by Amy Marie
I’m more impressed by the story than I admit to Rafe. It must be my historical side. I suppose there’s a part of me that’s indignant with the idea of any text that might give insight into the past being destroyed, no matter what the content. How can we build connections with our ancestors if records are destroyed?
This is something I’d be interested in researching myself, so I ask him to keep me updated on any findings with his dissertation.
“Oh yeah,” his words rush out in excitement. He’s obviously encouraged by my interest. “I’ll definitely keep you in the loop. You’re already helping me out, you see? Michael Augustine has had so many connections throughout his career, and they expand throughout Europe and all over the world. If anyone has information on the possible existence of a lost text, it would be him. I know he at least would be able to tell us more about the printer’s mark symbol. Supposedly, he has distant relatives that have been affiliated with the divinity school since it was established in the early 1800’s, even though he grew up in England.”
“Really?” I ask. I had no idea Char’s family had such a connection. It had never occurred to me to look into the genealogy of the Goodwins, or even my own bloodline for that matter. I’ve always been interested in more notable people’s history. It’s something I’d like to look into now that I have a bigger pool of resources to utilize.
Rafe interrupts my musings, “It’s getting closer to your appointment time. We better get moving. I have one last place to show you before we meet Augustine.”
When we enter the library, I almost double over. It’s the most extraordinary place I’ve ever seen. The feeling of comfort I’ve had from the moment we entered the building hits the bulls-eye in this room. Thousands upon thousands of books greet me like old friends.
Coming to my senses, I’m smiling my biggest smile and softly clapping my hands in amazed pleasure. Rafe stands next to me shaking in quiet laughter, causing my cheeks to light on fire.
“No, it’s okay. It’s funny because I had that exact same reaction when I first saw this place. But ah…” he gives a little cough, “on the inside, anyway.”
That earns him a friendly shove as I mentally map out my literary explorations. I look at my watch with an internal groan – there’s no time to indulge in this treasure. My meeting is in ten minutes.
“Not enough time in your life.” Rafe laughs at the quizzical raise of my eyebrows. “Your expressions are pretty easy to read. You’ll have to ask Mr. Augustine for access to the library. It’s normally reserved for students and staff, but I’m sure he could get you a pass. C’mon, we better get to the basement.”
“I would never leave…” I glance over my shoulder wistfully as we walk back out of the library. I silently vow to do whatever I can for a pass to the library from Char’s great-uncle.
We take the elevator to the basement and pass a few faded murals as I’m whisked into a maze of underground corridors and offices. I’m questioning what kind of head honcho has his office buried away in the basement, when we finally turn a corner and enter the administrative office of Michael Augustine, Faculty of Divinity, Ph. D., Th. D.
The secretary’s desk is empty, and there’s an adjoining doorway in the administrative office that I assume leads to a personal study.
A glance around the cluttered office leads me to speculate what exactly Michael Augustine’s occupation entails on a daily basis. I look to Rafe in silent question, and he just shrugs his shoulders with a gesture towards the second door.
My hand raises slow and hesitant, but I give the study door a sound knock.
No response.
I knock a second time and put my ear up to the solid mahogany door, in case I’m missing a murmured reply.
There’s something – muted voices? Without being sure, I turn back to Rafe again in question.
He raises his brows in suggestion and mouths the words, “Open it.”
I shake my head negatively and gesture for him to lead the way out. He holds up his joined hands in silent pleading, reminding me of how long he’s been waiting for the opportunity to meet Augustine.
I glance at the clock in indecision. He should be here, expecting me. Making up my mind, I take a deep breath and slowly open the door.
Chapter 6
“Hello?” I ask, peering into the study. “Mr. Augustine?”
There’s a soft click and some rustling as my eyes adjust to the dimly lit study. Study is an understatement – the room’s large enough to be an apartment.
Bookshelves that line the walls are filled with volumes of text, ledgers, and a great variety of decorative artifacts. Multiple framed pictures and photographs adorn one corner of the wall, and to my right is a sitting area with a couch and two antique wingback chairs facing a small table with scattered paperwork.
I’m startled as a graying gentleman in a scholarly tweed jacket and bowtie steps out from behind a fortress of more bookshelves, a large work desk, and filing cabinets off to my left. He appears to be caught off guard as if I interrupted him. I get the impression he’s definitely not happy about it. He glares at me over the top of his glasses.
“Michael Augustine?” I ask, hoping I didn’t intrude upon the wrong person.
“Yes, yes. What do you want?” the gentleman asks with a curt English accent.
In spite of his reaction to me barging in, I smile. Shyly at first, and then quite fully as I feel a sense of kin to this man who’s so closely related to my adopted family.
“Hello, I had an appointment. I’m your niece Selma’s adopted daughter…” I trail off at the baffled look forming on his face.
At my smile, Augustine seems taken aback. After a moment, he shakes himself out of whatever caught his attention. “Oh my, I didn’t quite expect… that is to say, I must have lost track of time. Yes… what did you say your name was again, my dear?”
“Eleanor, Eleanor Hutchinson. Well, I go by Nora, but I’m so pleased to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”
If I thought Augustine gave me a strange look at my smile, the color practically drains from his face in response to my name. “Eleanor?” His tone softens in question. He’s so flustered; I start to wonder if he’s on some sort of medication.
I continue on, “Yes Mr. Augustine, I’ve been meaning to come by sooner to thank you in person for your recommendation. I’m so grateful,” I say, hoping to convey the depths of my gratitude.
Augustine recovers himself as he waves off my words. “Yes of course my dear, and please, feel free to call me Michael, or even Uncle Mike. I was happy to do that for Selma, and for you. Selma is my niece and the only family I have left, so I try very hard to help her out when I can. I assure you, it’s the least I can do for family.”
He gestures me further into the room with the sweep of his arm. “Forgive my manners, and do come in. Tell me how you and little Charity are settling into the area. Did you have trouble finding my office?”
“Oh, it was no problem. I had a little help,” I say, following him in.
Rafe!
Almost forgetting my guide, I turn to see him waiting patiently at the door. “Oh… um, my friend, Rafe Clark here, directed me. He’s a divinity school student earning his doctorate. He’s also a co-worker of mine at the historical society.” I gesture him in.
If Uncle Mike is pleased at the appearance of Rafe, he doesn’t show it at all. “Rafe, is it? Very unusual name. I believe I’ve seen you around campus.”
“Yes sir, actually it’s a nickname that’s kinda stuck. My full name is Raphael Osborne Clark. It’s wonderful to finally meet you.” He holds out his hand to Uncle Mike, his admiration evident by the goofy grin on his face.
“Ah, Raphael. Interesting. Pleased to meet you.” It’s strange, but suddenly Uncle Mike warms up to Rafe after hearing his full name.
My face must be giving away my confusion to this behavior, because he goes on to explain, “Names can say a very great deal about a person. Some cultures believe that c
hoosing a child’s name can define the person they will become in life. I enjoy dissecting the meaning of names. Now Rafe, as a name, I believe that meaning has something to do with wolves. But Raphael, that’s a rather uncommon name these days, but a very important one. It’s a guardian name, also one of the archangels. One who joins together and heals.”
I glance sideways at Rafe. He’s fascinated by every word Uncle Mike is saying.
As we all settle in, Uncle Mike turns to me to ask, “Eleanor, do you happen to know the meaning of your name?”
“Actually, I do. My mother told me when I was young that after I was born, one of the first things I did was smile. She always joked that my father said he was blinded by the light. So, they chose the name Eleanor. It means shining light.” I feel awkward telling such an intimate story, but the two men give me a natural feeling of trust, and I have always loved that story – one of the few strong memories I have of my parents.
“A lovely name, and your smile is a true testament,” Uncle Mike says kindly, after a moment of weighing my response. “Great potential for you. For both of you, actually.”
I knit my brow in confusion, and can’t help but voice the question in my head, “Potential?”
“Well as I said, our names can define the people we will become, and the purpose we will serve, but it’s eventually all up to us. Pesky free will. Think of it this way my dear; if your name essentially means to shine, just think of what you’re capable of. Think of what you represent. Light is a very powerful thing.”
His words ring a bell – almost like I’ve been told this before. Maybe it was something my own father said to me when I was young?
“And what does your name mean, sir?” Rafe asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“Well, Raphael it’s funny, but Michael also happens to be a guardian name. It translates to ‘Who is like God?’ It’s another archangel name, the warrior and protector. Though I’m not much of a fighter these days, I suppose it means I must stand guard.” His face wrinkles with his smile.
“And what do you suppose you have been destined to protect?” I ask with a playful tease, intrigued by this name conversation.
“Ah… my dear. If I tell you that, I’d have to kill you,” he says with a wink.
I can’t help but laugh, wondering if he knows he just came dangerously close to quoting Top Gun. This elderly gentleman is sharper than he lets on. I make eye contact with Rafe and we both subtly nod in mutual approval.
After a bit of much more relaxed conversation, Rafe stands up to dismiss himself. “Mr. Augustine, I have a meeting to get to, but I wanted to ask if I could possibly meet with you again regarding my dissertation. I’ve been trying for almost a year to set up an appointment–,”
“Yes, I remember you now, young man.” Uncle Mike interrupts. “You’ve been inquiring about research on lost texts. Quite persistent, as I recall. I do apologize, but I have been extremely busy. Now that I see your potential, I’m sure I can take some time to aid you in your research. There is one project I’ve just started, however, and I might be occupied for a time with it. If you could be patient, I think we could come to some sort of agreement?”
Rafe’s eyes go wide, and he beams in unexpected delight. “Of course, sir! Here’s my card. Please just let me know when you have some time. It was a pleasure meeting you, sir.” He hands over his business card.
Giving my own goodbye, Uncle Mike stops me. “Eleanor, could I have a word privately?”
Rafe shrugs and gestures that he’ll wait outside to show me out.
When we’re alone, Uncle Mike’s expression turns inscrutable. Gone is the lighthearted man we were just chatting with. “Eleanor, may I ask you a favor?”
Concerned by the sudden change in tone, I nod and encourage him to go on.
“Something extremely important has come to light, and there is much to be done… a project of sorts. It requires complete confidentiality and I’d like your help.”
I’m slow to nod, confused. “Of course I’d like to help, but I’m sure Rafe would be willing and much more knowledgeable–”
He cuts me off, “There are many possibilities to bring Raphael on board in the future, but I need your help exclusively right now. And I need your discretion. May I have your word?”
Unsure of how to take in this situation, I reflect for a moment.
I’m severely under qualified for any historical project compared to Rafe, or half the people that Uncle Mike probably knows. I’m not sure why he would want me, unless he’s trying to help me gain experience for a career. That can’t hurt. Maybe I could even make use of this project and eventually go on to earn my own PhD. His sense of urgency is the only thing left to make me hesitate.
This man has done so much for me already. I know I need to help him in any way that I can. I’d be kidding myself to think that I’m not benefiting from the situation as well. And working here with him would give me full access to the library – that settles it.
“Yes, of course,” I say with resolve. “What can I do to help?”
The look of relief on his face is evident, and I begin to wonder what exactly I’ve gotten myself into.
“Wonderful, my dear. I must implore you to not share our collaboration with anyone. Not Selma, not Raphael, not even Charity. If you can do this, please meet me back here Friday evening and we shall begin.”
Not even Char?
The last bit causes me to pause. I have to keep this from my sister?
After a moment, I decide I at least have to try. If something’s not right, I can always back out.
We come to an agreement with a firm handshake. I try to get a hint about what we might be working on, but he shakes his head and insists he will begin to explain Friday.
As I once again start to take my leave and say goodbye, Uncle Mike stops me a second time. “Eleanor, this may seem like a strange request, but please be careful and trust your instincts.”
What an eerie thing to say. It must be Uncle Mike’s guardian nature.
Protector indeed.
With another thanks and a promise to see him Friday, I walk out of the study. Rafe sees me out with a new spring in his step. Though I’m happy for him, it takes all I have not to tell my new friend about my pact with Michael Augustine.
Chapter 7
The next day, I sit up on the couch after a restful nap. Still wearing my work clothes, I sleepily check the time on my phone. A text from Char informs me she’s working late to finish a project.
Refreshed from my nap, the urge hits me to get up and get my blood flowing.
Looking outside, I guess that there’s a little less than an hour of daylight left, if I want to get a brief jog in before dark. A quick change of clothes and I head out the door, grabbing my phone and keys.
Exercise always gives me a rejuvenated spirit. It only takes a few minutes after my feet hit the pavement for the tension from the past few weeks’ life changes to melt away.
My random path winds through the streets, passing local businesses and even Rafe’s friend’s bar. Before I know it, I’m running towards the park I passed the other night.
There’s a little time before nightfall to explore and jog along its paths.
The park is a refreshing green retreat from the hustle and bustle of the concrete city. Not many people seem to be out and about, so I’m uninterrupted in my run. A quick pat of my pocket reassures me that I have my pepper spray on my keychain, just in case.
Playgrounds and picnic areas pass in my peripheral vision as the winding path leads me down a scenic route alongside the river. The wooded trail bends and becomes dense. I slow down and contemplate turning around. I should return home before it gets too late, now that the sun has set.
Off to the side of the track, a dirt trail leads toward the sound of the river.
That dreamy feeling of familiarity makes its presence known, pushing me towards the trail.
Reminded of my last nightmare and its dangers, I turn around to start m
y return home.
After a few steps, I stop.
A resolution to prove that I’m not afraid takes over. I refuse to let my imagination run wild. Facing my fears so my nightmares can’t win, I turn back to the trail.
Off the main path, I follow the dirt trail through the trees. After a few moments, there’s a break in the brush to a beautiful landing just off the river. My eyes follow the bend in the river as it flows over the chain of moss-covered stones…
My heart skips a beat as a rush of dreams and memories collide.
I’ve been here before!
I’ve never been to Boston before we moved here for college, but I’m certain that this isn’t the first time I’ve stood on this riverbank.
My recent nightmare comes to mind. Close inspection confirms that every detail of the setting matches. I pinch myself to make sure I’m awake. But standing here now, somehow, I’m not afraid. This feels like it’s my place – a happy place – not like in my nightmare.
And now, more memories of skipping across these stones time after time are flashing through my head. Or are they dreams that have been forgotten, and I’m just now remembering? Despite my confusion of feelings, I smile at the mesmerizing scene as a few fireflies dazzle the tree line.
“Do be careful with that smile, sunshine. Even in the dark of twilight, you could blind me.”
On the opposite bank a man slowly moves out from just beyond the edge of the tree line.
I freeze.
Putting my hand in my pocket, I grip my small canister of pepper spray, not sure if I should answer or run.
If the man were trying to sneak up on me, he wouldn’t be calling out.
There’s a river between us, and though he could cross the path of rocks, I could easily run away by the time he reaches my side.
