Authors: Virginia Carmichael
The sooner she went back to California,
the better. For all of them.
Chapter
Four
The sun was out now and streaming
through the window, as if the downpour had been all in her imagination. Daisy
fairly skipped up the lobby steps to the children’s area. She crossed to the
little corner she always thought of as hers and ran a hand over the old quilt.
If she could get the community behind her plans, when she figured out what her
plans actually were, it just might work. Her mind kept replaying Lane’s
expressions and words: that smile, the protective stance, the quiet sadness
when he spoke of Marie… until she gave herself a mental slap.
She would never come back to live here
so there was no reason to spend another minute on him. He was the kind of man
who loved the small town, the tight community, the Friday night football at the
high school. It’s not like she hated any city that didn’t have a twenty four hour
grocery store or fitness center, but she needed more. She went to the foreign
flicks at the indie movie theater, bought hand-thrown pottery at the tiny art
galleries, was a rabid fan of Friday night jam poetry readings, and she had a
standing date at Krispy Kreme on Saturday mornings. Of course she sure didn’t
love the traffic and the big city gangs but nobody did.
This town was just too small. Main
Street was a only couple miles long and everything closed at five in the
evening; forget about weekend hours. Without a doubt, this was not the place
she would ever feel at home, even if she didn’t have the bad memories to muddy
the water. She couldn’t deny that Lane’s quiet kindness made her reconsider,
just for a second, all her hatred of this place. But Romeo and Juliet would
have nothing on them. Not that there was any chance of a ‘them’. He probably
had a girlfriend, maybe even a wife.
Daisy let out a breath and took a long
look at the reason she’d come back to Liberty. The quilt was so achingly
familiar. Daisy dropped into one of the battered old reading chairs and let
herself stare long and hard at her old friend. It took up most of the small
wall near the window and was bordered in burgundy fabric. The books were set
haphazardly on the shelves, nothing like the books in the real library. Daisy
always thought it was a funny quilt and not just for the embroidered titles.
Some books were lying down, some were tilted forward, and none of them were in
order. When she was little she’d wanted to rearrange them so ‘Alice in
Wonderland’ was before ‘Raggedy Ann and The Camel With The Wrinkled Knees’.
That one especially made her laugh, since it was such a long title stitched in
miniature on such a small book.
Daisy felt her heartbeat slow as she
soaked in the atmosphere of this special place. So many dreams had been born
here. She’d been loved and safe. Her eyes roamed the quilt, from corner to
corner, and she gasped. Was that window …
leaking?
She bolted from her
chair and stood on tiptoes, squinting. A water stain on the ceiling near the
large windows spoke of previous leaks, but she couldn’t tell for sure. It was
deathly quiet in the library and when she held her breath she heard it. A
small, dull thud every few seconds.
Daisy bolted from the armchair and
pushed it across the old pine flooring toward the quilt. She balanced one foot
on each of the old arms, hoping it was sturdier than it looked. She had always
been too skinny, lacking those curves that all the other girls had, but she
wasn’t light as air, either. Carefully, she leaned forward, cringing at the
creek of the wood underneath her feet. There, near the corner of the window,
she could see water pooling and gathering until it finally fell with a small
plop directly onto the far edge of the quilt. Panic jolted through her and she
grabbed for the hooks that suspended the quilt.
One came loose easily and another tug
brought the other side down. The quilt folded in on itself like a deflated
balloon and Daisy stumbled down from the chair, twisting her ankle in her
efforts not to step on the beautiful fabric. She ignored the flash of pain and
gathered it to her, like a mother rescuing a baby.
She ran her hands over the top, feeling
for dampness. It didn’t seem to be mildewed.
Thank the Lord for small
mercies.
Surely today’s rainstorm wasn’t the first time the window had
leaked. Holding it out, she admired the neat stitches and bright fabrics.
A sharpness nudged her hand and
she turned it over, searching. A thick envelope was pinned to the back.
Carefully unhooking the pin, her fingers trembled.
Daisy.
Her name was
written on the front in a familiar hand, by a woman who was buried just that
morning. It was a letter from Marie.
She slumped into the chair, envelope clutched in her hand. Maybe it was ten minutes,
maybe only five, the time passed without meaning. Was it fear that kept her
from opening the letter? Or was it the knowledge that if she did, the moment
would pass, and it truly would be her last conversation with Marie? The light
faded from the window and a chill crept up from the old floor. Daisy lifted the
flap and drew out the neatly folded page. Her heart pounded in her chest and
her tongue felt thick.
Dearest Daisy,
There are a few things I wish to tell you, now that I am gone. (Since this is
pinned to your inheritance, I can only assume that is true.) There are no
surprises in this letter, because you have heard all of this before. I don’t
believe you were really listening but now that I’m gone, maybe you will take
these words to heart.
Daisy, my girl, you are one of the kindest, gentlest, and most generous people
I have ever known. Your spirit is bright, your heart is strong. You were made
to love and be loved.
–
The words swam before her eyes and Daisy laid the letter on her lap,
unseeing. Marie had such faith in her, even now, that it felt almost like a
burden. She couldn’t possibly know how strong her heart was, especially now
that her only advocate was gone. And as for being ‘made to love and be loved’?
Sure, she had friends back in Fresno, had dated a few guys. But love wasn’t her
driving force. Her eyes squeezed shut, hot tears leaking out from under her
lashes. She wasn’t even sure what her driving force was, now that she thought
about it. Teaching was the obvious answer. She enjoyed it, was good at it, but
certainly didn’t wrap her entire identity around it.
So, what do you do if you’re ‘made to be loved’? It would have been laughable
if she could get enough breath past the ache in her throat. Marie was always
saying stuff like that, as if it made perfect sense. Well, it didn’t. Not to
her. She was made by a woman who didn’t bother to stick around and a man who
loved his bottle more than his little girl. Not a lot of love there.
She sucked in a breath and straightened up. She read the letter through, loving
every line. Marie to the end, she’d left her a box of books in the storage
room.
Daisy opened the small door on the second floor and peered past the vacuum and
the mop. There were a few boxes there marked ‘to sell at festival’. She opened
each one. Trade paper fiction, mostly romance. Daisy frowned and wondered why
Marie would have left her a few boxes of pulp fiction.
Shrugging, she left them where they were and went back downstairs. This
letter was a beautiful gift and she would treasure it. But, like Marie said, it
wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before. A lot of nice words wouldn’t solve the
problem she had at the moment. What mattered right now was getting Liberty
Library back on track, financially and structurally. Running the summer reading
program was going to keep her plenty busy while she worked on raising funds, so
she wouldn’t even miss her friends in Fresno. She hoped. Spending the summer in
Liberty was the very last thing she had planned on, and even now it seemed like
something out of a dream. But the leaking roof, the drenching walk to the City
Hall, and one handsome cop with gentle eyes told her it was all too real.
The city manager wasn’t interested in anything beyond her lunch dates and her
photo opportunities but she’d get on board when her constituents decided to
save the library. Lane Bennett’s face flashed through her mind, followed by a
wave of unease. He thought the library was a lost cause, that was clear, but
she would show him they could rally the community. It was the right thing to
do. He would have to see that.
***
“Rookie! Where you been?” Butch Patrick called across the department office
area, voice carrying like the PA system.
“Out.” Lane smiled, tossed his hat on his desk and rubbed a hand through his
damp hair.
Rookie.
Butch had joined the force last year, a full seven
years after Lane. But Chief Branson’s nickname for Lane had stuck. Rookie he’d
always be, probably right up until retirement.
“We got witnesses that saw you with a beautiful woman at city hall. Somebody
from the tourism board?” Butch leaned over Lane’s desk, blond crew cut sticking
straight up in the front. He always looked like a skinny, grown up version of
Dennis the Menace.
“Nah. She was in town for Marie’s funeral. Wanted to talk to the city manager
about the library.”
“She needed an escort? You can see city hall from that corner.”
Lane blew out a sigh. He didn’t have any good reason for walking her over and
back, except that he’d wanted to know this girl that Marie had loved so much.
He’d heard stories, been read snippets of letters and e-mails, been shown
pictures. He felt like he knew her, somehow. It was like meeting someone
famous. He got caught up in the curiosity. And she didn’t disappoint. Fiery,
fierce, and apparently ready to take on the city.
“Lost you for a minute there, Rookie.”
Butch perched on the edge of Lane’s desk and grinned.
“I’m gonna have Donna come give you a ticket if you park your hind end on my
desk again.”
Butch straightened up with a snap.
“Somebody’s having a bad day.”
The meter maid was the city’s bogey man.
Teased hair, long nails, bright smile and as close as he’d seen to walking
insanity. She was good at checking parked cars but not so good at keeping her
personal life from spilling into chaos, mostly surrounding jealous
ex-boyfriends. According to her, it was never her own fault.
“It’s been long, that’s for sure.” First
the funeral, then Daisy, then the city manager. A flashback to the night they’d
lost his brother was the topping on the day. Lane was ready to get home and
take a hot shower.
The evening shift was checking in
and getting some coffee. The men were comfortable with each other, easy tones
testifying to old friendships. He loved his job and trusted his coworkers. But
tonight he had one eye on the clock, ready to call it a day.
“So, who’s the pretty girl? Not giving
out the details?” Butch rubbed his jaw and pretended to stick out his chest.
“You think hiding her is going to give you a better chance, but once she gets a
look at me, it’s all over.”
Lane raised an eyebrow in a wordless
comment.
“Maybe I’m not so big in the looks
department but I’ve got a certain charm.”
“That you do, my friend.” Cocky and
irrationally cheerful, Butch was one of those guys that you just couldn’t take
too seriously. “Anyway, she’s not staying. Maybe just for the summer, then
she’s back to Fresno.”
“Fresno as in California?” He said it
like it was the moon. A little curl to his upper lip pretty much summed up the
local feeling about California. “Not one of those celebrities, is she?”
“I don’t think they hang out that far
north.”
“Well, they come all the way to Aspen to
have hot cocoa in a lodge, so it’s a valid question.”
Lane snorted. “She’s a teacher. She was
real close to Marie.”
“Oh.” Butch lowered his gaze and scuffed
a shoe against the floor. “I miss that old lady already. She always saved the
new P.H. Thorn mysteries for me. Called me up as soon as they arrived, told me
it would be waiting at the front desk with my name on it.”
They’d all known Marie was getting on in
years. But somehow when she passed it had seemed sudden, a surprise, as if she
hadn’t lived seventy-eight good years already. You always thought there was
more time.
“I know what you mean. She had a great
idea of what I liked. Not too serious, no true crime, no dirty words, science
fiction, fantasy, all the new stuff.”
“I wonder who they’ll find to take her
place? It just won’t be the same.”
Lane glanced up, surprised. “The city
manager is closing it for good.”
If he hadn’t been standing, Butch would
have jumped to his feet. “What? Denver’s got the nearest library and that’s
thirty minutes away.” His voice had risen an octave.
“What’s closing?” Oliver Passel wandered
over, mug of coffee steaming gently in his hand. He was one of the oldest
officers on the evening shift; it was a young man’s hours. Twelve years of
cruising the quiet Liberty streets at night while eating day old doughnuts from
the break room had given him an unflappable calm and a large paunch.