True believer - Nicholas Sparks [28]
Jeremy listened intently as she talked. They walked slowly, Lexie interrupting her own story to point out some of her favorite books. She was, he soon came to learn, even more well read than he, especially in the classics, but it made sense, now that he thought about it. Why else would you become a librarian if you didn’t love books? As if knowing what he was thinking, she paused and motioned to a shelf plaque with her finger.
“This section here is probably more up your alley, Mr. Marsh.”
He glanced at the plaque and noted the words SUPERNATURAL/
WITCHCRAFT. He slowed but didn’t stop, taking time only to note a few of the titles, including one about the prophecies of Michel de Nostredame. Nostradamus, as he’s commonly known, published one hundred exceptionally vague predictions in 1555 in a book called Centuries, the first of ten that he wrote in his lifetime. Of the thousand prophecies Nostradamus published, only fifty or so are still quoted today, making for a paltry 5 percent success rate.
Jeremy pushed his hands into his pockets. “I could probably give you some good recommendations, if you’d like.”
“By all means. I’m not too proud to admit I need help.”
“You ever read this stuff?”
“No. Frankly, I don’t find the topic all that interesting. I mean, I’ll thumb through these books when they come in, looking at the pictures and skimming some of the conclusions to see if they’re appropriate, but that’s about it.”
“Good idea,” he said. “You’re probably better off that way.”
“It’s amazing, though. There are some people in town who don’t want me to stock any books on these subjects. Especially the ones on witchcraft. They think they’re a bad influence on the young.”
“They are. They’re all lies.”
She smiled. “That may be true, but you’re missing the point. They want them removed because they believe that it’s really possible to conjure up evil and that kids who read this stuff might accidentally inspire Satan to run amok in our town.”
Jeremy nodded. “Impressionable youth in the Bible Belt. Makes sense.”
“Don’t quote me on that, though. You know we’re off the record here, right?”
He raised his fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
For a few moments, they walked in silence. The winter sun could barely pierce the grayish clouds, and Lexie paused in front of a few lamps to turn them on. A yellowish glow spread through the room. As she leaned over, he caught a flowery trace of the perfume she was wearing.
Jeremy absently motioned toward the portrait above the fireplace. “Who’s this?”
Lexie paused, following his gaze. “My mother,” she said.
Jeremy looked at her questioningly, and Lexie drew a long breath.
“After the original library burned to the ground in 1964, my mother took it upon herself to find a new building and begin a new collection, since everyone else in town had written off the idea as impossible. She was only twenty-two, but she spent years lobbying county and state officials for funds, she held bake sales, and she went door-to-door to the local businesses, pleading with them until they gave in and wrote a check. It took years, but she finally did it.”
As she spoke, Jeremy found himself glancing from Lexie to the portrait and back again. There was, he thought, a resemblance, one that he should have noticed right away. Especially the eyes. While the violet color had struck him immediately, now that he was close, he noticed that Lexie’s had a touch of light blue around the rims that somehow reminded him of the color of kindness. Though the portrait had tried to capture the unusual color, it wasn’t close to the real thing.
When Lexie finished with her story, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She seemed to do that a lot, he noticed. Probably a nervous habit. Which meant, of course, that he was making her nervous. He considered that a good sign.
Jeremy cleared his throat. “She sounds like a fascinating woman,” he said. “I’d love to meet her.”
Lexie’s smile flickered slightly, as if there was more to