Authors: Maggie Robinson
W
hen Alice got
to the library, she didn’t quite have the heart to do her morning spin. Someone had smashed the perfect pumpkin by the main door that she’d gone to so much trouble picking. Pumpkin guts were all over the steps and sidewalk, and she had to call the town office to have one of the maintenance guys come over to clean it up before someone tripped, fell and sued.
The book return slot had been jammed with a bag of trash.
And Daniel would be gone for the next forty years. She was feeling disoriented enough without involving her endolymphs.
She turned on the copier in her office so she could make a second copy of poem for him. Maybe between the two of them, they’d crack the key to the curse.
Now
that
sounded like a Nancy Drew book. But if Daniel hadn’t had any luck in almost two centuries, she didn’t think she’d be any help. Sure, she read mysteries, but was almost always surprised by whodunit.
The phone rang, a few patrons came in, the UPS guy delivered. He’d switched to long pants, but Alice wasn’t interested anymore anyway. Not after seeing Daniel’s legs. Not after seeing Daniel’s…oh, it was going to be a long day.
Her first hour was filled with a bunch of inconsequential tasks. By ten o’clock she still had not brought herself to read the curse. Nor had Daniel arrived. But Jamie had. Alice left her upstairs with strict instructions to tell Daniel Merrill to meet her in the Meeting Room as soon as he came in.
Jamie had stopped magnetizing the returns.
“No hanky-panky with the hunk in the basement, Alice,” she teased.
Alice could tell Jamie had more than a few questions, but she scooted down the stairs, taking the curse and the extremely dusty
History of Merrill’s Mills
with her for good measure. The book was part of the reference collection, and as such, couldn’t be checked out of the library.
It was so old Alice required visitors to wear white cotton archive gloves when they looked through it. Not that she could remember the last time someone had wanted to see it. They would have had a fatal sneezing fit. She had two pairs of gloves with her just in case she and Daniel had to touch it. She put on one pair and carefully cleaned the book binding, setting on the mahogany table with the papers.
As far as she knew, he’d simply sat still and subverted it with his thoughts. Alice wondered how he knew he hadn’t succeeded without picking it up and thumbing through it. She couldn’t imagine having that kind of power.
If she did, she’d probably change the ending to
Gone with the Wind
and her Visa bill first thing.
How easy it would be just to tell Porter Gosford that nobody cared about the damn book anymore. People were much too interested in the Kardashians and Unreal Housewives to wonder about historical inaccuracies in Nowhere, Maine.
She took a peek at his sour puss and quickly glanced away. Uh uh. She wasn’t going to tell him a thing.
Keeping her gloves on, she removed the old devils from the wall without really letting herself look into their beady eyes, put them down none too gently in the storage closet and locked the door. She’d figure out to do with the portraits later. The elaborate gilt frames were much too nice to throw away, but she felt a little queasy about cutting the canvas out of them. Now that she knew the power of these two men, she didn’t want to come at them with an Exacto knife. Let them fester in the dark. Maybe rats would get them.
She took off the gloves and her glasses and rubbed her eyes, which were probably pretty beady, too. She’d never been so exhausted—or so sexually satisfied. Not that she had a cast of thousands to compare him to, but Daniel Merrill was a superb lover. She giggled. She had a lover, even if he was the ultimate older man.
She heard Daniel’s tread on the squeaky linoleum stairs and tried her best to look alluring. He came into the room, holding two HotCups.
“Tea for you, right? And no, I didn’t read your mind. You had no coffee pot in your kitchen at home.”
Alice was pleased and took a sip. Three sugars. Just the way she liked it. “Thanks. So you’re not going to do the Vulcan mind probe?”
“I’ll try not to.” He gestured toward the papers on the table. “What do you think?”
“I haven’t had a chance to read it yet. I thought I’d wait for you.”
Daniel sat down in the chair next to hers and looked up at the wall over the boarded-up fireplace. Two pieces of tape and two picture hangers were the only trace of what had been there just yesterday. “I see you’ve been busy.”
“I couldn’t stand the have them here one more minute. I hated them before and I really hate them now. You don’t want them, do you?”
“Lord, no. I believe it was I who donated them anonymously to the town in 1895. My first failed foray into forgery.”
“Ooh, I love alliteration. It’s a weakness.”
He reached for her hand, circling the palm with a fingertip. Alice had read all about that in books.
My word.
Its effects were not exaggerated. She felt little licks of pleasure race up and down her arm.
“There’s nothing weak about you, Alice. I’m not going to forget you.”
She snatched her hand away, despite his delicious assault to her senses. “Don’t sound so defeated! You can do it this time! I know you can, you
have
to.”
Daniel sighed. “I’m used to failure, Alice. I’ve been here three times already. My father built this library, you know. It was his proudest achievement, after getting the book printed. I think he wanted to make sure there would be a place for people to read it. Merrills Mills was one of the first towns in the state that had a free public library, decades before Carnegie started the public library movement.”
“I know. The cornerstone of the original building says 1845.”
“Of course you do. You know everything.”
Alice laughed. “Not quite. But at least I know where to look it up. Let’s get started. Suppose you read this to me. I’m not used to your handwriting.”
D
aniel cleared his throat
. He really didn’t have to read it. He had committed it to memory long ago. The last stanza still meant almost nothing to him; it was as murky in the twenty-first century as it had been when he first saw it.
“‘The sins of the father,
The sins of the son,
Chastisement endureth;
Thy work is undone.
W
ander the wilderness
Each forty years
’Til all books are cleansed,
Each falsehood made clear.
T
he hand of the Devil
,
The hand of the King
Conspire together
In fruitless seeking.
N
o rest for the wicked
,
No friendship, no love.
A life bare and barren
As the full moon above
T
he future awaits
,
A scant week of grace,
Succumb to temptation
In this holy place.’”
D
aniel put the paper down
. “It’s not Tennyson.”
Alice surprised him once more.
“‘Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night…’”
Alice stopped and took a little bow. “I could go on. I had to memorize it for a Christmas pageant when I was in the eighth grade.”
The words had always resonated with Daniel, particularly the line ‘Ring out false pride in place and blood.’ That had been his father’s affliction. And his own.
“It’s one of my favorites. I’ve had a lot of time to read.”
“Then
you
must be the one who knows everything.”
“Not hardly. Gosford’s curse, for example. I do know the king he refers to is my father, “King” Merrill. Ephraim Merrill doesn’t want me to succeed in destroying his work. He actually told me so.”
Alice looked uncomfortable as she shifted in her chair. He knew he’d tested her boundaries. Gone far beyond them. Only yesterday she’d never thought that psychic ability was anything more than a ratings grab on a TV special. That time-travel involved magic portals and faeries somewhere in Scotland. That the Devil wore a blue dress. Now he was invoking Casper the Unfriendly Ghost.
She picked at the sleeve of her ribbed sweater, not meeting his eyes. “You’ve seen his ghost?”
“Just once, and that was enough. He and Gosford were so busy arguing, I couldn’t make much sense of what they were saying. It was a long time ago.”
“They were actually
together
?”
“In death as they were not in life. More of the Devil’s perverse sense of humor. I gather unless I’m successful, they’ll be yoked together forever. It’s almost worth it to continue the ‘fruitless seeking’ every forty years.”
“Forty’s a pretty popular number in the Bible,” Alice reflected.
“Believe me, I’ve researched it. It stands for a period of ‘probation, trial and chastisement.’ Forty years was considered to be one generation. I’ve lived through five.”
“It also stands for a time of preparation. To receive grace from God. I took a comparative religion course in college.”
She looked embarrassed. Modern people were very hesitant to discuss religion, Daniel had observed.
It didn’t stop them from killing each other over it, though.
“Well, I don’t even get a full week of grace according to the poem. Just six days. At least that’s how it’s always been.”
“The last stanza. Where do you think the ‘holy place’ is?”
“I can tell you where it isn’t. I’ve hit the two Protestant churches in town, and the graveyard, too. The Catholic Church wasn’t built when the poem was written, but I’ve tried there anyway.”
“What did you use for the temptation part?”
“Gosford was a leader of the Temperance movement in town. I thought he might mean liquor. I tried all the bars in 1935. When I was here in the seventies, I broke into the Baptist church and drank some Jack Daniels in the sanctuary. And smoked a little dope.”
“Daniel!” she sputtered, sounding shocked. He lightened when she grinned and waggled a finger at him.
“The thing is, Gosford had a co-author of the curse.”
Her brows knit. “The Devil, I presume. Well then, how will we know what’s holy to the Devil? Oh my God! Maybe he meant one of your father’s brothels?”
“Tried that too. Tried ’em all. 1895. Of course my father was dead by then. Someone else owned them. They’re all closed now, of course. Merrills Mills doesn’t have a whorehouse I don’t know about does it?”
“There’s just my hairdresser Janine, but she gives it away for free.” She pushed a loose curl behind her ear in frustration. “This could mean anything, couldn’t it?”
“Yup.”
“It’s like some sort of a riddle. A trick. I’m so sorry, but I can’t think of anything that might help you.”
Daniel nodded. He hadn’t really expected anything different.
“You wouldn’t…I mean, you’re not going to ask me to have sex in the cemetery, are you?”
Daniel roared with laughter. “As tempting as that would be, even I have my standards. And before you ask, church pews are too hard. You’d get splinters in your pretty little ass.”
“It’s not so little.”
“Let me see,” he said. “Just to make sure.”
“Daniel! Not in the library!”
But he overruled her. Before she could protest further, he hauled her over his knee and flipped up her skirt.
“I thought,” he said when he could find his voice again, “that you were going to put your panties on.”
“I changed my mind,” she replied, her voice muffled.
He felt his manhood rise dangerously. But she was right. This was neither the time nor the place. Her assistant could come downstairs any minute. Daniel knew that Jamie was absolutely dying of curiosity upstairs, and possessed of a very strong matchmaking gene. Alice would have a tough time explaining how she let him slip away. Reluctantly, he righted her and settled her in his lap. She fit too perfectly.
They were quiet for a few minutes, content. Her hand was over his heart. If she were psychic, she’d know it was hers, maybe for eternity.
“What happens to you when you’re not here?” Alice asked suddenly.
He shrugged and kissed her forehead. “I move around a lot. Travel some for my job. I can’t really stay anywhere too long. I never age. After a while, it becomes rather awkward. Like there’s
The Picture of Dorian Gray
hidden somewhere in my closet. Right now I live in Boston, but I’ve been there quite a while.”
“Maybe I could visit you. It’s not that far.”
Daniel shook his head wearily. “’No friendship, no love. A life bare as barren as the full moon above.’ You’d never find me. They won’t let you.” He let his arms drop to his sides.
Alice stood up, almost knocking them both over. “I hate them! How could they do this to you?” She glared at the empty wall as though Daniel’s two ghosts were still there.
“I did it to myself, Alice. I didn’t consider my wife’s wishes. She wanted to end our marriage. Go home to her father. And I wouldn’t let her.” He got up too and shoved the papers into his pocket. Alice put her arms around him, as if she knew he needed her soft warmth, and not only because it was so cold in the basement.
He sighed in frustration, but made no effort to get away. She seemed to melt into him, a caramel morsel from the wild russet curls on her head to her brown high-heeled boots. Even with the extra height, he towered over her. For the first time in years, he felt protective over another human being.
And knowing her, touching her, loving her had caused hurt for both of them.
Alice finally broke away. “I’d better get back to work. I brought the book down here. I thought maybe if you were entirely alone with it, you might have better luck. No distractions.”
“It’s worth a try. I don’t suppose…”
“What?”
“I stole it before. In 1935. My first day back. I took it to the town dump and put it in the burn pile.”
Alice looked at him. “They’ve closed the dump, Daniel.”
“I know that. There’s a transfer station now. But in the bad old days, I put the book in the fire myself, Alice. I watched it burn.”