AMOS DYER - BOOK KEEPER

Amos Dyer has travelled halfway around the world in both directions and now enjoys life in small-town Michigan. A fictionist and aspiring author, he spends his free time writing, reading, and studying the craft of writing. As a father he also makes time to play games with his son. Share in his journey at https://amosdyer.com/journey-journal .

Book Keeper
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The late morning sun nestled behind a thin strip of clouds over the small village of Pennville, Michigan. A brief shadow drifted over Emma Chamberlain as she strolled towards the local used book store. The passing shade offered no comfort against the heat that throbbed from the sidewalk through her sepia-toned flat sandals, which matched the pinstripes in her sundress, the strap on her handbag, and the highlights in her hair. At her side, she carried a bird cage covered in a dull white sheet, which made her pale ankles seem almost tan. She stopped just outside the book store and lifted the cage.
“We’re here Asher,” she whispered against the sheet.
A faint squawk answered back.
Emma traced the mortar between the bricks with her finger, then slid her hand down the smooth maple door, to the curved lever-style handle. Once inside she stopped, closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath of musty paper, damp wood floor, and just a hint of old leather. She opened her dark eyes and admired the books stacked from the ceiling to the floor.
“Good morning,” a comforting voice drifted towards her. “Welcome to Secondhand Stories.”
Emma smiled at the stocky man with gray hair and tired eyes, who stood at the end of the aisle.
“Good morning,” she said. “I’m Emma. I’m looking for Daniel Newhouse.”
“You found me,” he replied. “Ever work in a bookstore before?”
“Several,” she said. “Yes.”
“Wonderful,” Daniel nodded. “Can’t tell you how grateful I am that the temp agency found you. Normally I’ve got plenty of people to help, but seems like everybody I know had other plans today and I’ve got to be all the way over to Alpena in a little over an hour.  I just need you to cover down until I get back is all.”
“No problem,” Emma said as she pulled her birdcage in front of her. “As long as you don’t mind that I had to bring my pet bird. The air in my apartment went out this morning and I didn’t want to leave him at home.”
“No problem at all,” Daniel said. “What do you have?”
She set the cage on the counter and removed the sheet to reveal an ornate silver cage and a vibrant Seychelles parrot, whose wings fluttered as he bounced about for a moment, then settled along the wires closest to Emma.
“He’s gorgeous,” Daniel commented. “What do you call him?”
“Shadrach,” she replied.
“You’re kidding right?”
“It’s from a book,” Emma started to explain.
“I know,” Daniel said, “by Meindert DeJong. I had that book when I was kid.”
“That’s amazing,” she said. “Most people don’t recognize it.”
“You’re way too young to know that book,” Daniel said.
“It was book my grandmother used to read to me,” Emma explained. “I liked the sound of the name so I stuck with it.”
“Again,” Daniel said as he shook his head, “amazing.”
“Do you have a place in the back I can put him?” Emma asked. “Some place, out of the way?”
“Yes,” Daniel said.
Daniel led Emma through a cheap wood door, into a room just behind the counter. There was an open space just inside the door, but only a single narrow path, just wide enough for one person to thread themselves through, that led the way through stacks of loose books held in place by boxes of books.
“This is the, well,” Daniel paused as he moved a few stacks of books around, “the sorting-slash-storage room. The idea here was to sort through the books as they came in, make sure they were in good enough shape to sell. But, as you can see I’m a little behind.”
Emma set her cage down and picked up a handful of books.
 “Oh no, don’t you start,” Daniel warned. “Once you start, you’ll never get out of this room.”
“So many neglected and forgotten stories,” she commented. She set the books down with great care.
“Come on up front and I’ll give you a quick run through on the cash register.” Daniel said.
 “Tuesdays are relatively slow,” he said along with his instructions. “Well, honestly, all days are relatively slow, but being right here on highway 32, sometimes we get a rush of people either on their way to the lake or on their way home.”
“Sounds easy enough,” Emma said.
“Of course,” Daniel said as he looked at his watch, “we do have our regulars that visit. As matter of fact, Walter should be walking in any minute now.”
“What’s his story?” Emma asked.
“Don’t worry,” Daniel said, “he’ll tell you all about. His wife passed a little over a year ago, so he likes to chat with anyone who will listen. You know how it goes with us older folk.”
“You’re not that old,” Emma complimented.
“Older than I look,” Daniel replied, “but not as old as Walter, yet.”
As if on cue, the front door creaked open and a harsh voice, aged by cigarettes and farm dirt, bellowed between the shelves.
“Where the hell are you Daniel?”
“At the counter Walter,” he replied.
A lean man, shorter than the both of them, walked up to the counter with vigor and temperance in his stride.
“What the hell you doin’ –“ Walter stopped when he saw Emma.
“Oh my,” he said. “Apologies for my language young lady. Had Daniel told me such a beauty was standing up here with him, I would have minded my manners a bit more.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Emma joked. “Nice to meet you Walter. I’m Emma.”
Walter took Emma’s hand into both of his. “Nice to meet you to Emma,” he said.
“I need to get going,” Daniel said.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Walter asked.
“Alpena,” he replied. “Got that court thing today.”
“You kicking us out? Closin’ up shop?” Walter asked.
“No Walter,” Daniel said. “Emma’s covering down while I’m gone. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“Did you find that book yet?” Walter asked.
“Not yet,” Daniel said as he rushed out the door. “But I’m still looking.”
“Ah,” Walter said as he raised his hand in disappointment. “Good luck.”

Walter took seat on a stool near the front counter as Emma took her place behind the counter. As she organized the books and small gifts, she continued to chat.
“So Walter,” she started, “What’s your story? I see you’re wearing a World War two veteran hat. You don’t look old enough to have been in that war.”
“I was,” Walter said, “and I was only fifteen at the time.”
“Fifteen?” Emma questioned. “That doesn’t seem right.”
“Oh it wasn’t by any means young lady,” Walter continued, “but I had an uncle in the war and he was pretty high up the chain. He was able to pull some strings, lied about my age, and got me into a job working with him in France. Wasn’t there very long, but I was there.”
“Now that’s one story I haven’t heard before,” Emma said. “I like knew stories.”
“Well, if you like that one,” Walter started, “There was this one night, just outside of Paris, December of ’44 when our sergeant, Jerry Thompson, decided to treat us to a night on the town. Of course, the night he decided to take us out, it snowed enough to put even an old Michigan winter to shame. We got that jeep stuck so bad even the five of us couldn’t get it out of the muck. ‘Course it didn’t help we were all drunk, trippin’ ourselves as much as we were the ice and snow. Darn-near lost two fingers that night.”
“Sounds like a good time,” Emma said with a laugh.
“Then,” Walter continued, “when we got back to the base that night-“
“Walter,” Emma interrupted, “Sorry to interrupt, but I’m curious – what book were you looking for?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Walter said. “I don’t suspect he’ll ever find it.”
“Why do you say that?” she asked.
“He don’t know the first thing about books,” Walter criticized. “He got roped into runnin’ this place when Ken caught the sickness. Sure, Daniel is of the finer sort, but he don’t know books like Ken did.”
“I only ask because he has a whole room in the back,” Emma said. “Maybe it’s back there?”
“He’s been digging through that room ever since he took over this place.” Walter said. “Hasn’t found it yet, but I’m looking for a first edition of Johnny Tremain.”
“Oh,” Emma said, “that would be hard to find; especially a first edition.”
“Call it an old-man’s last wish,” Walter said. “It was the last book my folks gave me before I left for the war. By the time I got home again, they had already passed. I lost the one they gave me over the years. It’s just one of those things I’d like to have again.”
“I can understand that,” Emma said. “You want to head back and take a look with me?”
“Daniel doesn’t let customers go back there,” Walter warned.
Emma leaned over the counter. “I’m not Daniel,” she said with a wink.

The two weaved their way down the narrow path, to a point in the middle of the room. For a few moments they stood in awe at the stacks of boxes and stalagmite piles of loose books. Emma’s parrot stared, silent and motionless, at Walter.
“This is worse than I thought,” he said. “Look at all these discarded treasures just laying around this room collecting dust. Such a waste.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Emma agreed. “I’m sure we’ll find it in here somewhere.”
“I wouldn’t bet the farm on it,” Walter said.
“What would you bet?” she challenged.
“Nothing’s all I got left these days,” Walter said, “So it’s safe to say I’d bet everything I have. Question is, young lady, what do you think you have to offer me?”
“Afraid all I have is time,” Emma said as she continued to sift through the piles. “Tell you what. If we don’t find this book in the next hour or so, I will concede, and I’ll come over and cook you dinner. If we do find the book, well, then you’ll just give me all you have left.”
“Doesn’t seem like a fair deal to me,” Walter said.
“No,” Emma admitted with a smile, “but it’s fun, isn’t it?”
“I suppose,” Walter said.
“Shake on it then,” Emma extended her hand.
“Of course,” Walter said as he shook her hand.

The two searched for the next hour. Walter glanced at Emma as she sat, cross-legged on a box, as she sorted through another stack.  He was about to claim victory, when he moved one more stack of books. In the stack just behind, about six books down, he saw the familiar red-orange binding with large blue letters. Walter pulled out the book fell back a few steps. To his surprise, Emma had moved behind him caught him.
“Will you look at that,” Walter said.
“Looks like you found what you were looking for,” Emma said.
“I did,” Walter whispered, as he opened the book.
“Then,” Emma whispered back, “it looks as if I’ve won our bet. I get all that you have left.”
She then whispered an incantation into Walter’s ear. The lights in the room dimmed to just above the brightness of a few candles and the door between them and the store creaked shut. Walter turned to face Emma, but discovered she had already moved to the other side of the room. She picked up her bird cage then stared down Walter. She opened the elegant birdcage door and Walter’s soul pulled from his body in streaks of thin clouds into the cage. His body fell dead on the floor while his soul churned like restless fog, trapped inside the cage. Emma covered the cage with the sheet, flipped the sign on the front door from open to closed, then strolled down the sidewalk.

    Emma stepped through the front door of her two story, faded-stone home. She set down her handbag on a small table, then the cage on the floor. She eased up the stairs, exchanged her sun dress and sandals for a faded jade, cotton sweatshirt, comfortable jeans, and bare feet, then slipped into the kitchen. Soon after the faint sound of a kettle whistle, Emma emerged with a large cup of tea. She picked up the bird cage and proceeded towards a large dark oak door, that opened and closed by her will, not her hand. As she descended the clay-stone stairwell, small enclosed lamps lit her way into a catacomb twice the size of the house above.
    The cold walls of the room were cut into large square blocks, each about ten feet wide, twelve feet tall, but only a little over a foot deep. Hardwood books shelves had been built inside each depression and on every shelf we books stacked in perfect order. The light continued to bring the room to life around Emma as she took her place in the center, where two large leather chairs faced each other. Next to each chair was a simple wooden nightstand, and between them a wide stone pedestal sat about knee high. Emma set her tea on one of the nightstands, then set the birdcage on the stone. She walked along a wall, ran her fingers through its damp grooves, and picked out a stiff, leather-bound notebook. She let the blank pages flip through her fingers, then set the book open on the other nightstand, then stood in front of the parrot cage.
She removed the sheet, whispered another incantation, and when she opened the cage door, Walter’s spirit floated out from the cage. As his spirit circled about the room, hundreds of others floated out from the books on the shelves and circled about the room. Emma took a seat in one of the chairs and sipped her tea.
    “Walter,” Emma said after a minute or so, “I’d like to hear the rest of that story now. What happened when you got back to the base that night?”
     Moments later, a strip of fog descended towards the chair opposite Emma. As it landed, it molded itself into a transparent version of Walter. No sooner did his spirit take seat, Walter’s story continued.
    “Well, you see, when we got back to the base that night we had to find a way pass the gate without getting caught. Problem we had wasn’t just the guards, but the fence and the barricades. Sergeant Thompson, well, he thought he could bribe the guards, and if that failed he told he could pull rank on them, but I came up with a better plan. See, back then, those old jeeps were real easy to take apart, and there were six of us so we started to take that jeep apart and piece by piece. We put that jeep through the fence, put it back together on the other side, and made it back to the barracks just in time for breakfast.”
    As the spirit of Walter continued his story, the cloud of other spirits floated down, took the shape of their former selves, and gathered around Walter and listened to his story. Hours passed before Emma sat up, picked up the empty notebook and spoke another spell. Walter’s spirit drifted into the notebook and the once blank pages filled with the words of his stories. As Emma placed his book on the shelf and the others returned to theirs. The room fell motionless. Emma picked up her tea cup, allowed the parrot to climb up her arm to her shoulder, and walked up the stairs. The lights faded on their own as she left the room.

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