was just as empty as ever. An image flashed in my mind's eye of Mr. O’Connor stumbling and falling into The Library's canyon.

  No, he was old, not blind.

  I ran down the stairs and to the observatory. Empty as well.

  Was I going to have to search every shelf? I tried to keep on moving. I only had to be right once, and then I would be able to send him back to my world. I searched and searched, but it was no use. The Library was just too big, and I simply did not have enough time to search everywhere. Lunchtime would be finishing soon. Where was he?

  The sound of laughter made me stop.

  I listened hard to see where it was coming from. There was the sound of two people talking. I followed the noise. It led me down a flight of stairs and to the room where the Librarian had taken me after she first found me.

  Cautiously I crept in.

  There sitting opposite each other was the Librarian and Mr. O’Connor. The Librarian’s armchair was significantly larger than the other. They appeared to be drinking tea and having a laugh. I walked in and their conversation hushed.

  “Little Miss Reed!” said Mr. O’Connor. He stood up, walked toward me, and took my hand. “I should have known you would end up in a place like this. I still remember you as a little girl. You always had a book tucked under one arm. Oh, how sweetly you would sit in one of my old chairs while your mother looked about. You never did heed the do-not-sit signs. I would suggest you couldn't read them, but I think you probably read more than I did. I never had the heart to tell you to get off. And now here you are, a library of your own!”

  “I was just keeping our guest company until you arrived,” said the Librarian, “we actually have quite a lot in common.”

  I didn't know what to say or do. Mr. O'Connor was acting like a magical library inside a book was the most normal thing in the world, and the Librarian was acting as if him being there was no problem at all.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “You seem embarrassed,” said Mr. O�
�Connor, “come, sit! Have a cup of tea. We are old friends, you and I. A secret library, eh? Can’t be many of these around.”

  “Um…”

  “I did know one family who had a magical wardrobe, actually. Never went in myself, but I heard a lot about it. I have to say, a magical library is a far better idea. I mean, what use is a whole dimension full with coats?” he turned to the Librarian, “that place was run by a lion, apparently. Had the awful habit of falling asleep for weeks at a time. There was this one time when they thought he was dead, and-”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. O’Connor. But I have to take you back. I’m at school and lunch is almost over.”

  “Go back?” he looked from me to the Librarian and back to me again.

  I looked to the Librarian. She smiled.

  “Oh, just let him stay another day. I don't get many people to talk to here, you know. And he is such a nice young man.”

  “That's very kind of you to say,” said Mr. O’Connor, taken aback.

  “It’s nothing, really,” said the Librarian.

  Did she just blush?

  “Right,” I said. There was clearly something else going on here, but I didn't quite understand what. “I’ll be going then.”

  “Be sure to stop by later!” said Mr. O’Connor.

  Soon I was back in the sanctuary. The last couple of days had been a real roller coaster, and contrary to all my predictions everything seemed to be turning out OK. I mean, the fairy was still at large, but at least it was alive.

  I slumped against a tree and closed my eyes.

  Immediately I opened them again. There were voices.

  I was not alone.

  It sounded like Mr. Wilson and Mr. Daniels were on lunchtime duty again. From my position behind the old oak tree, I could smell the smoke from their cigarettes wafting on the wind. It seemed like they had their own reasons for wanting to escape the jungle that was the schoolyard.

  For a moment I considered retreating back into my book, but it was so close to the end of lunchtime. I had no choice.

  I had to sneak by.

  I hung low to the ground, trying to stay out of site. Whatever it was that the teachers were talking about seemed to have them quite animated. It was possible I was going to make it! I quickened my pace.

  I must have made a sound because they both looked up at once.

  “Alex Reed,” said Mr. Wilson, his voice level.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Mr. Wilson pressed his cigarette butt into the earth with his foot. Mr. Daniels hurriedly tried to do the same. “What did we tell you about coming here out of bounds? We have very strict drug policies here, Miss Reed.”

  “I was reading.”

  “A bit sly of you to stay quiet for all this time,” Mr. Daniels stammered, “you didn't hear anything you shouldn't have, did you?”

  “I don't know,” I said, wondering what I shouldn't have heard.

  “Regardless, you have earned yourself detention,” said Mr. Wilson, “tomorrow morning. Be there or be in severe trouble.”

  “But-,” I said. I know I go red when I am embarrassed, but right then I felt like I was going a deep shade of purple.

  “Just get to class,” said Mr. Daniels.

  With my book clutched to my chest, I hurried away, turmoil in my heart.

  The clock seemed to tick at half speed during my last class. Time simply refused to pass. I just wanted to get back to The Library.

  I had to escape from this stupid place.

  When the bell rang, I hurried out of the school grounds. I wanted to forget about the detention and get lost someplace wonderful. Once home I sat cross-legged on my bed and opened my book.

  I passed the Librarian walking down a central aisle. She carried a huge stack of books balanced in her sturdy arms. They looked heavy. I suppose being a gorilla has its perks.

  “Hello there. Where is Mr. O’Connor?”

  “In the reading room. He is going to stay for a while to get some reading in. These are for him.”

  “Oh,” I said, “is there anything I need to do today?”

  “Nothing urgent. Familiarize yourself with the place, and see if you can feel the call of the books. Remember what I told you?”

  “Yes, I remember. I’ll do my best.”

  As much as I wanted to settle down and actually enjoy The Library for what it was, I couldn't help but explore this strange new land, my strange new land.

  I soon realized that The Library was not uniform in its style. In the areas that I explored so far everything was grand and traditional, everything in its place. Today I found places where the light subsided and the rows of books fell away. The walls turned to large cement bricks lit by torches.

  I followed down one of these corridors for a short way. There was a distant drip-drip of water. The further I went the darker it got. Hank started drumming on my heart. I lost my nerve and turned back.

  I came to a blazing fireplace. A couple of couches were set around it. It reminded me of a ski lodge, a warm island in a world of snow. The fire crackled invitingly. A mug of what looked like hot cocoa was steaming on a coffee table. I was about to sit down when I heard a crash.

  What on earth could that be?

  There was another crash. I walked toward the sound, quickening my pace. When I was close, I started to hear the distinct sound of muttering. I thought I was alone?

  Another crash.

  There were books strewn everywhere. Many had fallen open and had their pages bent. Some deep instinctual part of me revolted.

  The muttering was coming from somewhere up a ladder. I looked up to see a woman frantically grabbing every book within reach, looking at its cover and then tossing it over her shoulder. Some more confident version of myself might have said ‘that’s no way to judge a book.’

  I slowly backed away.

  With a speed which unnerved me, the woman leaped from the top of the ladder and landed hard on the tiled ground, still holding one of the books.

  The sound of several bones clicking into or out of place echoed as she stood up. In honesty, it was more like she was unfolding. She eyed me with small suspicious eyes. I had never met a woman who looked so old in all my life. She was frankly terrifying.

  “And who might you be?” the woman demanded, “have you got it?”

  She seemed a little unhinged. “Got what?” I croaked.

  “Don’t play coy with me. Have you got my book?”

  “Which book is that?” I was tense; my voice was quivering. Did she mean Alice? My hand moved to cover my bag.

  “The bloody book with my bloody face on the front!” she screeched, “where is it?”

  “I don’t know. I am new here.”

  The old woman leaned in close so that her eyes were only inches from my own. It seemed like she was trying to read my thoughts through my pupils.

  “Well if you see it you will let me know, won’t you?” she pushed a book into my chest. Instinctively I grabbed it. She turned and made her way muttering up the ladder with considerably less drama than when she had come down.

  I looked at the book I was now holding. Etched into the cover was the unmistakable face of the dreadful old woman. She had just handed it to me. I opened my mouth to say something but then realized that I would much rather run away.

  So I did.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “I think you ran into our visitor,” said the Librarian when I found her.

  “Yes. I thought I was the only one here.”

  “Ordinarily that would be true, but this- well, she's a special case.”

  “Who is she?”

  “She is just an old woman with a lifetime of regrets. We get them now and then. Not too frequently, mind you. They wander out of their stories when they are truly lost. Is she looking for her book?”

  “She handed it to me.” I held up the book for the Librarian to see.

  She laughed. “That would be about right!”

  “Why would she hand me the book if she
is looking for it?”

  “Remember, Alex, the books aren't just books. They are lives. Even your story is on one of these shelves somewhere, but you will never find it.”

  “How come?”

  “We can never read our own stories. That's what our visitor is trying to do. She has most likely made some great errors in her life and is looking for a way to go back and change things. But that can never be. We can sometimes sense when our story is close at hand, but even if we look right at it, we will not recognize it as our own.”

  “So she handed it to me.”

  “She handed it to you.”

  I took the book to the green couch that I found on my first day at The Library next to the hanging window. The weather had cleared up somewhat, but the clouds still threatened rain. I had some regret as I remembered the hot cocoa and the fireplace, but I wasn’t in the mood to go searching it out. There was no guarantee that I would ever find it again.

  Just as I was getting comfortable, I heard a sound on the glass. I looked out and saw a cat pawing gently at the pane. It was large and black and looked like it wanted to escape the coming weather.

  “Hey kitty,” I said, opening the window. The cat climbed down and onto the couch. I closed the window, and it swayed slightly on its chains.

  Thankfully the cat said nothing in reply. It just curled up next to me and fell asleep. It looked exactly like my grandma’s cat. I stroked it gently.

  I looked at the old woman’s book and dusted off its cover. I wondered what sort of life she had led and how she had gotten into The Library. I felt the urge to have a look inside.

  Was this the call of the book?

  I closed my eyes and tried to focus on my feelings.

  Nothing.

  The Librarian had not been clear on what this feeling was supposed to be. I certainly wanted to read the book. Surely that was good enough?

  I opened it and began to read. I braced myself, ready to fall into the pages, but nothing happened. It was just like any other book. Shrugging, I kept reading.

  The story described a little girl called Elaine who was all alone. She tried to make friends with the children in the village, but they were mean to her. They called her freak and strange and threw rocks at her. From time to time Elaine would become angry, and when she was angry, things would happen which she could not explain.