THE JOURNEY HOME

CHAPTER 2: BOOKS

The night was so cold but unfortunately, Mrs. Harry had forgotten to bring anything thicker for bed. No one ever came around at this time and the old mansion was almost always empty anyway so the old librarian thought she could turn in early today.

It was no wonder that the library was empty, for the library was only ever busy in the months when there were tourists or when students had exams. The old house barely had flowing water, being such a relic, but as uncomfortable as it may have been to others, to Mrs. Harry, it was nothing less than home. She was so old that she had lost almost all her friends and had no children to speak of (they didn't live in this town), so she had no reason to go to her other house which was little more than a storehouse at this point. She also wasn't expecting any visitors, Mrs. Harry lived a quiet life and only had occasion to interact with people when they came into the library or whenever she went out to purchase basic amenities. 

The people of the town cared for her though, knowing that she was too old to cater for the library alone, others who took shifts watching over and cleaning the library. Mrs. Harry's presence in the library, however, remained constant. Tonight, Mrs. Harry, who had the absolute right, chose to spend the night in the library as she had many nights before. She had already gone to bed and was sleeping soundly, having a wonderful dream of lovely springs and beautiful children playing in the sun when the sound of the front door creaking open woke her up. She hadn't bothered to lock it because the town was very peaceful and besides, no one ever robbed a library. The night was still so cold that Mrs. Harry had to shut her window before going downstairs to see who it was.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .  

There was no one at the counter when Ophelia entered. She stood panting in the library for a few moments completely distraught, beads of sweat forming on her face and her shirt gradually getting drenched as she tried to catch her breath. She was so relieved to see the door open that she hadn't thought of the possibility that no one would be around. However, Mrs. Harry came in through the stairs to the left of where Ophelia stood and put an end to the greatest of her fears. 

Mrs. Harry's steps were so soft and it was such a grand house that Ophelia didn't notice the little librarian until she was at the very base of the stairs. 

'Ophelia', she heard her name from unfamiliar lips and turned, and there stood a little old lady looking at her with eyes half her age. It was a really small town where they lived so it was not uncommon for the librarian to know Ophelia's name but Ophelia's embarrassment came from the fact that she didn't know Mrs. Harry's at all, the librarian was completely new to her and she thought this was their first time meeting.

'Why are you here? At this hour?', Ophelia nearly forgot the urgency with which she rushed to the library. Her cause of course was a quest for answers. The events of the past few days were too puzzling for her to figure out on her own so she had come to the one place where she was surest to get the answers she was looking for. But now, how to articulate this to the elderly lady before her? Ophelia struggled with her words, not knowing where to begin. The librarian watched her open her mouth and close it and immediately understood. 

'It's about Pearl, isn't it?', Ophelia nodded, relieved by the soothing words and an even more soothing voice. The librarian sighed, sadness clouding her bright eyes.

'You've seen her, haven't you?', Mrs. Harry ventured to ask again. This time Ophelia nodded slowly, it seemed this librarian understood. But how?

'How did you know?', Ophelia asked. 

'Come with me', the librarian said. As they walked down the library, a maze of shelves, Mrs. Harry began to explain. 

'I have been a librarian for over 40 years. I have seen many things, some of which you may not believe. People always come here, always come to me for answers. There is a lot of wisdom here', At this comment, Ophelia wondered if she meant the library or herself, she looked about as old as the library but not really. Some parts of her carried the vestiges of her youth, her young eyes, and posture certainly didn't seem to belong to someone so old and there was her stately gait. But her skin was taut, and her bright eyes lay buried within the wrinkles of her face. Her voice came heavy and slow, betraying her age.