Being The Steel Drummer Part 12

"Are there perks to this job?" I parried. "Would you care to outline them?"

"There's a compensation package. We could have a meeting at 9 p.m. this evening to discuss it."

"That's amenable to me, Dr. Anthony. I follow directions without question."

"No, I don't think you do, but I have some strict teaching strategies that could improve that."

I exhaled steam. Kathryn's eye were bright.

"Yes, well," she said. Kathryn took a notebook from her bag and wrote a few sentences outlining what she wanted from the Irwin College Library Collection Archives and that I was working as her a.s.sistant in this project and should be given access.

"It's very unlikely they'll let you take anything out of the building, but each professor has a lockable shelf compartment. I'm supposed to get the new combination today. You could call me if you think you need it." Kathryn finished writing and glanced at her watch. "I'm so sorry. I really have to get going."

We paid the bill, m.u.f.fled up, and hit the frigid streets of Fenchester yet again. We walked together to the campus. We stopped at the back entrance of the English Department building.

"My meeting's in here," she said through the soft scarf covering the lower half of her face.

We kissed goodbye, not very effectively through scarves, but her eyes warmed me with a smile that promised much more effective kisses later. I still had to go another block to make it to the library. I immediately missed her, and then my mind wandered to what our date might hold on Friday night and I missed her even more.

Geez you're sweet on that girl, said a voice in my head. So what are you going to do about it?

"What indeed."

Chapter 9.

"Could you tell me how to get to the archives?" I asked the young man who finally appeared behind the information desk.

"What?"

"Can you tell me how to get to the archives?"

"Which ones?"

"The ones in this building?"

"This building? You mean the library?"

"Yes, the library." Why does this kind of thing always happen to me at information desks? It's like someone just turned off the universal translator so the person I'm speaking to can't understand my alien language. He looked at me blankly while I considered what to say next. And then I was rescued.

"Good afternoon, Maggie," Amanda Knightbridge said in her most authoritative tone. "Mr. Sellers, are you helping Ms. Gale?"

Amanda Knightbridge was wearing a long burgundy wool skirt, a heavy pullover sweater, and an imposing expression that required compliance. After all, she was the head of one of the largest departments at the College.

"Oh yes... uh, er, Dr. Knightbridge... yes..." He looked back at me. "What was it you wanted again?"

"I'm Dr. Anthony's research a.s.sistant and..."

"No need for that," said Amanda briskly. "I shall escort you to the archives. Please give Ms. Gale an a.s.sistant badge, Mr. Sellers. Maggie, you can check your canvas bag here at the desk. Mr. Sellers will keep it in a locked cabinet and he will give you the key. You may take your shoulder bag with your computer in it, along with you."

Sellers gently stowed the bag in a locker and gave me the key, then fumbled up a badge. I clipped it on. As Amanda whisked me toward a pair of gla.s.s doors, I thanked her for cutting at least a half hour from my quest.

She stopped briefly by a display of reference materials that was marked 'Irwin Professors' Publications,' and waved her hand over a row. "Did you know that Kathryn has written a number of books?" she asked. "Rather an impressive body of work, you must admit."

I began to say that I knew about Kathryn's books, but when I saw them there all together in a long hard-copy row in real time, I felt a surge of possessive pride. I smiled and nodded.

"So now you are researching the Victoria Snow sculpture. That's the task Kathryn has a.s.signed to her new research a.s.sistant?" Amanda said with amus.e.m.e.nt as we began to walk again.

"Yes, we took the sculpture to Piper Staplehurst at the Museum this morning and she told us there was no record of any of the works Kathryn bought. So Kathryn thought of looking though the papers Victoria Snow left to the College."

"Ms. Staplehurst confirmed the figures were by Victoria Snow though, did she not?"

"No doubt in her mind. She was shocked by the find. Have you seen any of the Snow papers, Amanda?"

"I do believe she donated everything to Irwin College, including her personal papers, but I'm ashamed to say I haven't reviewed them. I have read the Carbondales' book of course. It tells a bit about Victoria Snow's life. Have you had a chance to look at the book?"

I felt like a kid in fourth grade who'd been called on to give a report on a book I hadn't finished. Luckily I'd at least opened it.

"I read some parts of it this morning. Evangeline certainly was beautiful."

"Yes, she was. You know, so much in Fenchester can be traced back to the incredible wealth of Merganser Hunterdon. But then I suppose that's true in any town where one person controls most of the money."

I nodded and added 'Read the Carbondales' book' to my To Do list.

Gla.s.s doors opened into a large s.p.a.ce that held a group of work tables. Beyond them were rows of stacks so long I couldn't see their end. To the right were a few empty gla.s.sed-in research rooms with doors that stood open. Only one of the tables in front of us was strewn with books and the papers from three acid-free archive boxes. A young woman was perched on a stool at the table, her eyes swinging back and forth from a dusty pile of papers to her laptop screen, as though watching a slow game of tennis.

"Now," said Amanda, "the archives are quite extensive... In the back of the building there is a separate elevator and stairs that will take you to one of the four other archive floors."

"There are four more floors like this upstairs?" I asked incredulously.

"Oh no, Maggie, the four floors are underground and to the east. And each of them is much larger than this. The College tour guides say each is over a city block in size, but I'm not sure that's accurate. Nevertheless we start here." Amanda led me to the information desk. It took several moments for a librarian to come out of a back room to the computer station to talk to us.

"We would like to see the Victoria Willomere Snow papers," Amanda Knightbridge said to a young librarian.

She peered through thick gla.s.ses and a long fringe of dark hair to see exactly who was speaking, realized who it was, and rapidly tossed her magazine under the desk. "Oh, Dr. Knightbridge. Uh, yes, of course," she said whirling toward her computer screen.

The librarian clicked keys and scanned data. After a few minutes, she said plaintively, "I'm sorry Dr. Knightbridge, but I don't see a file that has that kind of t.i.tle." She clicked a few more times, then shook her head and said, "Is there anything else I can get for you?"

"Are you sure there is nothing in the system? Try Fenchester Sculpture, or say... Women Artists," said Amanda.

"The system is very carefully cross-referenced. If the name Snow was anywhere in the system. Um, I could ask..." She looked over her shoulder toward to an older man who saw Amanda and rapidly joined us.

His name badge read Senior Librarian with the single name CURTIS under the t.i.tle. He looked like a cross between Johnny Depp doing Ichabod Crane and Don Knotts, complete with extra large Adam's apple. Amanda told him what she wanted and he turned immediately to the computer screen and entered all sorts of codes.

After nearly five minutes of rapid key work he gulped and said, "Dr. Knightbridge, are you sure this is something the library has?"

"Quite sure, Mr. Curtis" said Amanda. "I happen to know the book on Fenchester history by the Carbondales cites the library's addition of the Snow papers to its collection."

I reached in my bag and pulled out the book on Fenchester history by Gabriel and Suzanne. In the reference notes at the end, it cited the donation of the papers in 1938 by the library's notation number. Amanda turned the book around and pointed to the citation triumphantly.

Mr. Curtis looked at it carefully, then nervously entered the notation number. And nothing came up.

Dr. Amanda Knightbridge's features became rather fierce. I'd seen that look before. Bright focused eyes, like a bird of prey. She said in a quiet but somehow frightening voice, "Is Isabella Santiago here?"

Senior Librarian Curtis looked nervously around. The younger librarian with the fringe visibly blanched. Curtis stage-whispered in a shaky voice, "I believe she's always here, Dr. Knightbridge. But she doesn't like to be disturbed."

"Maggie, I'll be back in a moment." Amanda stalked off far more stiffly than her general floating gait. I could faintly hear Amanda calling out, "Isabella," far back in the stacks.

I stood there with the two librarians, who were rapidly transforming into cowardly lions about to meet OZ. Mr. Curtis tugged at his collar, looked at his watch, mumbled something about having to help someone, and then sped off so fast I could practically hear the Roadrunner sound effect. The young woman librarian seemed terror stricken to be left alone and disappeared without explanation.

So who was this Isabella Santiago, who could strike fear into the hearts of librarians everywhere?

Seconds later, Amanda came out of one of the study rooms down the hall, followed by a female Yoda. She was tiny, wrinkled, and very old. She looked kind of bald, but it was just that her white hair was the same color as her skin. People have told me that I am freakishly pale, but this woman made me look like a San Tropez ad. She was so white, she kind of glowed. She wore a long loose robe of brocade material tied at the waist with a silk sash. Under it she had on some kind of layered white dress. She had huge owl-like gold-rimmed gla.s.ses, even bigger than Judith Levi's. She could have been a hundred years old.

"Isabella, please meet Maggie Gale. Maggie, this is Dr. Santiago. She knows this library very well."

Dr. Isabella Santiago advanced on me with swift baby steps. She tipped her head up to peer at me through huge owl corneas. I said, "Very nice to meet you, Dr. Santiago. You've worked here for a long time?"

She said, "Pffft." She turned toward Amanda and said in a surprisingly loud and clear voice, "What does she want?"

"Maggie would like to see the Victoria Snow papers."

"Ask..." She waved her hand toward the s.p.a.ce where the small herd of librarians had been before they'd sensed danger and scattered.

"She did so, however, they could not find the reference to the papers in the system."

"System," she muttered, flicking her hand to the side. In a clear but creaky voice she said, "I'm working on a treatise on 16th century building materials and I do not have time to... Oh never mind. Follow me and hurry up about it!" She darted toward the stairs and rapidly descended three flights, then zipped toward the stacks like a c.o.c.kroach heading under the refrigerator when the light comes on. She zig-zagged down nine or ten aisles and came to an abrupt halt in the middle of a row so dimly marked I couldn't read the tag. She nodded toward a high shelf.

In the middle of a series of brown archive boxes was one labeled Snow, Victoria Willomere. I had to get a kick stool to reach and slide the heavy box out. By the time I stepped down, Dr. Isabella Santiago had scuttered back to the 16th century, leaving me and Amanda alone.

As I carried the archive box back to the study area, Amanda said, "You know, Maggie, Isabella Santiago doesn't talk to people very often. We were lucky to draw her away from her work. It seems to help a great deal to be the head of the History Department. She never spoke to me when I was just a professor. I've worked quite hard to establish communication with her."

I looked back at Amanda and in the dim light of the stacks I could see she was smiling to herself.

"But now you know her?"

"I don't really know her, but I've found that if one has a good reason to seek her she'll come out of hiding. She certainly knows everything about the collections."

The way Amanda Knightbridge was talking was giving me that feeling you get when the eerie background music comes on. I wanted to ask more but Amanda said, "I'm afraid I have a meeting soon. You can use this research room here. Let me know what you are able to find out."

Amanda reminded me to wear gloves when handling any of the papers and indicated a box of white cotton ones on a shelf.

She said, "You know, Kathryn could request the research department make digital files of these papers for her. I believe there is a young woman there who has developed quite a devotion to Kathryn."

"Swell."

"Nevertheless," said Amanda with a hint of amus.e.m.e.nt. Then in a more serious tone she went on, "Maggie, have you told Kathryn how you feel about her?"

"Um, I care for her very much."

"Yes, that's evident. May I say that I don't think you should worry about convention. There are stages in a relations.h.i.+p and many feel that a certain amount of time should go by."

"Yes."

"But I'm not sure one of the many is Kathryn and I feel somehow that you do not fit into that group, either... Ah well, this is not my business. But, I have known Kathryn for some little while. She will give you cues, and I hope you take heed of them. I have great faith in you. I have great faith in you both."

On that prognostication Dr. Amanda Knightbridge turned on her heel and floated from the room. She left me wondering more about Kathryn and me than about the archive box on the table. I really didn't think that just telling Kathryn I cared for her... would be enough to make us both feel as though we were... hmmm... well, I guess Farrel and Jessie would say, as though we were a team. It wasn't about words. The total willingness to trust and to yield-we just weren't to that point. But if we didn't get there soon I feared it would create a wrinkle in our relations.h.i.+p that we might never be able to smooth out.

"Oh crikey!" I sighed.

I slipped on gloves, removed the cover of the archive box, and gently drew out the acid-free folders. I set my laptop up next to the folder piles.

I sorted the items carefully. The first group were legal papers. I gently went through each of the piles dividing them by type. In the last stack was a small thick leather-bound book with the initials V.W.S. on the front.

I opened it carefully. The first page was inscribed: Dim Eden of delight, In whom my heart springs upward like a palm; Loving your morning strength, your evening calm, Your star-inspired Night -- A sweeter breath blows upward from the sea, Like a fresh hope from G.o.d's eternity; -- Latest and best, are you then coming?

Nay - shadow is not here; Save of the rocks upon the gleaming sands, And that which moves beside me with clasped hands, A suffering shadow, drear With watching, it would seem, the endless swell, Great, white-faced waves, sent ceaselessly to quell The stern and silent sh.o.r.e with thunder.

To Victoria on the occasion of her 30th birthday, May this present help you record your morning strength and evening calm and everything in between!

- from Anne and Abby. Feb. 1st, '75.

I whistled out loud. Journals are treasure and this one was gold.

And Anne and Abby... were Anne Whitney and Abby Manning. This was Anne Whitney's poem Kathryn was quoting in the cemetery. Wow, this was really something. I couldn't wait to look through it.

The book looked like it was part of a set. I looked back in the box, but it was the only one in there.

I took the Carbondales' book from my bag, found Victoria in the index, and read the brief account of her life. She had traveled and had shows of her work in several cities, but after 1876 always came back to Fenchester where she lived a rather solitary and very long life in Fen House. She had died in 1938 at the age of 93. Interesting, I hadn't known she had lived in Fen house. She must have bought it after Evangeline died. Now that I had a little context I went back to the papers.

Among them were Victoria's will, pa.s.sport, birth certificate, some deeds; there was even a driver's license. There were catalogs doc.u.menting all her shows with pages listing all the works exhibited. These could be helpful. I put them aside.

Piper Staplehurst had said there was no record of the works Kathryn bought at the flea market, so that would mean there was no mention of the works in this box, because certainly the college and museum had already cataloged the information in these papers when they were originally placed in these archives.

I turned back to the journal and carefully turned to the first page. The writing was tiny and in a flowing artistic script that was hard to read. I finally discerned that the page described a trip Victoria was taking on a s.h.i.+p. I clicked on a bright extension arm lamp and swung it over the page; then I squinted at the minute letters.

March 15th, 1875: Leaving Liverpool for New York on the Bothnia. One of Cunard's newest s.h.i.+ps. I must say it has every convenience. My stateroom on the spar deck is s.p.a.cious. Would that I had had such a room when I was in Rome.

As it turns out I know several of the other 1st cla.s.s pa.s.sengers and I hazard to guess quite a few of those riding steerage, though I do not see a way in which one in 1st cla.s.s could venture to even converse with someone in that part of the s.h.i.+p. Totally blocked off.

I find this trip so different from my voyage on the Scotia ten years ago. Truly a maiden voyage for me, if not the s.h.i.+p itself. In fact, that s.h.i.+p seems quaint to me now, with its huge paddlewheel. Of all the crossings I've taken, that really was the most memorable. For the s.h.i.+p itself, if not the company. I suppose the sails are about the same even now, and they say the speed is as well, but the coal dust and noise are definitely reduced and the plain fact of hundreds of other people on board below decks feels decidedly different. Not frightening as some of my more timid friends would suggest, but as though we all share a similar adventure into the incalculable future.