Hope Between the Pages by Pepper Basham (ebook reader for surface pro .txt) 📕

the dark hairs on her unruly mop of wiry, short locks had come loose from its pins and poked northward toward the ceiling like a bedspring. Since her frown tripled the size of her chin on a regular basis and her beady eyes squinted to near slits at this particular moment, she resembled, if I dared acknowledge it, a toad with a spring bouncing atop its head.

My mother would have been horrified at my train of thought.

I was not nearly as horrified as I ought to have been.

With well over two hours before the appointment for whatever punishment Mrs. Vanderbilt deemed appropriate for my mirror misadventure, I made my way to the library to complete my responsibilities as long as I was allowed to do them.

Dawn hues streaked through the glass doors lining the eastern side of the room, bathing the room in golden morning. The hush of a sleeping house and an undisturbed space welcomed me, offering solitude with only fictional folks and realms to keep me company. My thoughts, paired with the ethereal glow of daybreak, only encouraged my whimsy and nearly had me imagining fairies dancing on the sunbeams slanting into the room.

I took quiet steps down the spiral staircase to the main level and, after checking the emptiness of the room, slipped by the fireplace to a small table that housed several discarded books. A quick look let me know that Mr. Oliver Camden had already finished two of the choices I’d sent him: Dracula and Tarzan.

Both in less than twenty-four hours?

Oh yes, he was a kindred spirit. Unless, he didn’t like them or—I gasped—skimmed these magnificent stories!

Then he was very much not a kindred spirit.

But I could not match indifference with the enthusiast I’d observed yesterday.

I cradled the books to my chest and carried them to their particular shelves, but as I raised Dracula to its place, a piece of paper wedged between the pages caught my attention. Was it a bookmark?

Elegant script from a neat hand blackened the page.

Dear Library Fairy,

I’ve always believed in fairies and feel a library is the perfect abode for such a fantastical creature. Thank you for your book recommendations. I beg for more.

With anticipation,

The Visiting Book Goblin

Library Fairy? Book Goblin?

My snicker shocked me and I glanced around to make certain the room still hummed with the vacancy of morning. I’d never had a guest write to me before. And Book Goblin? I covered my smile, as if the paintings above would care, and noticed another piece of paper lodged near the very back of Tarzan.

Dear Elusive Library Fairy,

I am inclined to believe that Tarzan must have been part fairy as well as part ape-man. How he learned to read English without ever having heard the language, as well as so readily picked up on French, I cannot say. French was not my favorite. Clearly, there was magic at work.

I’m curious for more.

As ever,

The Book Goblin

I tucked both notes into my apron pocket and immediately set out to retrieve a few additional books in the Tarzan series while also adding The Island of Dr. Moreau and, just to see what he’d think of a bit more romance, Far from the Madding Crowd. Would he be an Austen fan? Or enjoy something as classic as Ivanhoe? With his reference to fairies and goblins, maybe George MacDonald should be considered.

I nursed the fleeting thought of writing him back, if only to feed the fairy idea tumbling around in his head, but I felt certain Mrs. Vanderbilt would never approve of such interaction between people above and below stairs.

With quick work, I placed the chosen books on the table with Mr. Camden’s name printed on a card perched atop the stack and then finished my cleaning before making my way to Mrs. Vanderbilt’s Oak Sitting Room.

Elegance pearled in every main room of Biltmore. Even the servants’ quarters boasted more space than most grand houses, from what other servants said, but the personal rooms of the Vanderbilt family carried an intimate ambience. Perhaps even more so since Mr. Vanderbilt’s untimely death.

As I passed a few servants on my way, their gazes held mine, but they didn’t voice a word, almost as if they wondered at my fate as well. I came to a stop in front of the massive door and wiped my sweating palms on my apron.

At my knock, a quiet voice bid my entry. I opened the door wide enough to slide inside.The room stretched into a long rectangle framed by ornate oak-paneled walls on three sides and windows displaying the distant Blue Ridge Mountains along the fourth. A beautiful and intricately designed cream plaster adorned the ceiling, and two massive fireplaces provided bookends on either side of the room. Behind a large desk at the far right of the room, sat the lady of the house.

Donned in an elegant blue day dress, she didn’t appear to be the ruthless employer ready to dismiss me from service. Instead, she beckoned me forward with a gesture of her long, slender fingers, her lips tilted in a subtle smile.

“Please, sit, Sadie.”

With a slight hesitation, I took the proffered chair and attempted not to fidget. Mother always expected outward calm amidst internal chaos, if possible. Especially in the presence of the Vanderbilts.

“I am certain you are aware of a situation Mrs. Potter relayed to me about your…” Her lips twitched. “Spying on the guests.”

“In all honesty, Mrs. Vanderbilt, I only wanted to see if my book choices met with the readers’ approval.” I squeezed my hands in my lap. “I had no intention of being inappropriate, but the younger Mr. Camden shared his love of reading with such enthusiasm, I simply had to see if I got it righ—”

Her raised palm stopped my rehearsed explanation.

“I haven’t asked you here for a reprimand, Sadie.” Her lips crooked slightly upwards. “You have your mother’s love of books and her gift of discernment in readers’ tastes, which is one of the reasons why you