It Burns a Lovely Light (21 page)

"You had every right. You're my friend."

Farley checked to be sure Henry was well out of earshot. "You know how you said I don't see what's in front of my face?"

Dion flinched. "Sorry about that. Not one of my finer
moments."

"No, you were right. I've been thinking about it ever since." She rubbed her eyes. "In fact it's all I seem to think about anymore - I haven't slept in weeks. I know how Henry feels about me. I feel the
same way. I've probably always loved him; I just didn't want to admit it to myself."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm moving soon; a year at the most. That's
not exactly conducive to a long-term relationship. It wouldn't be fair to Henry - or to myself - to start something that is doomed from the start."

Dion sucked on her straw. "Any chance you're getting a
little ahead of yourself, hon?"

Joe dragged an old dresser up from the cellar. Claire and Veda Marie made up the extra bed in Farley's room.

"What kind of a mother turns a daughter out into the
world like that?" said Veda Marie, reaching to answer the phone on Farley's nightstand. "Hello? Bridge Manor."

She glanced at Claire.

"No, Mrs. Sullivan
cannot
come to the phone.
What's the matter with you that you can't take a hint? Mrs. Sullivan might be too polite to say this, but I'm not. She is not interested in you."

"Give me that," said Claire, yanking the phone
from Veda Marie's hand. "Hello? This is Mrs. Sullivan...Yes, I should be able to pay you soon...I'm working something out with my bank...That's right; you'll be the first to know...Goodbye."

"You mean the man with the unfortunate neck isn't
trying to win you over?"

"If he is, he's certainly going about it the wrong way. He's a bill collector."

After intense deliberation, Claire decided the Christmas tree should go in the library. Joe and Ryan dragged in the giant fir and set it up in the corner. September, Farley, and Henry unpacked ornaments and hung them on the tree, while Claire directed from her armchair.

"Isn't that always the way," she said, purposely loud enough to be heard two rooms over. "Everyone loves a Christmas tree, but no one wants to take the time to decorate it."

Veda Marie's voice rang out from the drawing room. "Claire Sullivan, that's not fair and you know it! William, Dion and I are in here slaving away on the gingerbread house. One of our walls is treacherously close to caving in and the sugar plums won't stick to the
roof."

"And they're watching their soaps," said September.

"I heard that!" yelled Veda Marie, winking at William.

On the flickering television screen, Erica looked
thoughtfully at her daughter.
'You look familiar. Don't I know you?'

"It's about time Erica recovered from her amnesia," said William.

He loved the soaps almost as much as Veda Marie did. The
stories dragged along, which gave him time to understand what was going on, and the characters were constantly coming down with strange, exotic diseases. And he loved the way supposedly dead characters constantly returned - through
outlandish schemes, tragic hospital mix-ups, or as an evil twin.

Veda Marie pulled her chair closer to the television. "Watch yourself, Erica. That fur collar can't help you now."

"Don't you worry about Erica Kane," said Dion.
"She's had more husbands than I've had boyfriends. The girl can take care of herself."

"Is Erica related to Billie Kane?" asked William.

"Somewhere down the line, she must be."

The Christmas tree stood against a background of leather-bound books in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Rich with silver icing and colorful ornaments, the effect was magnificent.

"Hold on," said Claire, getting up from her seat in a worn leather library chair. She had a shiny red and silver metal star in her hand. "We almost forgot the most important ornament."

Henry positioned the ladder and nodded to Farley.

"I'll hold it while you climb."

Farley hesitated, then decided she was being silly. It's just a ladder, she told herself. Held by Henry, at that. She climbed.

"Careful," said Claire, standing at the base of the tree.

Nearing the top, Farley experienced a familiar feeling of unsteadiness. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Don't worry, I won't let go.

As she stepped onto the next rung her foot slipped. She grabbed onto a row of books to steady herself, knocking some of the books off the shelf. Claire threw her arms up as heavy books pounded her head and back.

Farley scrambled down the ladder as Henry steadied Claire. "Are you all right?"

"Don't be silly," said Claire, her voice shaking. "It'll take more than some dusty old books to hurt this body." She
gasped as September began stacking the fallen books in a pile. "Be careful with those. They're extremely valuable."

Picking up J.R.R. Tolkein's
The Hobbit
with
illustrations of trees and snow-covered mountains, Claire ran her hand over the faded dust jacket. "This was your grandfather's dream acquisition, Farley. Tolkien designed and illustrated the dust jacket himself." She opened the
cover. "See that tiny inkblot? The name 'Dodgeson' was misspelled in the first issue. After the publisher discovered his mistake, he personally corrected each book by hand. There are only few copies left containing his corrections."

"How did Grandfather end up with the book?" asked
Farley.

"It's not hard to find a first edition of
The Hobbit
if you know where to look. Finding a first edition with the original dust jacket is much more difficult. There were copies for sale in the high auction
houses in London and New York, but the cost was too dear. Our only hope was to come across it at an estate sale or at a used bookstore."

"He found this in a used bookstore?"

"No, I did."

Ten-year-old Claire had found
The Hobbit
in a box marked "discounted" in The Novel Hovel. It wore the dingy brown cover of another book, but underneath was the original dust jacket.

"I yelled, announcing my find," said Claire, her eyes shining. "I'll never forget the way Father scooped me off the ground and hugged me."

Unfortunately, the owner of The Novel Hovel had also heard
Claire's vivacious hollering. By the time they brought the book to the cash register, Mr. Franco had adjusted the price upwards to somewhere in the area of a small fortune.

"But that's not fair," said Farley.

September shook her head. "You must have been crushed."

"I fell apart, right there in the store. It was all my fault. Father kept saying it didn't matter anyway, the fun was in the hunt. But
I couldn't stop crying. Finally, he put the book in my hands. He told me not to let go of it; he'd be right back. He returned - with what we later found out was most of his life's savings - and paid Mr. Franco for the book."

Bumping along in the back of the streetcar, Claire took the crumpled notice out of her purse and read it again:

"Per our agreement, your interest rate of 11.9% is increased to 24%. In addition, there is a penalty fee of $985.75 for late
payment."

There must be some mistake. She had made her payments on time - but they kept increasing the amount due, and then fining her for late payment and adding a penalty increase to the interest rate. How was she
supposed to pay this off, if they kept jacking everything up? A squirrel ran in front of the streetcar. He almost made it across the street and then zigzagged back. Claire closed her eyes.

"We want to talk to you."

Letting the door swing shut behind her, Claire looked from Farley to Veda Marie. She put her purse on the kitchen table and lowered herself into a chair.

"Something's going on with you," said Farley.

Claire started to shake her head.

"Don't bother contradicting us," Veda Marie piped in. "We've had it up to hear with your tomfoolery."

Claire put her elbows on the table and rubbed her temples. "I'm tired, that's all."

"That's because you haven't slept through the night for weeks. We hear you up at all hours, wandering around the house like a miserable
ghost."

"At least I'm not hitting the refrigerator," said Claire, going for a little levity.

"That's another thing," said Farley. "You've
lost weight."

"Not the good kind, either," added Veda Marie. "You've lost the kind that peels off overnight from a heavy load sitting on your shoulders. The kind that leaves you with nowhere to hide." She
leaned in. "And you're not fooling anyone with these library meetings, missy. No offense Claire, but you haven't been a librarian for Lord knows how many years."

Claire huffed at that one.

"They happen to value my opinion," she said.

Veda Marie folded her arms. "Do you think this is the first day I met you, Claire Sullivan?"

Claire closed her eyes. She was so tired. Almost
beyond-caring tired.

"I owe a little more money than I thought."

"To whom?"

"Lowe & Son's."

"The company that did all those repairs for us?"

Claire nodded. "I don't know what happened; the bills got away from me. I just came from a meeting with Lowe & Son's. I was hoping we could restructure our payment plan, maybe extend it out a bit...but
they weren't interested. But on my way out of the office, the receptionist pulled me aside and said I should give this company a call."

She slid a green business card across the table.

The Pilgrim Group

Low Interest Loans

For minority and female-owned businesses.

"I told her I've already been turned down by The Second Savings and Loan, but she said this company was less stringent. She said they
were making a name for themselves helping small businesses."

"I don't like the sound of this," said Veda Marie. "We should talk to Ham."

"Ham's got enough on his plate." Claire picked up
the card. "I'll call this lender first thing in the morning."

"What if they can't help us?" said Farley.

"We'll still be all right. As a cushion, I've decided
to sell
The Hobbit
."

Claire Sullivan woke from a full night's sleep feeling better than she had in a long time. Opening a large can of ground coffee, she took a whiff of the lovely rich aroma. She giggled. When was the last time she
had stopped to smell the coffee? She giggled again as she pictured how silly she must look, grinning into a can of Maxwell House.

To the aroma of brewing coffee, she emptied the dishwasher:
plates in the cabinet, pots and pans in the pantry, Veda Marie's ashtray on the fireplace. That was when she saw the beautiful wildflowers on the mantle. Next to the flowers was an envelope containing two hundred dollars in cash and a
note:

To my wonderful Bridge Manor family,

I woke this morning and knew it was time for me to seek my next adventure. Oh, I will miss you! I love you all.

September Rose

PS. This is two extra months' rent.

PSS. Lucky the person who moves into Bridge Manor!

As she re-read the note, a sense of profound sadness washed over Claire. September had been such a bright, shining light in the house; she
would be dearly missed.

The residents of Bridge Manor lingered at breakfast, trading stories of their beautiful September. It was late morning before Claire
remembered her decision to sell
The Hobbit
. She flipped on the light in the library and opened the glass cabinet, then searched the shelves.
The Hobbit
, along with a number of other valuable books, was gone.

"Think about it, Claire," said Ryan. He leaned against the kitchen counter as she washed the dinner dishes. "What do we really know about September Rose? That's not even her real name."

"A thief does not leave money for two extra month's
rent. Or write a loving goodbye note."

"Probably just to throw you off her scent."

"September's not built that way, Ryan," said Veda
Marie, wiping down the table. "That girl is the very definition of love."

He let out an exasperated sigh. "I know how much you cared for her. We all did. But look at the facts: You told her about your valuable collection. Now she's gone. The books are gone. Face it; the girl wormed her way in here with her love beads and voodoo chants and carted off a fortune."

"And finally," said Henry, wrapping up the staff meeting, "once Christmas is behind us we can start clearing out the back dining room and setting up for the Carter and Wilder New Year's party."

"Billie Kane again." Colette groaned. "That
woman has no heart inside her chest."

"It's not her party," said Henry. "It's a party for the
company
she works for."

Farley checked her watch as she pulled on her coat. "I have
to go. Resa asked me to meet Eileen's bus. She had to stay after school for detention."

"Ahhh, detention. Takes you back, doesn't it?" Closing her notebook, Dion stretched. "What's she in for?"

"She punched a boy in the neck."

"Ouch."

"She's been getting into a lot of trouble lately. Ham
hired Resa to make sure she's never home alone."

"We're finished here." Henry tossed his notes on the counter. "Want some company?"

"Sure." Farley slapped her hands together.
"Hang on! I almost forgot. Christmas Eve falls on our day off this year. Veda Marie and Claire are planning an oyster roast, and they insist we're not allowed to lift a finger." She pointed to Colette. "And I'm supposed to remind you that you're welcome to bring a guest. Which we all know is Veda Marie-speak
for 'why in God's name are you still not attached?'"