The Twelfth Child (Serendipity #1)(58)



“But, this job doesn’t pay any salary.”

“It does now! You start today. Assistant Librarian in training.”

“In training for what?” Abigail asked, looking as if it were virtually impossible for her to have heard what she heard.

“No,” Miss Spencer exclaimed, reversing herself. “Not in training. You’ll be hired as a full-fledged Assistant Librarian! And in November, when I retire, you’ll become Head Librarian!”

Abigail’s mouth fell open – if a person wasn’t going to be a writer, the next best thing was to spend every day in a building filled with wonderful stories. She was starting to imagine herself reading every single book, not once, but twice. Maybe when she became head librarian, she’d stay here all night, reading until her eyes could no longer hold themselves open and then she’d fall to sleep in the back room.

“No need to argue,” Miss Spencer said. “My mind’s made up!”



During the month of October, Abigail propped open the library doors to catch the breezes of Indian summer. The scent of late blooming roses and fresh mown grass settled into the bindings of books, and Miss Spencer forgot to put out her bowl of Halloween candy which had been the tradition for decades. Mister Wimple, the groundskeeper took to sneezing seventeen times in a row, a condition he claimed could only be attributed to summer allergies. The balmy weather lasted through Thanksgiving, and most folks had begun to believe that winter was not going to come to Richmond that year. However, on the last day of November, the day that was to herald Miss Spencer’s departure from the library, an ice storm rolled in sometime before dawn and the air turned bitter cold. When Abigail woke early in the morning, there was a crackling of ice stuck to the bedroom window and she started to worry it could be a sign. “A sign of what?” Gloria had asked, but Abigail just shrugged and mumbled something about not knowing who’s at the door until you’ve already opened it.

“Go ahead and laugh,” she told Gloria, “but just you remember when Club Lucky closed. I knew – first thing in the morning, when I saw the sky, I knew there’d be bad luck headed my way.”

“Silly superstition!” Gloria laughed, and then went about ironing her uniform.

Abigail wanted to believe Gloria was right, so she focused on thoughts of how she’d start up a children’s hour with nursery rhymes and fairy tales, but the image of Mother Goose flying around on a witch’s broom popped into her head and she knew for certain it was going to be that kind of a day. “Oh dear,” she sighed as she wrapped the opal pendant she’d bought as a retirement gift for Miss Spencer.

The library was still dark when Abigail arrived, which to her mind was more cause for concern since she’d never known Miss Spencer to be late. Using her brand new key, Abigail unlocked the front door and snapped on the light. She retrieved three books from the depository box then walked into the back room and hung her coat. After she had set the coffee pot on to brew, Abigail placed the box tied with blue ribbon in the center of Miss Spencer’s desk and waited. By ten-thirty she was practically positive something was wrong – something drastic, for Emily Spencer would not allow herself to be delayed, especially on this day when there was to be a going away party in her honor. Abigail watched the clock tick off the minutes, each longer than the one before, then at eleven o’clock she dialed Miss Spencer’s home number, even though the library telephone was supposed to be used for business calls only.

“Hello,” a husky-voiced male said.

“Uh, hello,” Abigail stuttered. “May I please speak to Miss Emily Spencer?”

“Who’s this?” he asked.

“Abigail Lannigan, the assistant librarian.”

“Oh.” The man hesitated several moments before he spoke again, “I guess you haven’t heard.”

“Heard?”

“Emily passed away late last night,” the man said, his voice sounding low as the center of the earth.

“Oh, no . . .” Abigail stammered, but by that time the man had hung up.

That night, after the library doors were closed and locked, Abigail took the opal pendant from its box, walked to Saint Paul the ApostleChurch and dropped it into the poor box. She sat in the darkest corner of the last pew and cried for almost three hours, mostly for poor Miss Spencer who had been cheated out of her last hour of glory; but partly for herself because being the head librarian didn’t feel anywhere near as good as she had thought it would.



Gloria had been working at Chicken Castle precisely three years on the day Fred Bailey walked through the door, sat down at the counter and ordered the fried chicken combo. She knew this for a fact because on that day the girls surprised her with a frosted cake that read Congratulations. Having already carved off several pieces to pass around, she was just about to stick her own fork into a slice, when he smiled at her. It wasn’t as if a man had never before done such a thing – working at Club Lucky it had been a nightly occurrence – but Fred’s smile was different, it made her toes curl under. She smiled back, and then stood there with a forkful of cake suspended halfway between the plate and her mouth.

“Your birthday?” he asked.

“Third anniversary,” she answered.

“Your husband’s a lucky man.”

“Oh no,” Gloria quickly clarified, “it’s the third anniversary of me working here. I’m not married, not one bit married.”

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