Page 2 of A Late-Blooming Rose
“Yes, Miss Collier.” He lifted the book with both hands. “When I’m finished, I’ll tell you all about the story.”
“I’ll look forward to hearing your opinion.”
Firming her lips against saying more, Rose kept the smile on her face until he walked away. When she resigned from the library, she intended to leave her address so her favorite patrons could correspond with her. But she knew reading their accounts wouldn’t be as good as having a discussion.
Her heart heavy, Rose took a seat at her desk and, once again, glanced at the book on top of the stack, searching for the title. She had to blink away sudden tears to see clearly, and then picked up her pen and wrote the title in her ledger, her copperplate handwriting only a little shaky.
* * *
As the sunlight outside the library windows dimmed, Miss Hall turned on the gaslight, signaling to Rose that the time had come to give her two-week notice. Her chest tight, she pressed her lips together, closed her ledger, and stood, gathering her composure. She stepped out from behind her desk and forced herself to head toward the staircase in the back of the library.
The director’s office was situated on the second floor. For once she didn’t have to navigate the stairs with books or ledgers and papers in hand while at the same time keeping her skirt high enough so she wouldn’t trip on the hem.
Well-trodden red carpet covered the marble staircase, which Rose must have climbed thousands of times during her twenty-two-year tenure as librarian.I won’t be making many more visits to Mr. Nicklesby-Ward’s office.
So deeply in thought was she that finding herself in front of his paneled door surprised her. Pulling out of her reverie, Rose straightened her shoulders and knocked.
“Come in.”
The decorative brass plate around the crystal knob needed polishing. Rose made a mental note to mention the task to the cleaner. She opened the door and went into the office, a large-dark-paneled room filled with bookshelves overflowing with volumes, both his own and the library’s.
As usual, books and papers covered the director’s large desk. He looked up, gave her his prissy smile, and set the pen he was using into the holder of the inkwell.
Tall and reedy, with thinning dark hair and silky side-whiskers, Harvard Nicklesby-Ward, a member of the cadet branch of the Nicklesby family and thus forced to work for a living, had a snobbish, finicky manner. He was inclined to cater to their higher-class patrons and ignore the needs of the poorer people. Not that anyone who patronized the library was of theupperclass. The rich could afford to buy whatever books they wanted.
Aside from those sometimes-annoying traits, Mr. Nicklesby-Ward was an agreeable man, who, like her, lived and breathed books. They’d had many fine discussions—debates, even—on various topics.
In the past few years since Marty’s illness gradually weakened him, the director had sometimes called upon her brother and entertained him with similar erudite conversations. From time to time, Mrs. Nicklesby-Ward invited Rose to a dinner party, one of the few social invitations she felt comfortable accepting.
I’ll always be grateful for the director’s kindness.
Rose shut the door behind her and moved to one of the wooden chairs situated in front of the desk. She took a seat, her back straight, and clasped her hands together to keep her fingers from fiddling and showing her nerves. “You know about my brother’s condition. His illness has worsened, and he’s….” The lump was back, clogging her throat and blocking the worddying. Tears misted her vision.
Mr. Nicklesby-Ward remained silent, fiddling with his letter opener while waiting for her to recover. His warm brown eyes—his best feature—showed compassion. “He’s no better, then, Miss Collier?”
Rose shook her head and struggled to regain her composure. Lifting her chin, she forced out the sentence that would sever her from the employment she held most dear.But not as dear as Marty.“I must tender my resignation.”In a few months, I won’t have either my job or my brother.
His expression pulling downward, the director leaned back, his leather chair creaking. “I’m not surprised, given your brother’s deteriorating condition when last I saw him.”
She could only nod.
He sighed. “It’s hard to see you go. You’ve served this library faithfully for twenty-two years. Longer than I have, even.”
Rose forced lightness into her tone. “I’d be more concerned about leaving if I didn’t know your nephew has graduated from college and returned from his trip to Europe. Thus, Reginald can take my place.”
The director gave her a brief smile and, as if to gather his thoughts, reached to shuffle the papers on his desk into a stack. He moved them until the bottom edge aligned perfectly with the desktop, a great expanse of red cedar. “I can’t deny stepping into a position here would be a godsend for my nephew. I’ll certainly enjoy having Reginald around. But…” He swallowed audibly. “You will be missed, dear Miss Collier, by our patrons and staff.Iwill miss you.”
Coming from a man usually inarticulate about expressing his emotions, the simple statement meant a great deal. With sudden moisture once again misting her eyes, Rose could only nod. Finally, she tilted up her chin to keep the tears from spilling over and fisted her hands in her lap until her nails dug into her skin.
Obviously uncomfortable with her emotion, he couldn’t meet her eyes. “Normally, of course, I’d ask for several weeks’ notice. But due to the circumstances, you must leave whenever you think best. I will promote Miss Hall to fill your position, and Reginald will become the assistant librarian. He’s already applied himself to learning the Dewey decimal system in preparation for working at a library, although we had not thought Stone Street would be the one.”
With a deep breath to regain her composure, she placed a hand on the edge of the desk, “Do you think Reginald could come tomorrow so I could help train him? I’d planned on giving you two weeks notice, but if that’s not necessary, I think a day, or at the most, two, would suffice for him to learn what he needs to know.”
Moving to logistics apparently put Mr. Nicklesby-Ward on more comfortable ground for he nodded and smiled. “I’ll make sure my nephew will be here.”
“Do you suppose Reginald could also help me transport my belongings home? Over the past weeks, I should have gradually removed my books and cleared out my desk, but that seemed….”
His smile held compassion. “In your place, I, too, would have held out hope for as long as possible.”
