Sapphire throne an epic.., p.18
Boleyn Curse, page 18
But Grapes’ comment about my research plans did strike a chord in my mind. I had been feeling guilty for having wasted precious study time at the coffee shop this morning and I wanted to get back to work.
“Actually, I’m planning to head into the basement this afternoon to see what else I can find in Dad’s ‘unpublished works.’ It was dark down there last night and I’m afraid I may have missed something.”
My visit to the Sleeping Goat had left me with a terrible desire to sink my teeth back into my research. I yearned for the simplicity of plain old-fashioned fact-finding, rather than that freaky unexplainable fire ceremony I had witnessed earlier. Grapes popped up from under the couch, limber as ever.
“I was hoping you’d say that. I’ve been meaning to take my vacuum into the basement. So I’ll keep you company.” She revved the little engine on her handheld. “You study and I’ll get those spiders.”
“Are you looking for something specific, dear?” Grapes asked as she continued her cleaning frenzy in the basement.
She had stowed her walker by an old spinning wheel and was holding on to spare pieces of furniture for support. Her face lit with pleasure each time she spied a new spider web in the light of her miner’s helmet and sucked it into her whirring machine. We had already emptied the little vacuum twice, full of the unsuspecting creepy-crawlies she managed to snare.
“Grapes.” I squinted into a tall box. “Can you bring your head over here? I need to see what’s left at the bottom.”
She shuffled along an old wooden rocking horse and arrived with her beaming headlight.
“There. Make the light shine in there… What is that?”
Grapes tipped her helmet and the beam shone into the bottom of a deep storage container. To my delight, the light reflected off a smooth black surface. A small logo in the corner read Barney and Cartwright’s Air-Lock Humidity-Controlled Archival Quality Boxes.
“I knew there was something still here,” I said with satisfaction. My research instincts were still sharp, despite my insomnia and impending nervous breakdown.
“Atta girl, Ellie.” Her eyes sparkled under the brim of her miner’s helmet. “But what is it?”
The black archival box was locked up tight with a button and a sliding lock mechanism holding its contents within. We moved to the quilt to inspect it, shoving the dog over so we could both sit cross-legged on the blanket. Grapes’ flexibility was apparent when she sat on the floor this way. The woman could practically do the splits.
I pushed the silver button with a pop and slid the metal clasp forward. It opened with a whoosh of air as the vacuum seal mechanism disengaged.
“Arghhh. I’ll bet it’s filled with pirate treasure,” said Grapes, affecting a Long John Silver voice.
Smirking, I raised the lid and the three of us peered inside. Zach thumped his tail and Grapes whistled between her teeth. I bit my lip with a tiny surge of excitement.
The storage box contained two ancient leather-bound books. I wasn’t certain of their ages but, based on the cracked leather and the heavy construction of the book’s spines, I guessed they were at least several centuries old.
Both of the books cast off an unusual energy, each one unique but powerful in its own way. The first book, a smooth brown calfskin with no other markings, had a humble vibe. It was about the size of a paperback novel, not more than an inch thick. Its pages were thin and tattered, the seam frayed and split. It looked like it had been well loved by its owner. The second book was made of luxurious dimpled red leather edged with gilt borders. It was larger than its companion and it radiated wealth and station. It almost seemed offended to have been locked away all these years.
My heart skittered at the sight of them. This was better than pirate treasure, any day of the week. I glanced up at Grapes. Her eyebrows were going a mile a minute.
“Well?” she said impatiently.
A tingling sensation was now radiating from my scar and I gave my fingers a quick shake. My fingers pulsed as they contacted its calfskin cover, a little snap of electricity running up my arms. I pulled open the front jacket, the book’s spine groaning with disuse, and scanned the frontispiece. The cover was inscribed with a spidery handwriting that read, “Property of Beth Bowlan, 1566.”
I sucked in a gulp of musty basement air. “This must have been owned by someone in our family. Dad’s notes say the family tree went back five hundred years.”
Grapes eyes twinkled. “My heavens. It’s the diary of a long lost Bowlan. A Beth Bowlan, at that. My own Bethy used to keep diaries too, bless her heart.”
I passed the book between my hands, feeling the bumpy leather skin cover and the smoothness of the handwritten pages. A hum of electricity crackled where my skin made contact with the pages. Without warning, a tiny blue spark snapped through the air and a jolt of pain fired through my fingers. My scar seared with pain.
“Ouch,” I whispered under my breath.
Grapes didn’t seem to notice the blue arch of light that zipped through the darkness. “Let’s check the other one,” she urged.
I rubbed my hands on my jeans, trying to rid them of the bizarre tingling that would not go away. Picking up the dimpled red leather book embellished with gold leaf, I wondered if I was going to be zapped with a new blue voltage.
“Here we go,” I said, waiting for another shock. But this time, nothing happened. The prickling in my hands vanished. I hesitated for a moment, trying to determine whether I had imagined the blue spark in the first place.
“Open it, Ellie!” Grapes demanded with the eagerness of a five-year-old.
“Okay, hold your horses,” I shot back.
The book’s leather cover was richer and its pages far thicker than its counterpart. This time the writing was neat and swirling. I read the words aloud in the dim basement light. “The Heptameron—Stories by Marguerite de Navarre, 1514.”
I almost choked on my own tongue. “Oh my God. I’ve been doing research on this book!”
Grapes’ caterpillar eyebrows danced.
“What is that?” she asked.
We leaned in to get a better look in the darkness. The inside frontispiece contained a short written note. The ink was faded but under Grapes’ miners light, we could make it out.
To: Beth Bowlan, 1566
My dearest Beth,
Your mother came to visit me before I pass from this world. My time on the Earth shall not be long. Upon my passing, I have asked that you receive my Heptameron. It is my original manuscript. I penned the stories here as they happened in my life.
I am an old woman now, but in my youth, I knew your grandmother. She was a friend of mine, finer and truer than any other. She was like a daughter to me. I think of her every day since her passing. As I have no children of my own, I would like this special keepsake to go to you. Somehow, it feels as though it will remain in the family.
I know your arrangements have been difficult and that your childhood has been strange. I know your mother could only love you in secret and could not claim you for her own. That would be difficult for a child to understand. Please know she loves you more than you will ever know.
Please take care of my Heptameron,
Marguerite
Zach sniffed the leather bindings, nudging it with his nose to unearth its aromatic secrets. I looked at Grapes, the light from her helmet shining in my eyes. My voice came out cracked.
“This is the original draft of Marguerite de Navarre’s Heptameron. This book is probably priceless. We shouldn’t be touching it. And we definitely shouldn’t have it in our damp smelly basement.”
“Well quick, put it back into its Ziploc thingy.”
Grapes held the archive box open as I placed the red leather book alongside the brown calfskin. She closed the lid and handed it to me to seal. The mechanism was simple enough and with a push and a click, I heard the mechanism engage. The air forced outward, recreating the vacuum seal.
“Phew!” I breathed.
“Well it wasn’t pirate treasure, but it was pretty darn close,” Grapes said with satisfaction.
My mind spun with possibilities and I struggled to get my thoughts under control. Grapes, on the other hand, didn't waste time. She had already come to her own conclusions.
“You need to show these books to Lily,” she called over her shoulder as she headed back into her cleaning routine. “She’ll tell you how to handle them. Your father obviously tucked them away in that special storage container for a reason.”
“You’re right.” I nodded as I slid the black archival box into my backpack.
My first thought had gone to Lily too. She would know what to do with these ancient texts and how to study them without causing further damage to their delicate pages. But my second thought had gone to John. After all, John was the one studying Marguerite de Navarre for his Comp exam. He was the one who found the Heptameron stories in the first place. How could I not tell him I found Marguerite de Navarre’s original copy?
I grabbed my cell and scrolled through my list of recent numbers, clicking on the one marked J. Chelsea. I did it quickly before I could chicken out.
Grapes was shimmying along the furniture again. She readied herself to attack a nest of baby spiders in an old armoire. The dustbuster kicked into action, its sucking mechanism whirring away.
“John?” I shouted over the noise of the vacuum.
“Ellie?” The phone line crackled with bad reception.
“Yes. It’s me Ellie. Sorry. I’m in the basement again.”
John laughed. “Of course you are. So what’s up?”
“Listen, I have to tell you something crazy. Are you ready?” I asked, sounding a little crazy myself.
“Uh…sure.”
I rubbed my hand on the blanket to stifle the itching. “Grapes and I found the original handwritten version of Marguerite de Navarre’s Heptameron—in our basement!”
“Are you sure?” His voice was serious now.
“Yes. The book was in my dad’s old research boxes!”
I could hear John’s mouth hanging open.
I hesitated, a surge of insecurity ripping through me, but the thrill of my discovery gave me the courage I needed. “Do you want to meet somewhere? We can review it together.”
“Of course,” he said with enthusiasm. “Let’s look at it tomorrow. I’m coming over to your place for dinner, right?”
I paused for a split second. “You are?”
“Yeah, your Grapes invited me yesterday…when I dropped off Zach at your house. She didn’t mention it?”
I looked slowly up at Grapes, who was still vacuuming. I could have sworn she looked a little sheepish.
“No…she did not mention it,” I said, giving my great-grandmother the evil eye.
“She promised me her famous chicken pot pie,” John said with enthusiasm.
I kept my voice light. “Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, John.”
I hung up the phone with a tight click. I glared at Grapes.
She looked both guilty and pleased with herself as she stood there in her blue coveralls draped in spider webs.
“You invited John over for dinner?” I accused.
She turned off her dustbuster and feigned a look of innocence only those over the age of ninety can properly manage. “Ellie, you know I can’t resist feeding a hungry man.” Grapes flicked at a rogue spider climbing up her arm. “I made him two egg salad sandwiches yesterday, and he ate an entire jar of my sweet pickles. He was so cute I thought it would be nice if he joined us for dinner.”
I shook my head in defeat for the second time today. This woman was both stubborn and sneaky. I considered balking at her dinner plans, especially given the fact she hadn’t let me in on them. In the end, I knew it was hopeless. Grapes was just doing what Grapes always did. She made friends everywhere she went. Everybody loved her. The only thing I could do was to lay out clear ground rules.
“Okay—he’s coming over for dinner. Fine. But it’s just dinner. I don’t want any embarrassing matchmaker stuff.”
She held up her vacuum as though she was making a pledge. “Alright dear. Just the chicken pot pie.”
PRESENT DAY
QUEEN’S UNIVERSITY, CANADA
“Lily!” I shouted as I tore down the library stairs, two at a time. “You’ve got to see this.”
Today Lily was sitting at her desk staring at a large vase full of pink and white lilies, their dark green stems boasting a dozen magnificent blooms. Her face was arranged in its usual deflated balloon position, but Lily was out of sorts. She didn’t look up when she heard me arrive. Instead, she gaped at the flowers like something alien had just landed on her desk.
“Whoa, what are those?” I screeched to a halt in front of the bouquet.
Lily continued staring. “They’re lilies.”
I laughed. “Yeah, they’re lilies. And they’re beautiful.” I waited her out. She would come up with more information. She just needed time.
“Donny bought them for me. He bought lilies because of my name. I didn’t get it at first, but then he explained.”
“Donny?” I swatted her playfully.
She nodded. “Donny is the man I have been…dating.”
I inspected the flowers with interest. Their heady fragrance created a feminine atmosphere in the dusty old library that was foreign yet fascinating. Their thick waxy leaves held firm against my prodding fingers, withstanding a good poke at the stamens.
“I didn’t even know you were dating. I mean, I knew about your dates, but I didn’t know you were dating.”
A lost expression crossed Lily’s face. “Neither did I.”
“Who is this guy, anyway?”
“He’s a professor here at Queen’s. We met at the staff social a few weeks ago. He said he thought old books were romantic.” She shook her head at the memory. “So I couldn’t resist when he asked me out.”
I couldn’t imagine Lily going to a staff social, but she obviously had a few more tricks up her sleeve than I realized.
“And what does he study?”
“History, I think. I don’t know about his specific area of research. He says it’s top secret,” she said vacantly. “But he’s very driven. Last night he told me he was close to making the most exciting breakthrough of his career.”
“Well, well, well…” My voice danced. “He sounds great. A driven academic on the verge of a major discovery would be the perfect guy for you.”
She looked up at me now. “Actually he’s pretty intense. Almost a little too intense.”
Placing the vase back on Lily’s desk, I gave the bouquet one last spin. The rosy blooms swirled with all the finesse of a Barbie fashion parade. I gave them an approving nod.
“Sometimes love catches you by surprise, Lil,” I said, making my voice all soft and gooey. “Do you still think he’s boring and funny looking?”
A tiny smile was making its way across Lily’s face. “Still as boring and funny looking as ever.” She glanced up at me. “But he brought me flowers so...”
I raised my hand for a high-five but she just looked at the palm of my hand, her cheeks flushing red. I waited to see if Lily wanted to disclose anything else about her mystery man. Nothing more came.
“Okay Lil,” I said conspiratorially. “Do you want to know what I found in a box of my father’s unpublished research this morning?”
“Mmmm?” Lily looked up from the flowers, that microscopic eyebrow arch apparent over her frames.
I was so excited, I felt like a balloon ready to pop. My news was going blow those lilies out of her lily pond. I plunked my backpack down on her desk and stood beside it with a hand on its zipper, like a captain christening a new ship.
“I found two sixteenth century books. One of them is the diary of a long lost Bowlan family member. And the other is the original manuscript of The Heptameron—written by Marguerite de Navarre herself!”
The thrill of our find in the basement this morning washed over me again like a tidal wave. I knew this was the kind of thing that would make her day. Heck, it would make her entire year.
Lily opened her mouth, her face an expressionless mask. She actually looked a little scary, but it didn’t take long for her to process the news. In seconds, my beloved librarian was out of her seat and gowning up. She grabbed two pairs of gloves and hurried to the door of the Special Collections room.
“What are we waiting for?” Her voice trilled with excitement. This was a new Lily-the-librarian.
As we made our way inside the humidity-controlled environment, I explained the circumstances of my discovery and everything there was to tell about my dad’s research. I told her the whole story right from the beginning. I didn’t care how weird it sounded. I wanted her to know. She was my research partner, after all.
“The last thing I found in Dad’s notes was the name Henri Carey.”
“Mmmm…hmmm...” Lily wheezed, but I could hear the enthusiasm behind her sinuses.
“I was planning to see if I could figure out who Henri Carey was, but today when we found the diary of Beth Bowlan and the Heptameron. I forgot all about him.”
I pushed the button of the locking mechanism on the shiny black storage box and with a flourishing hand, I revealed the two antediluvian texts.
She hissed like a cobra when she saw them, transfixed by their ancient glimmer. Without a word, she lifted up the brown calfskin book and placed it on the table with the deft hands of a special collections librarian. Slowly, carefully, she inspected its binding.
“It’s in remarkably good condition for a five-hundred-year-old text,” she said as she ran her hands over its cover. “Let’s have a look at what Beth Bowlan has to say, shall we?” A smile appeared. A big juicy delicious Lily smile.
April 30, 1566
