Close to Destiny (A Magical Love Story)

Chapter 51

May 20, two hours later

"Um, I'm looking for books about local people who contributed to the city's growth in the mid-nineteenth century," I mumbled over the counter as the librarian simultaneously scanned her computer screen.

"Second floor, take a right and the section is over by the back windows," she said, waving a slim hand in the direction of a large mahogany staircase.

I nearly ran up the steps, blind to the few students and scholarly-looking individuals who lingered here and there. Arriving at the top, it seemed I was the only one on the second floor: this mezzanine, with row after row of shelves bowing under heavy old art and history texts. I hurried to the high-arched windows that let in streaks of daylight.

I found the right section but locating documents that would be helpful wasn't the easiest task. This I realized after hours spent poring over pages between various moldy bindings. With more and more frustration as time wore on, I slammed each book shut and moved on to the next. Books without photos, others without names of those who were in the photos, and still others with photos only of buildings and downtown streets. And nothing on Liverpool or Willow investment companies or partnerships.

I held my head in my hands and rubbed my aching temples. It was too early to give up, but I felt as if I was running up against a brick wall at every turn.

"How are things coming along?" I looked up with a start to see the same librarian who had directed me to the history section.

"Not too well," I said, leaning gingerly against the wooden chair.

"We have a rather solid collection here," she said. "Are you looking to find references to anyone in particular?"

"I'm looking for photos of someone named Zachary Taylor, who was involved with a group that built The Grand East Hotel." As I blurted out my request, I hoped she wouldn't ask me why I was on such a determined quest for such trivial information.

"We have a few books around the corner that might be helpful..."

She disappeared and returned a minute later with three volumes so antiquated that I wondered if anyone had touched them over the last century. A big puff of dust clouded the air as she set them on the table in front of me.

"These have a lot of old photographs and drawings of society people," she said. "I would think that anyone who had something to do with building up the city at the time would have to turn up here."

And she was right. A half hour later, on page 53 of the second book, my eyes connected with those of Zachary Taylor for the third time.

I took several deep breaths and closed my eyes against those little bright spots that show themselves just before a fainting spell. I counted to 10, then to 20. Finally, I was ready to face the reality that was so upsetting to me. I pressed the yellowed page flat and examined the features that were already familiar. Zachary Taylor, gazing serenely into the camera, had his arm around the waist of a young woman. According to the caption, they had won first place at a charity ball to benefit children in need. I guarded the page with one finger and diligently examined those that followed but found nothing more. The third volume provided no further clues. With nervous fingers, I turned back to the photo of Zachary Taylor. How could this be? He had a descendent who looked exactly like him, as if they were identical twins born a century apart. It was the only logical explanation. But even that seemed unbelievable.

"The library is closing in fifteen minutes, so you'll have to wrap things up." Another librarian's voice broke into my thoughts.

"Just a second," I said, clutching the book. I zoomed in with my phone and snapped a permanent reminder of Zachary Taylor's face.

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