Page 33 of A Late-Blooming Rose
Andre’s eyes twinkled, but his expression remained deadpan. “Can’t have too many ancient Roman philosophers.”
A memory echoed, and Rose recognized they’d teased each other with almost these same lines before—perhaps one of the first times her shyness dissipated with him, allowing them to converse.
He held out a hand, palm up. “Do you feel it too, Rose? That sense of…of discovery, of possibility? Do you realize we’ll be making history for this town? A library that will serve not just our current population, but many generations to come?”
Caught up in his vision, she could only place her hand in his. Without the protection of her gloves, his skin felt warm, the contours of his palm so very familiar. Again came the vibration in her stomach, a reminder to guard herself. “I…I do sense the possibilities.”
I underestimated how easily I could again fall under his thrall.
She took as deep a breath as her corset could allow and withdrew her hand, meaning to turn back to the architectural plans.
With a touch of his fingers on her arm, Andre stopped her, his eyes full of compassion. “I haven’t had a chance to give you my personal condolences about Marty. I know how close you two were, how proud your brother was of you. You must greatly miss him.”
His soft-spoken words made tears threaten. Unable to meet his eyes, Rose looked away. She moved back to the table and placed a hand flat on top of the drawings. “He would have loved to be here now, seeing these plans, being a part of your library discussions.”
“Ah, but Martyisa part. Look here.” Andre shoved the paperweights off the blueprints and fingered a corner, separating several pages to find the one he sought. He then transferred the upper pages to the top of his desk. Returning, he replaced the paperweights and leaned to tap a side of the drawing. “This is a spacious reading room set under theMartin Abraham Collierrotunda, which will provide plenty of sunlight for the interior. A plaque will dedicate the space to his memory.”
Goosebumps slithered across her arms, and a lump rose in her throat.
Andre slid his finger to one side of the building. “But here, there’s also a more private reading nook like Marty arranged in his bookstore. There will be a bow window for plenty of light and also flowing air in the summer. I envision comfortable chairs and an electric chandelier overhead. There’s a radiator right here.” His finger moved. “Cozy.”
“Marty always complained about not being able to sit and read at our library. He wasn’t the only one. I often came upon a patron standing in the aisle, his or her nose in a book. Most uncomfortable.”
“I’m sure you know the discomfort from personal experience,” he teased.
“Perhaps.” She reached up to rub her neck, remembering days of sore muscles from that very position. “Marty would be so pleased to be remembered in this way.I’mso pleased.”
“I’m glad,” he said in a low voice, his expression tender. He leaned back over the drawings. “This is another reading nook.” He traced the lines to the opposite side of the building. “I want to name it the Rose Ellen Collier room, after our first librarian.”
She drew a shocked breath, humbled by the honor.
“I want comfortable chairs patterned in rose chintz. Unless, of course, you’d prefer some other fabric.” Andre rushed on. “Here’s a study area for students. A big table. Maybe two.”
“Definitely two or three,” Rose said firmly to belie the shakiness she felt about his announcement. “We only had two at my library in New York and could have used four. Not having reading areas forced people to use the table, making them more crowded than if we’d had comfortable chairs in secluded nooks.”
“Then three we shall have,” Andre said, his tone gallant. “Let me make a note.” He moved to the desk, opened the ledger, dipped the pen in ink, and scribbled a few words.
“Perhaps, also, a few desk cubbies for students who need more solitude.”
“Good idea.” He wrote down her suggestion.
“How many books will the library hold, do you suppose?”
Andre looked up. “I’m thinking twenty-two hundred to three thousand.” He left the ledger open, tucked away the pen, and walked back to the table.
Ambitious for a fledgling library but doable within a few years.“That’s about what we had. Two thousand, eight hundred, and seventy-three to be precise. At least that was the number when I worked there. The count’s probably different now.” She thought of Jimmy Ortner and her other favorite patrons and experienced a pang of missing them. Before leaving New York, she’d stopped by the library with Andre’s address.
Perhaps, I’ll hear from Jimmy or my other protégés.She made a mental note to write a letter to Mr. Nicklesby-Ward as soon as she had some time.
Andre shifted the drawings until they were back in order. “Tomorrow, when you’ve had a chance to settle in, if you’d like, we can go over the plans in more detail. I’ll also take you to see the job site. If you have more ideas, there’s still time to change the blueprints. Elton Reid, the architect, returns to Sweetwater Springs next week.”
Reluctant to stop their discussion, Rose was about to object when through the open door came the sound of voices.
Andre cocked his head and grinned. “I believe Joshua and Micah have arrived home.”
Rose hurriedly exchanged Andre’s spectacles for her own, placing his on the desk.
Rapid thudding footsteps sounded, and Andre held up a finger. “That will be my grandson,” he said, with an indulgent glance toward the doorway. “No matter how much we, or rather his parents, chide Micah, when that boy’s excited, he moves through the house like a galloping horse.” He dipped his finger several times as if counting out a beat. “Now.”
