Currents by Jane Petrlik Smolik

out, she inspected it before tucking it into her bag and hurrying off to the library.
    The periodical section of the library had two large club chairs that faced each other with a long table in between. Bess returned last week’s books and checked out five new ones, then sat with Merry’s Museum Magazine spread out on the table. The magazine always arrived on the island a few months after being published in America, but the stories and letters were so exciting it didn’t matter how late she read them.
    She read a story called “The Chinese Wall.”
    There is not, perhaps, in the world a more stupendous work of art than the Great Wall, which marks the northern boundary of the Chinese Empire, dividing it from Tartary.
    She made a mental note to add the Great Wall of China to her list of places to visit.
    She would tell Papa every detail of the next story, “A Frightened Tiger.”
    You may talk about your lions—I have always said, and I always will say, that for pure blood-thirstiness and ferocity, the tiger is a far uglier beast than the lion. The tamest tiger that ever was, just let him snuff blood once, when he is hungry, and nothing can hold him!
    â€œTo think,” she said out loud, “that my papa came face-to-face with such a beast!”
    â€œSo this is where you think I’ll find my true north, do you?” Harry asked as he came up behind her.
    â€œWell, hello there,” she said. She jumped up, delighted that he came. “You might indeed find it here. You must read the stories in Merry’s Museum , Harry. They are nothing short of thrilling, I promise.
    â€œSo now that you’re here,” she continued, “let’s see what else we can come up with to interest you. Have you ever been to this library before?”
    â€œOf course,” he said. “Just not for a while. Well, come to think of it, not for a long while. So you be my guide, Lady Bess. Where do we start?”
    He followed her over to the long rows of neatly sorted books.
    â€œA,” she pronounced, running her finger over the spines of several books. “A is always a good place to start. How about A for accountant?”
    â€œOh, I’m not too keen with numbers,” he said, wincing.
    â€œWell, A is also for astronomer or architect or apple picker!”
    â€œKeep going,” he said.
    â€œThen you come, of course, to the letter B. Now there is baker.”
    â€œWell, I do like to eat,” he pointed out.
    â€œB also stands for beekeeper or butcher.”
    Harry cringed. “I’m allergic to bees and can’t stand the sight of blood. Shall we move on to C? Actually, why don’t you pick out a couple of books for me, and I’ll see how it goes this week?”
    She carefully chose a couple she thought he’d like—one about exploring and another all about London.
    â€œAnd this is one of my favorites,” she said, pulling out a biography of Marcus Aurelius. “I’ve read it so many times, I’m likely responsible for its worn cover.”
    Harry took it from her and opened the book to a random page. “Who is he?”
    â€œHe was a Roman emperor,” Bess said. “But more importantly he was a philosopher. Read it, Harry, and I promise you will find at least one thing he said that will inspire you.”
    â€œâ€˜Waste no more time arguing about what a good man should be,’” Harry read, “‘be one.’ Hmm, I like that.”
    â€œSee? You already found something!” Bess said gleefully and took the book from him. She slowly thumbed through it until she stopped and slapped the page she had been looking for. “This is one of Papa’s and my favorites.”
    She cleared her throat and read slowly, bestowing the words with the reverence she felt they deserved. “‘Do not act as if you had ten thousand years to throw away. Death stands at your elbow. Be good for something,