The Book of Candlelight

by Ellery Adams

  Nora took drink orders from Estella and June and delivered glasses filled with red or green-hued liquids The four women clinked rims, sipped their drinks, and waited for someone to start the book discussion.

  Never one to shy away from attention, Estella picked up her copy of The Outsider and said, “I can really relate to Ralph, the doubting detective. Like him, I don’t believe in the supernatural. The monsters I’ve known have all been flesh-and-blood men.”

  “I stayed up late last night finishing this,” said Hester. “When I was done, I was pretty unsettled. I couldn’t sleep, so I got out of bed and walked around my house, making sure everything was locked up tight. When I looked out the front window, I thought I saw someone on the sidewalk. He was wearing a white T-shirt. No raincoat.”

  “That shirt must have been stuck to his skin,” said Estella, her eyes shining with interest.

  “I guess.” Hester shrugged. “Anyway, seeing him reminded me of a ghost story I used to hear at sleepover parties. On a rainy night, a man pulls over to pick up a hitchhiker. The hitchhiker is a teenage boy. He tells the man his name and address, and the man drops the boy off at home. Days later, he drives by the house and sees the boy’s mom in the yard. He pulls over and tells her that he gave her son a ride home the other night. She nearly faints. When she can talk again, she says that her son died on a rainy night ten years ago. The man stopped for the boy at the exact spot he was killed in a hit-and-run.”

  June shuddered. “One of the guests at the pools this week was an old Japanese woman. She told me a story about a female rain spirit who snatches babies. She looks like an old hag. She puts the stolen babies in a black bag and celebrates when their distraught mothers go mad.” June took a swallow from her glass. “This woman couldn’t have known about me and Tyson, of course, but I wanted to tell her that there are many ways a mother can lose her child. There doesn’t have to be a rain demon with a black bag. I got real close to going crazy after Tyson stopped talking to me for good.”

  Hester gave June’s hand a quick squeeze. Hester was also a mother. Unlike June, who was estranged from her child, Hester had been forced to give up her baby. She’d had only a glimpse of her daughter’s face before the baby was whisked from the delivery room and handed over to her adoptive parents.

  Glancing at her two friends, Nora wished she could do something to make them feel better. She decided to distract them with another story. “Back when I was a librarian, I used to read a scary story to the kids around Halloween. It was about a little girl who was scared of the rain. She believed the drops came together to form a monster. This monster would stand at the edge of her property where the woods gave way to grass. The little girl was so petrified by this watery shape that she refused to go outside. She told her family about it, but they didn’t believe her. One rainy day, the girl’s family went to town, leaving her alone in the house. When they came home, the girl was gone. They never saw her again.”

  Estella raised her tumbler. “I think Mr. King would be proud of our storytelling session. But I still don’t believe in the supernatural. When we die, we die. Ashes to ashes, and all that. There are no ghosts, vampires, or boogeymen. Don’t you think the bad things non-supernatural beings do to each other is frightening enough? I do.”

  Nora had to agree. The four of them had grown close because they each had a shameful secret. Though they’d shared the secrets with one another, they kept them hidden from everyone else.

  Our secrets are our monsters, Nora thought. Dark and shadowy. Watery and cold.

  “It’s not about ghosts and werewolves,” said June, pulling Nora out of her reverie. “I’m a God-fearing woman, but I’ll be the first to say that there’s more to this world than we can explain. Take your scones, Hester. No one can convince me that there isn’t something beyond human comprehension that allows you to reach into people’s souls and know what flavors will transport them back in time—straight into the heart of a memory.”

  “And your cats,” said Nora. “You don’t want to be a feline Pied Piper, but you lead a merry band of fur balls every night. I don’t really believe that they do it because the woman who used to live in your house fed them chicken and planted lots of catnip. There’s something more to it. I just don’t know what it is.”

  “It’s the same with your bibliotherapy,” said Hester. “There are hundreds of thousands of books out there, but you can find the five or six titles that a customer needs at that moment in their life. You just know. Where does that knowledge come from?”

  Estella held out her copy of The Outsider. “Just because seemingly unrelated incidents came together to spawn a boogeyman doesn’t mean we should read too much into an intuitive baker or a nighttime meanderer who smells like catnip. This is fiction, remember?”

  “Look at all the things that had to happen to bring the four of us together,” Hester argued. “We were like baby Moses, floating in a river. Yeah, we were surviving, but we were never going to start living until someone took us out of the water.”

  “I got myself out, thank you very much.” Estella was irritated. “But this sort of mumbo-jumbo belief system is what you’d expect in a place called Miracle Springs. I mean, what kind of name is that for a town? The thermal pools aren’t miraculous. The superfood shakes and sunrise yoga can’t cure cancer or reconcile couples on the brink of divorce. We’re just another stop on the False Hope Railroad, and when people have spent their seven days here and we’ve made our money off them, they get back on the train and return to their same sorry lives.”

  Nora stared at her friend. Estella often displayed flashes of temper, but this bitter tone wasn’t like her.

  “Hey,” Nora said as gently as she could. “What’s going on with you?”

  Instead of replying, Estella gulped down her cocktail. She then held out her glass as if a waiter stood at her elbow. Hester took the cue and refilled the glass from the pitcher on the coffee table and they all watched Estella take a dainty sip of her second cocktail.

  “Magnolia Salon and Day Spa is in trouble. Financial trouble,” she finally said. “Nora, you and Hester are tired, but you’re also making money hand over first.” She turned to June. “Your job comes with a guaranteed salary, health insurance, and other benefits. The salon is all I have. I built it up from nothing, and I’ve put everything I have into it.”

  “I don’t get it.” Hester’s voice was quiet. Hesitant. “You were so busy by the end of summer that you had to hire part-time help.”

  “But that was right after the Meadows scandal. Once the media and the rubberneckers left, I was back to my regular clients. They’re not enough.” Estella put a hand to her heart. “Don’t get me wrong. I love my wash and sets and my standing mani-pedi appointments. Those ladies are my bread and butter. But the women closer to my age only come to me if it’s an emergency. They don’t like my tight skirts or low-cut dresses. They don’t like how their men look at me.” She paused for breath. “I don’t care what they say about me behind my back, but I do care about all the blank spaces in my appointment book. With the cancellations I had because of the rain, it’s going to be hard to pay the bills this month.”

  Nora was stunned. The Secret, Book, and Scone Society met once a week to discuss books over drinks and dessert, and Estella hadn’t said a word about her financial woes. How had none of them known she’d been so stressed? Nora knew that if Estella lost her salon, she’d lose her purpose in life.

  “Making women see themselves in a new light is a gift,” Estella had once told them. “A woman who believes that she’s beautiful also believes that she’s worthy of love and success. A woman who believes she deserves love and success is a confident woman. If she can hold on to these feelings after she leaves my salon, she’s capable of anything. That’s why a new haircut or a makeup session is a kind of therapy. Women talk about what’s eating at them while I listen. After I’m done listening, I encourage. Still, plenty of local ladies dislike me. They refuse to see that I’m a champio
n of women.”

  Estella spoke the truth. Many women drove up to an hour to visit other salons, despite Estella’s skill. And she was skilled. Nora could attest to that. She’d become one of Estella’s clients out of necessity. After her hair had been singed in a fire last summer, Estella had insisted on giving her the works: a scalp massage, a deep conditioning treatment, and a cut and style. The session had been pure bliss.

  In her former life, Nora had treated herself to monthly salon visits. But after the fire, after the right side of her body was covered in shell-smooth scars, she gave up on beautification rituals. She cut and colored her own hair a mouse-brown shade and rarely wore makeup. She was the polar opposite of Estella, who was perfectly coiffed and styled at all times.

  Estella had worked wonders on Nora. She’d painted golden brown highlights in her hair before cutting it in flirty, face-framing layers. Her touch had been deft and gentle, and Nora had felt compelled to talk throughout the process. Estella was an excellent listener. She definitely possessed a gift when it came to making women feel beautiful, inside and out. Nora had walked out of the salon with a confidence she hadn’t felt in years.

  “I could lend you some money,” Nora said now. She didn’t have much, but she would give all that she could spare.

  “I’m not looking for handouts, but thank you,” Estella said. “But I’d welcome some ideas. How do I get more local women as clients? How do I make my salon trendy?”

  The four of them brainstormed for a while, their discussion of The Outsiders temporarily forgotten. Twenty minutes passed without Estella falling in love with any of her friends’ suggestions. As they talked, Hester’s yawns increased in frequency. Her eyelids were heavy. Her shoulders were drooping. It was time to call it a night.

  “Ask your new barista if he has any thoughts,” said Estella as she made to leave. “Maybe he got stuck here during the worst weather week in history for a reason. Maybe those forces we can’t see are conspiring for our benefit.”

  June touched Estella’s cheek. “You’ll get through this, honey. It’s just a bump in the road.”

  “More like a sinkhole,” Estella grumbled.

  Talk of bumps and roads reminded Nora that she wanted to be at the flea market when it opened tomorrow. She hoped to catch Danny before church let out and the old barn filled with Sunday shoppers.

  Stifling a yawn of her own, Nora said good night to her friends and locked the bookshop.

  As was her habit, she did a walk-through of the empty store before leaving. This final stroll through the stacks infused her with peace. Tonight, however, when she reached the front, she glanced through the display window and saw a blur of movement from across the street.

  Startled, Nora moved closer, peering through the streaks of the water running down the glass. There was nothing now, but she could have sworn that she’d just seen exactly what Hester had seen last night.

  There had been a man standing out in the rain. A man in a white T-shirt.

  * * *

  When thunder woke her the next morning, Nora shouted, “Are you kidding me?” at the bedroom ceiling.

  Her annoyance grew as she prepared to ride to the flea market. She donned her raincoat and baseball hat for what felt like the hundredth time that week and glared at the sky.

  “If I hear one more joke about building an ark, I will kill someone.”

  After loading the chipped pot into her bike basket, she pedaled through the parking lot behind her shop.

  She’d made it to the end of the block before a car drove by, splashing muddy water over her whole lower body.

  Nora yelled and was about to wave her middle finger at the driver when she realized that he hadn’t done anything wrong. He was driving in the center of his lane at a reasonable speed. It wasn’t his fault that the puddles had multiplied overnight. He couldn’t avoid the standing water covering the road.

  It’s over an inch deep, Nora thought, studying the wavelets moving over the double yellow line. She then glanced at the closest gutter. The water flowing toward its grilled mouth roiled like a crocodile drowning its prey. A tangle of branches, leaves, and trash vied for access to the storm drain, but nothing was getting through the metal grates. All the drains were clogged with debris.

  Despite her recent accident, Nora decided to cut through the park. It seemed safer to look out for branches than to share a flooded road with anxious drivers.

  It was slow-going. Water shot out from under Nora’s tires as the bike moved over the sidewalk. A tree had fallen into the playground, flattening the swing set, and Nora wondered how many more would topple before the rain stopped. The soil was completely saturated. The grass was an unreal green, like a black-and-white movie suddenly colorized. The bushes were drooping, their leaves spotted with brown. Fungus had begun to creep over the mulch beds.

  This morning’s rain, relentless and steady, felt like an attack. This wasn’t the gentle rain from the beginning of the week. This was a blinding curtain of water. The longer Nora was out in it, the more she thought of what Danny had said yesterday.

  “More rain is coming,” he’d said. “I’ve seen the signs.”

  What had he seen? She was hoping that he’d tell her that it would all be over by tomorrow and that he could fix the damaged bowl. She wanted some good news to dispel the dampness that had seeped into her skin and permeated her bones.

  As she exited the park, Nora saw an ambulance heading in her direction. At the next corner, it pulled to the curb and Jed rolled down the passenger-side window.

  “Nice day for a ride.” He jerked his thumb toward the back of the rig, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Are you trying to get on my gurney?”

  “It wasn’t one of my goals.” Nora tried to smile at Jed from beneath her baseball cap while keeping the rain from hitting her face. “I’m on my way to the flea market.”

  “You should think about gettin’ a car,” said the paramedic behind the wheel. Nora couldn’t remember his name. “Even if it’s a piece of crap, it would put a roof over your head.”

  Jed looked concerned. “We could give you a lift. We’re public servants, after all, and you’re a member of the public. You—”

  His speech was interrupted by a stream of animated squawks from the dashboard radio. Nora heard something about a bridge and saw the two paramedics exchange surprised glances.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “The footbridge collapsed and fell into the river,” Jed said.

  The driver leaned over the center console. “People have taken that shortcut into town for a long as I can remember. Good news is that no one was on it when it dropped. Bad news is that the wreckage is gonna float downriver and get stuck around the base of the main bridge. It’ll be a helluva mess.”

  The voice on the radio barked out a code. After months of dating Jed, Nora knew what a few of them meant. In this case, there’d been a car accident near the Meadows.

  “We have to roll,” Jed said. He put his arm out and squeezed Nora’s shoulder. “Be careful, okay? Things have gone from inconvenient to dangerous. The sooner you get off the road, the better.”

  Nora nodded. “Stop by the shop later if you get the chance. If my new friend is there, he’ll brew you a cup of Cuban coffee. You’ll love it.”

  “A new friend?” Jed asked. “Should I be jealous?”

  “Maybe.” Nora flashed him a grin and pedaled away.

  * * *

  The flea market was nearly deserted. Nora was disappointed to see that Danny hadn’t opened his booth. Then, she remembered that Danny and his wife lived over thirty minutes away and that their house was perched on a mountainside.

  It’s probably not worth it for them to leave home, she thought.

  Fighting an increasing feeling of gloom, Nora started shopping for more shelf enhancers.

  Though she didn’t find as many treasures as yesterday, none of them were fragile. After filling her backpack with a tin toy cash register, a bronze statue of a greyh
ound, a copper mold in the shape of a fish, a pewter box, and vintage fireplace bellows, she asked Beatrice if she’d keep the chipped bowl in case Danny came in later.

  “I don’t think he’s comin’, honey. The roads are real bad and the river’s already over the banks. Did you see how high it was when you crossed the bridge?”

  “Higher than I’ve ever seen it,” Nora said. “Trees are falling in too,” she added, thinking of the big willow she’d seen half in and half out of the water. A tire swing was tied to one of its branches.

  “Did you see pieces of the footbridge?” Beatrice asked.

  Nora had been so focused on reaching the dry, well-lit barn that she hadn’t stopped to look for debris from the footbridge. Shouldering her backpack, she told Beatrice that she’d check on her way home and trudged out into the ceaseless rain.

  An hour had passed since she’d left home. Since then, the world had become a darker shade of gray. There was so much water—in the sky, on the ground, dripping from Nora’s face—that everything was blurred.

  I need more coffee, she thought.

  Nora mounted her bike and pedaled toward the bridge, wondering if Sheldon would make an appearance at the bookshop tomorrow. She hoped so. She liked his blend of sarcasm, humor, and sincerity. She wanted to get to know him better, which was unusual for her. Nora was friendly, but she avoided getting close to people. The only time she connected deeply with her customers occurred during a bibliotherapy session. A person would tell Nora why they’d come to Miracle Springs. They’d share their story of pain and she’d recommend book titles to address their feelings and put them on a path toward healing.

  It didn’t always work. No book would cure a terminal disease, but there were many books on how to navigate end-of-life situations with grace and courage. Though Nora had a list of titles for the most common sources of distress—sickness, death, divorce, child estrangement, depression, career unfulfillment, and conflicts with their friends, family, or significant others—she never gave two people the same list. She customized the titles based on the person’s situation. Every person was unique. As was their pain.