Page 64 of Charlotte

Lottie.

Cornelia came to stand beside her after a moment. “That was nicely done.”

Lottie looked at the open doorway. “The flower pressing?”

“No,” Cornelia said gently. “The waiting.”

The sound of her own name in his voice stayed with her after he had gone. Lottie closed the ledger and laid her palm over the cover.

A library was built of many patient things. Shelves. Ledgers. Returned books. Names offered when the giver was ready.

Today, Peterson had borrowed a second book.

He had given her one word back.

Her name.

Chapter Nine

June 25, 1886 — The Meadow above the Churchyard

By Friday morning, Charlotte Bellamy had decided waiting for a man to return a borrowed book was entirely different from waiting for any ordinary event.

Rain, for example, came or did not come without consulting her heart.

A kettle boiled at its own pace.

The mail arrived when the post managed it.

A borrowed book gave hope a due date. Lottie had hope in her heart.

Peterson had Tennyson and the botany volume. Both were written in the ledger in his careful, uneven hand. Both were due the following Tuesday. Lottie knew this because Delly had arranged the lending rules with enough severity to withstand war, flood, and careless bachelors.

Still, every time footsteps sounded on the boardwalk, Lottie looked up.

Every time the meeting hall door opened, her heart made a hopeful little fool of itself. Cornelia noticed by the second hour.

“You will wear a path in the floor from that table to the window.”

“I am not walking to the window.”

“You are looking at it so often it amounts to nearly the same thing.”

Lottie bent over the stack of primers. “I am observing traffic patterns for library placement.”

Cornelia made a thoughtful sound. “How scholarly.”

“Thank you.”

“How frequently does traffic resemble a tall logger?”

Lottie dropped a primer.

Cornelia laughed and stooped to retrieve it. “Forgive me. I could not resist.”

“You could have resisted. You chose not to.”

“That is true.” Cornelia handed back the book, her expression kind. “He may not come today.”