“Nope, but I think your history-loving heart will like it anyway.”
She narrowed her eyes at him and then placed the chest down on a closed box nearby. She slowly twisted the golden clasp until the lid clipped open. Inside lay a careworn, black leather Bible, a few yellowed papers, and a simple string of pearls. “Whose is it?”
“The only name in the Bible is Evelyn Blackwell.” Robbie tapped the cover of the Bible. “Have you ever heard that name?”
“No.” Clara smoothed her fingers over the pearls and then drew the Bible out of the box. She carefully peeled back the first page. In a less elegant hand read the phrase: Presented to Evelyn Patterson Blackwell on the 20th day of May in the year 1900 by Reverend Anderson Clark of Hope Baptist Church. “Who do you think she was?”
“You’re asking me?” He chuckled and peered closer, as if the yellowed pages held more information than the inscription.
“I don’t recognize any of the names in this stuff except Great-Grandmother Sadie’s.” She leafed through a few of the Bible’s pages, and a flash of white caught her attention. “Wait, here’s something.” She flipped back to the spot and drew out a small slip of paper, less yellowed than some of the others. An unfamiliar hand, beautiful in its flourish and style, wrote in what appeared to be a hasty script.
Dear Library Fairy,
I’ve always believed in fairies but feel a library is the perfect abode for such a fantastical creature. Thank you for your book recommendations. I beg for more.
With anticipation,
The Visiting Book Goblin
Clara slowly turned her gaze to Robbie, whose expression reflected less confusion and much more humor. “I’ve always suspected your family had some wackos in it.”
“Hush.” She nudged him with her elbow and reread the note, mind swirling through a zillion questions. “Like your side is any better.”
“Didn’t Granny Sadie live to be a hundred or something like that?” His words lathered with a hidden laugh. “Your dad said she was just trying to outlive everyone to make sure they took good care of her bookshop.”
“Then you’d better be careful.” Clara needled him with a glare. “I may live that long just to pester you into eternity.”
Granny Sadie had raised Dad after his father had been killed in World War II and his mother returned to live with her family in Georgia, only to move back to Asheville seven years later with a new husband and a newborn Julian. And though Robbie didn’t have an ounce of true Blackwell blood in him, his heart pumped with every bit of love for Clara, her parents, and this shop…and by proxy, Granny Sadie, even though he liked creating a whole slew of wild stories about her enigmatic past.
Further exploration revealed another hidden piece of paper.
Dear Elusive Library Fairy,
I am inclined to believe that Tarzan must have been part fairy as well as part ape-man. How he learned to read English without ever having heard the language, as well as so readily picked up on French, I cannot say. French was not my favorite. Clearly, there was magic at work.
I’m curious for more.
As ever,
The Book Goblin
“I like this guy. He’s funny.”
Clara grinned and replaced the note. “This library fairy sounds as if she was supplying books for the goblin to read, but when? How?”
“You know, when you say sentences like that, it makes me really happy. I love fantasy.”
A clock chimed from below, interrupting Clara’s laugh. She checked her phone. Eleven? Already?
“It is getting pretty late, and I need my beauty sleep.” Robbie ran a hand through his mass of hair in a dramatic flourish. “Besides, this place will be here tomorrow and we can do some more research then, especially since I’ve scared away all the clowns.”
Clara closed the desk and pulled the box with the papers, Bible, and pearls into her arms. “You’re my hero.”
“I’ll claim that title until you meet Mr. Wonderful.” Robbie snickered and tugged the box from her hands. “But promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Let me in on the discoveries too.” He turned toward the stairs. “I’m excellent at knowing random facts. Everyone needs someone like me on their adventures.”
Clara followed him down the steps, sending one more look over her shoulder before turning out the attic lights. Pearls? Library fairies? For some reason, she felt she’d just opened a wardrobe door to the entrance of a story that could change her life.
Chapter 5
Dear Library Fairy,
Do you actually read the books you suggest or is it merely some clairvoyance on your part? Because if you are the sort of fairy who reads Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I should very much like to discuss Sherlock Holmes, Watson, and the various mysteries in which they find themselves. I had only read one book by this author before arriving at Biltmore, and now you’ve sufficiently hooked me on my third. I am determined that Mr. St. Clair and Hugh Boone have a lot more in common than a shared opium den. Do fairies talk of opium dens? It doesn’t seem a very fairy-like topic.
Sincerely,
The Book Goblin
My teeth bit into my bottom lip in a vain attempt at reining in my grin. If Oliver Camden knew I was a servant in this house, would he still speak so freely of opium dens and stories? Of course, he must suspect I was a servant, mustn’t he?
Oh, how I itched to write to him. I looked behind me in the vast recesses of the empty library, as if someone could overhear my thoughts.
With soundless movement, I slipped from my place by the bookshelf and walked to the large library desk. Pen and paper waited in abundance for any guest who wished to write a letter or take notes on the books they were reading. I’d replenished the materials dozens of times, touched them without hesitation, but now, my intentions took a new turn.
Write him back? Would it
