I made a face at Lena, who shrugged. “Home school.”
“It’s always impressive to meet a young person who knows Antigone.”
“All I remember is, she just wanted to bury the dead.”
Marian smiled at both of us. She shoved half her pile of books into my arms, and half into Lena’s.
When she smiled, she looked like she could have been on the cover of a magazine. She had white teeth and beautiful brown skin, and she looked more like a model than a librarian. She was that pretty and exotic-looking, a mix of so many bloodlines it was like looking at the history of the South itself, people from the West Indies, the Sugar Islands, England, Scotland, even America, all intermingling until it would take a whole forest of family trees to chart the course.
Even though we were south of Somewhere and north of Nowhere, as Amma would say, Marian Ashcroft was dressed like she could have been teaching one of her classes at Duke. All of her clothes, all of her jewelry, all of her signature, brightly patterned scarves seemed to come from somewhere else and complement her unintentionally cool cropped haircut.
Marian was no more Gatlin County than Lena, and yet she’d been here as long as my mom had. Now longer. “I’ve missed you so much, Ethan. And you—you must be Macon’s niece, Lena. The infamous new girl in town. The girl with the window. Oh yes, I’ve heard about you. The ladies, they are talking.”
We followed Marian back to the front counter and dumped the books on the re-stacking cart.
“Don’t believe everything you hear, Dr. Ashcroft.”
“Please. Marian.” I nearly dropped a book. Aside from my family, Marian was Dr. Ashcroft to nearly everyone around here. Lena was being offered instant access to the inner circle, and I had no idea why.
“Marian.” Lena grinned. Aside from Link and me, this was Lena’s first taste of our famed Southern hospitality, and from another outsider.
“The only thing I want to know is, when you broke that window with your broomstick, did you take out the future generation of the DAR?” Marian began to lower the blinds, motioning for us to help.
“Of course not. If I did that, where would I get all this free publicity?”
Marian threw back her head and laughed, putting her arm around Lena. “A good sense of humor, Lena.
That’s what you need to get around in this town.”
Lena sighed. “I’ve heard a lot of jokes. Mostly about me.”
“Ah, but—‘The monuments of wit survive the monuments of power.’”
“Is that Shakespeare?” I was feeling a little left behind.
“Close, Sir Francis Bacon. Though, if you’re one of the people who think he wrote Shakespeare’s plays, I suppose you were right the first time.”
“I give up.”
Marian ruffled my hair. “You’ve grown about a foot and a half since I’ve last seen you, EW. What is Amma feeding you these days? Pie for breakfast, lunch, and dinner? I feel like I haven’t seen you in a hundred years.”
I looked at her. “I know, I’m sorry. I just didn’t feel much like… reading.”
She knew I was lying, but she knew what I meant. Marian went to the door, and flipped the “Open”
sign to “Closed.” She turned the bolt with a sharp click. It reminded me of the study.
“I thought the library was open till nine?” If it wasn’t I would lose a valuable excuse for sneaking out to Lena’s.
“Not today. The head librarian has just declared today a Gatlin County Library Holiday. She’s rather spontaneous that way.” She winked. “For a librarian.”
“Thanks, Aunt Marian.”
“I know you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have a reason, and I suspect Macon Ravenwood’s niece is, if nothing else, a reason. So why don’t we all go into the back room, make a pot of tea, and try to be reasonable?” Marian loved a good pun.
“It’s more like a question, really.” I felt in my pocket, where the locket was still wrapped in Sulla the Prophet’s handkerchief.
“Question everything. Learn something. Answer nothing.”
“Homer?”
“Euripides. You better start coming up with a few of these answers, EW, or I’m going to actually have to go to one of those school board meetings.”
“But you just said to answer nothing.”
She unlocked a door marked private archive. “Did I say that?”
Like Amma, Marian always seemed to have the answer. Like any good librarian.
Like my mom.
I’d never been in Marian’s private archive, the back room. Come to think of it, I didn’t know anyone who had ever been back there, except for my mom. It was the space they shared, the place they wrote and researched and who knows what else. Not even my dad was allowed in. I can remember Marian stopping him in the doorway, when my mother was examining a historical document inside. “Private means private.”
“It’s a library, Marian. Libraries were created to democratize knowledge and make it public.”