Molly?” he asked , and she lowered her glasses and gave an impatient acknowledgement to the next in line who had an armful of books and had waited some time to be relieved of the burden. Okay, so maybe rush hour at the library wasn’t the best time for charm. He raised his palms apologetically.
“I’ll just look around myself, shall I?” he said, squeezing out from between the counter and Mr . No Manners behind him. She nodded her agreement as the guy in line dumped his books.
Th e library was a Victorian relic: high ceilings, polished wood and the smell that comes when you stick a whole bunch of books in a confined space and don’t let them out to play. It reminded him of Molly’s room, which reminded him why he was there.
He bypassed side rooms indicating subject matters that would be of no interest to a ten year old and of even less interest to him, and headed for the children’s area. This room’s austerity had been softened by the lowering of the ceiling and the introduction of bean bags in primary colors. A life-size cardboard cut-out of the Gruffalo dominated one cozy reading nook. At least he figured it to be life size - how big was a Gruffalo meant to be? In library land it was the size of a Shetland pony, which to the average five-year-old was pretty big.
He followed the shelves to the Ws and wasn’t surprised to find a gap where ‘The Wizard of Oz’ should have been. In place of the book was a page torn from a notebook, his notebook. On the paper, Molly Brown had drawn a picture of a lion in yellow marker pen and given the cartoon character an orange mane. She’d paid great attention to the detail - the eyes, nose and whiskers - with a black pen and the overall result was pretty good. Joe liked to draw too and he especially liked to know when he’d done a good job. Connell pulled a pen from his pocket, added a small smiley face to the bottom right hand corner and replaced the drawing on the shelf.
Molly had obviously been there but a quick glance told him this wasn’t where she’d spent the night. He tried to get his bearings, work out where he was in relation to the cat door and decided he needed to find the basement. There was a measure of reluctance as he pushed the basement door and peered down the steep stairs. His last subterranean experience hadn’t ended well, but he was Mr. Optimistic this morning and hoped that lightning couldn’t possibly strike twice.
As it turned out, the basement was well lit and warm , and consisted of a number of smaller storerooms. Some contained books, but most were used to house the general maintenance crap associated with such a large building. He found Molly’s bolt hole in the one labeled Exhibitionalia. He wasn’t convinced such a word existed in the real world, but here in literary land, written in fancy script on a yellowing label, it looked just right.
No more than twelve feet by ten, the room was precariously stacked with century’s worth of defunct exhibition pieces. The majority , it seemed, had a scientific leaning and were either stuffed and mounted creatures with glass eyes and crazy snarls, or weird mechanical invention’s straight out of Hogwarts. Maybe the library had hosted a competition back in the thirties and one of these amazing contraptions was actually the fore-runner of a cell phone or a satellite navigation device. He reached out a hand, had a real urge to set them all clickety-clacking, but restrained himself. Joe would have loved it in here, and the fact that Molly did too, gave him a greater sense of optimism. She was just a regular kid after all.
He found her den behind a tall glass case which housed a flock of brightly colored birds, wings wired in a variety of avian poses, beaks agape in mid twitter. There was something a little unsettling about the number of birds sacrificed in the name of educ ation. He shrugged and wondered in this age of technology whether taxidermists still made a living.
Molly, perhaps in empathy
“I’ll just look around myself, shall I?” he said, squeezing out from between the counter and Mr . No Manners behind him. She nodded her agreement as the guy in line dumped his books.
Th e library was a Victorian relic: high ceilings, polished wood and the smell that comes when you stick a whole bunch of books in a confined space and don’t let them out to play. It reminded him of Molly’s room, which reminded him why he was there.
He bypassed side rooms indicating subject matters that would be of no interest to a ten year old and of even less interest to him, and headed for the children’s area. This room’s austerity had been softened by the lowering of the ceiling and the introduction of bean bags in primary colors. A life-size cardboard cut-out of the Gruffalo dominated one cozy reading nook. At least he figured it to be life size - how big was a Gruffalo meant to be? In library land it was the size of a Shetland pony, which to the average five-year-old was pretty big.
He followed the shelves to the Ws and wasn’t surprised to find a gap where ‘The Wizard of Oz’ should have been. In place of the book was a page torn from a notebook, his notebook. On the paper, Molly Brown had drawn a picture of a lion in yellow marker pen and given the cartoon character an orange mane. She’d paid great attention to the detail - the eyes, nose and whiskers - with a black pen and the overall result was pretty good. Joe liked to draw too and he especially liked to know when he’d done a good job. Connell pulled a pen from his pocket, added a small smiley face to the bottom right hand corner and replaced the drawing on the shelf.
Molly had obviously been there but a quick glance told him this wasn’t where she’d spent the night. He tried to get his bearings, work out where he was in relation to the cat door and decided he needed to find the basement. There was a measure of reluctance as he pushed the basement door and peered down the steep stairs. His last subterranean experience hadn’t ended well, but he was Mr. Optimistic this morning and hoped that lightning couldn’t possibly strike twice.
As it turned out, the basement was well lit and warm , and consisted of a number of smaller storerooms. Some contained books, but most were used to house the general maintenance crap associated with such a large building. He found Molly’s bolt hole in the one labeled Exhibitionalia. He wasn’t convinced such a word existed in the real world, but here in literary land, written in fancy script on a yellowing label, it looked just right.
No more than twelve feet by ten, the room was precariously stacked with century’s worth of defunct exhibition pieces. The majority , it seemed, had a scientific leaning and were either stuffed and mounted creatures with glass eyes and crazy snarls, or weird mechanical invention’s straight out of Hogwarts. Maybe the library had hosted a competition back in the thirties and one of these amazing contraptions was actually the fore-runner of a cell phone or a satellite navigation device. He reached out a hand, had a real urge to set them all clickety-clacking, but restrained himself. Joe would have loved it in here, and the fact that Molly did too, gave him a greater sense of optimism. She was just a regular kid after all.
He found her den behind a tall glass case which housed a flock of brightly colored birds, wings wired in a variety of avian poses, beaks agape in mid twitter. There was something a little unsettling about the number of birds sacrificed in the name of educ ation. He shrugged and wondered in this age of technology whether taxidermists still made a living.
Molly, perhaps in empathy
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