Page 28 of In This Moment

“They typically grow to a maximum height of fifteen to twenty-five feet with a span of twenty feet at maturity. They rarely even get that big.”

A slight rear, like she’d finally surprised him, and he redirected his attention to Miss Katie. “That’s got to be, what, thirty feet tall and twenty-five around? It must really have liked this location.”

Stubborn man. “The 1898 hurricane that killed William and Katherine, plus took out their mansion, left this tree and the library intact. Both have withstood countless tropical storms and hurricanes since.”

He nodded. “Weather can be fickle, especially storms in what damage they cause. It’s a phenomenon in itself.” A sigh. “I’ll admit, that’s a lot of coincidences, but the town obvious took great care with the tree. They built a damn shrine to the thing.”

“That we did. History is important, even if embellished with legend. The garden club fertilizes her every spring. All of these shops were built around her, in fact.” She looked at Miss Katie, gorgeous blooms and strength in her branches. “She’s known to grant wishes, you know.”

Shaking his head, he barked a laugh. “Don’t tell me you believe that.”

“Maybe once, long ago.” Wistfully, she exhaled, recalling the instances as a young girl where she’d run to Miss Katie with whatever ailed her. Wishing for her parents to still be alive, for a certain boy to like her, to get accepted into her college of choice, to become a somebody in her career field. None of it had happened. “You never know.” Perhaps they hadn’t been the right wishes.

Or perhaps she’d just been unworthy.

“Alrighty.” Turning, he began walking anew. “I’ll meet you halfway and agree we’ll never know for certain.” A mischievous grin lit his eyes, curved his lips. “Are you superstitious, too? Seven years back luck for breaking a mirror, that kind of thing?”

“Not particularly.” She thought it through for the sake of being truthful. “It begs the argument for crowd mentality, doesn’t it? Do superstitions exist because they actually happen or because enough people believe they do, giving credence to nothing at all?”

A jut of his chin as if impressed by her answer. “Good point.”

They posted signs on the box by the curb outside the library, and he paused to stare at the building. She tried to look at it from an outsider’s perspective.

It wasn’t large compared to most colonials, but it had been built with love and was meant to be a private library collection. The place did need quite a lot of help. Or maybe it just needed to be loved again. Rebecca had gotten the impression Mr. Brown had a like/loathe relationship with the library. He hadn’t had a lot of aid from the town or funding to keep it afloat. She wondered if his father and grandfather before him had felt the same way. All the Vallantine heirs. Perhaps, between resentments and time, the library knew those facts. Had simply given up, too.

“Do you think buildings have a soul?” She could feel Graham’s gaze on her, but she kept hers ahead. The library resembled, in a way, old courthouses from back in the day. Peaked roof. Pedimented gables. Greek support columns. Rectangular shape. It stood alone, against a navy sky littered with stars, trees to the rear, and surrounded by grassy fields. It seemed rather lonely. “That places can absorb the energy around it or the people who once lived there?”

“Eh.” He issued a sound of contemplation. “Honestly? No. Buildings are nothing more than framework. Lumber and glass and drywall. I think they definitely develop personalities over time, in the broad sense of the meaning, based on architecture, design, and what the occupants have done. Actual feelings? Nope.”

Humming, she smiled. “So, you don’t believe in ghosts?”

“Ha.” He strode to the opposite side of the road, her following, toward the other half of the sidewalk boxes. “I don’t believe in spirits, no. Nor tarot cards or any pseudoscience.”

“A lot of experiences back up the claims. Who knows what happens to us when we die.”

“Agree on that front. In my opinion, ghosts are another mass hysteria based on circumstances and inspired by a sense of dread or fear. The recent boom in paranormal programs only adds to the mindset.”

Yup. Black and white, this guy.

She was enjoying this immensely, the vast conversation and genuine meeting of the minds. “Hauntings and lore have been around longer than television or film.”

“Fables meant to prove a point, tell a tale, or scare children into obedience.”

Interesting take. “Which simply means, you’ve never had a paranormal experience.”

Dropping his chin, he shook his head. “And you have?”

“Nope.” She winked. “But I’m young.”

“You threw a but in there.” He pointed like she’d just made his case for him. “Meaning, you’re open to suggestion. Take your library, for example. You spent a lot of time there growing up, but you’ve not witnessed the supposed ghost of Katherine Vallantine. You’d think she would have appeared to you by now if she existed.”

Maybe. Maybe not. “She assists all who enter seeking knowledge. Guess I wasn’t asking the correct questions.”

He sighed, but it was on the undercurrent of a smile. “Agree to disagree.”

She couldn’t help but think the world might be a better place if more people did that. Beliefs on their proper sides of the aisle, calmly making their case, listening to opposition, and agreeing to disagree. No name-calling or insults. Simply a differing of opinions.

They crossed the street, heading back to the Gazette. A check of her watch revealed an hour had passed without her realizing, and they’d finished the laminated signs. It seemed like they’d just left.

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