Miss Claireborns book

His gloved finger ran over the spines of book after book, nearing the end of yet another row in yet another bookcase.

“No, no, no…”

Assuming the fake identity of Mr. Caldwell, literature major and library scientist, had been the easy part. Getting the job at the library in the town of Maple Hills was slightly more difficult, but a doctored transcript from Oxford and some fake glowing references made sure he stood out from the limited competition. It wasn’t like Maple Hills attracted the biggest and brightest anyway.

Far away from the excitement of any big or even medium sized city, Maple Hills, nestled amid rolling hills and perfectly clad in red and golden autumn hues, looked more like a postcard than a place people actually lived. It was sleepy, full of people who seemed too friendly and overly involved in each other’s lives, and frankly, boring. Besides, he preferred the anonymity of the larger cities, where the shadows of concrete buildings swallowed up his own.

But for now, he was Mr. Caldwell. For now, he fit decently into the local community, with its Sunday farmers markets, maple lined high street and cobblestone historic city center.

At least until he found the book. And it had to be somewhere in the library.

As much as he hated to admit it, the library had a timeless elegance to it. Outside it was grand, composed of white brick with two large maples standing guard at the wooden door. Inside, the arched windows filtered the autumn sunlight, casting a soft glow on the rows upon rows of well-worn bookshelves and plush chairs.

It was seemingly left in impeccable order by the previous librarian, a Miss Claireborn, whose movements from town to town Caldwell had painstakingly tracked down through old census records and word of mouth. It was in her own personal collection of old, and in some cases rare books, the object of Caldwells search was.

The book was a rare first edition of the classic Justice under Maples, but not only that, it had an inscription from the famously reclusive author Allan Everhart.

More importantly, Caldwell had a buyer. A big one. The stuff that wasn’t for sale always had the biggest paydays.

Stealing the book from a little old lady would have been no feat at all, but sadly the old bat had kicked it before Caldwell found her. The local paper had an entire midsection dedicated to her, and from this he learned that her book collection had been donated to the library she loved so much, and since the town was now down a librarian, he had known exactly where to find the book and how to gain access.

However, the organization of the library had apparently not extended to this rare piece, at least it seemed that way, as Caldwell was unable to find it anywhere.

“Hi.”

Caldwell looked up from the stack of books on the desk in front of him, to see a boy around eight, freckled and a chestnut mop of hair pushing down into his eyes.

“Hello.” he said curtly, not even pretending to be polite. The adults of Maple Hills had to be charmed just enough they’d leave him alone and not get suspicious, but he had no patience for grubby little kids.

“I’m Oliver.”

“Okay then.” Caldwell said, a strained, obviously fake smile on his face.

“Wat’cha doing?”

“Looking.”

“For what?”

Caldwell sighed.

“A book.”

“Looks like you found a lot.” They boy opened one of the many books and started rifling through the pages.

Caldwell raised an eyebrow, an emotion akin to amusement flickering across his face.

“Well, yes, but these aren’t the right books. I’m looking for… a special book.”

“Did someone forget to return it?”

“What?” Caldwell said, brows furrowed, grabbing the old book from the kids greasy hands.

“You’re the new librarian, right? Mr. Caldwell? So, I’m guessing someone forgot to return the book and now you’re looking for it and that’s how come you’re so grumpy looking.”

“What are you… grumpy… I’m not…” Caldwell was taken aback by how brazen this kid was. “What do you want anyway, don’t you have anything better to do than bother me?”

The boy shrugged.

“Miss Claireborn let me hang out with her and help with the books. She said I was really good at helping.”

“Well why don’t you go play with your friends instead.”

Caldwell looked back to the stacks of books in front of him, but Oliver didn’t move.

“What, you don’t have any friends?” It was meant to a callous joke, but Caldwell could see he had hurt the boy. “Oh.”

Oliver hung his head, sniffled, and started slowly walking away from the desk. Something in Caldwells chest felt bruised, and it caused him to speak again.

“Wait.” He looked to the books in front of him. “Maybe you can put these back for me. You think you can manage that?”

Oliver wiped his nose and looked up.

“Uh huh” he smiled. “If I can use the cart.”

“Just don’t break anything.” Caldwell sighed.

From that day, Oliver became a regular fixture in the library after school, his boundless energy and irrepressible curiosity making it almost enjoyable being stuck in Maple Hills. The strangest thing was that Caldwell didn’t even have to put on a mask with Oliver. With the other people in town, Caldwell was an entirely different person, but with Oliver the only difference was the fake name.

One day, as Caldwell sat over another stack of books, removing the dust jackets to check the actual titles, Oliver piped up, ”Can I help you find the book?”

“Uh, it’s not really that easy.”

Oliver’s eyes twinkled with determination.

“Come on! It’s not hard. Plus, I’m really good at finding stuff. You’d be surprised.”

Caldwell found a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Very well then. But it’s old, you have to be really careful.”

“Is that why you’re wearing those gloves?”

Wearing gloves was a habit. After all, he didn’t want to leave fingerprints, in case anyone ever realized something had been stolen.

“Uh, sure. Yes. To protect some of the… older books.”

“Miss Claireborn did that as well. Not as much as you though, only with the really important stuff.”

“Oh?” instinctively, Caldwell knew this might be something. “She wouldn’t happen to have had one book that was extra special, would she?”

Oliver widened his eyes. “She did! She showed it to me. It’s really old, I guess.”

Caldwell dropped the book in his hand on the floor and got up, “Please tell me you know where she kept this book!”

“She told me it’s a secret.” Oliver suddenly looked uncomfortable, like he wished he could take the words back. “And I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

Caldwell did his best to keep his cool, and not push the boy too far.

“Well, I’m not just anyone, right? I mean, we’re friends, right?”

Olivers eyes twinkled at this. “We are?”

“Well, sure we are!” Caldwell felt a surprising lump of guilt in his throat, but Oliver smiled at him, the freckles on his nose crinkling.

“Okay! I’ll get it, but you have to close your eyes.”

“Okay, I’ll close my eyes, and you’ll get the book and give it to me.”

And then I can be out of here, he thought, be out of here and get paid. Like I planned.

Caldwell shut his eyes, and he heard the boys feet patter across the hardwood, behind him and towards the back, making Caldwell instinctively turn his head slightly.

“No peaking!”

Caldwell whipped his head back around.

“Oh, sorry!”

He kept his eyes closed, even when he heard Oliver come closer again, panting slightly.

“Put your hands out and still. no. peaking!”

He put out both hands, and Oliver gently lowered the book into them, causing Caldwells throat to form yet another lump.

“Okay, now look.”

Caldwells eyes blinked open, and there it was, in the palm of his hands. Its dustjacket was in almost pristine condition, the title Justice under Maples still glistening with gold foil. Caldwell opened it gently. The inscription was written in blue ink.

To Laura Claireborn,

Sometimes the most unexpected friendships can blossom amidst differences.

Yours,

Allan E.

“Wow, Oliver… this is… this is really special.”

“I know. The gold is super pretty.”

“It is. It really is.”

Caldwells gaze shifted from the pages to the boy, his expression filled with pride.

“Thank you, Oliver.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help my friend.”

Suddenly the book became heavy, the weight of a choice that seemed impossible to make.

He looked at his young friend, who hadn’t only found this valuable piece of literary history, but also found a part of Caldwell he didn’t even know existed.

There wasn’t a choice, was there? He finally got what he came for, and now it was time to disappear. It wasn’t like he could just actually become Mr. Caldwell, could he?

“Can you read it to me?” Oliver asked, blissfully unaware of the turmoil happening inside his friend.

Slowly but resolutely Caldwell answered.

“Yes. Yes, we can.”

With those words, not only did the lump in Caldwells throat disappear, but he also began to rewrite his own story. And when he later locked up the doors to the library without the gloves on, he no longer longed to be swallowed by the shadows, but stepped lightly into the golden light of the crisp autumn afternoon.