The Twelfth Child (Serendipity #1)(62)

“What man?”

“The man standing out there.” The boy pointed to the far corner of the street.

Abigail stretched her neck and followed the line of the boy’s finger – she could see someone standing there, someone who looked to be the size and build of John Langley, but with the sun behind him she couldn’t for the life of her make out the face. “What did he say?” she asked.

The boy shrugged. “Nothin’ much. Just I should bring these to you.”

“Was he tall? Dark hair? Very handsome?”

“I think he had brown hair,” the boy started backing away.

“Very handsome?”

“Handsome? He was old as my dad!” The boy inched further back.

With a trembling hand Abigail pulled the note from the bouquet, by the time she started to read the boy had fled out the door.

Dear Abigail,





I hope you are not hiding out in a darkened library to avoid



me. I greatly enjoyed your company last evening and would



love it if you would join me for dinner again tonight.



If the answer is yes, please turn on the light.



Fondly yours,



John Langley





Abigail darted across the floor and clicked on the interior lights, every one of them, including the far back reference room which had been closed off for the past six months. After that she turned on the outside lights, despite the fact that the sun was shining bright enough to blister a person’s eyeball. Lastly, she switched on the flagpole light. “That should do it,” she sighed.

When the glass door swung open Abigail caught sight of her reflection. “Oh no!” she screamed.

“But,” John stuttered, “you did turn the lights on.”

“Of course I turned them on, but look at me, I’m a fright.”

“Not a fright,” he laughed, “a bit tired, maybe.”

Abigail was not about to tell how she’d worried herself into a frenzy – a thing such as that would make her seem all the more pathetic – so, she said, “Someone in the apartment building kept carrying on all night long, the most God-awful noise, why I couldn’t sleep a wink.”

“If you’re too tired, we could wait, have dinner tomorrow night.”

“Me, tired?” Abigail saw him smile and for a moment she thought a star had dropped down from heaven. “I’d love to see you tonight – of course, I do have to go home first to freshen up.”

That evening Abigail stepped out looking as she did in the days of Club Lucky.



The vase of roses sent by John Langley sat on the front shelf of the circulation desk until the leaves turned brown and fluttered to the floor. Wilbur Atkins, a man who was considered legally blind and seldom said anything more than good morning, squinted at the vase and told Abigail he thought those flowers were dead. “Not quite,” she answered, with a breathy sigh that sent several petals cascading to the floor.

“Not dead, huh?” Wilbur cleaned his glasses and took another look.

Two days later, Bunny Pence, offered to cart the flowers out to the garbage can if Abigail was busy. “Why, I’m not the least bit busy.” Abigail answered, then explained that she simply wanted to continue enjoying the flowers. “I adore the smell of roses,” she exclaimed as Bunny stood there looking bewildered.

When there was just one rose petal left, Abigail plucked it from the stem and pressed it into a book of Elizabeth Browning’s poetry. She then wrapped the bare stems and a dry sprig of baby’s breath in pink tissue paper and placed the package on a shelf usually used for overdue notices. That entire summer, not one person in all of Richmond received an overdue notice. There was frost on the ground when Amelia Cooper remembered to return a book on the planting of daffodils, but Abigail told her to just forget about the fine.

Every other week John Langley spent two days in Richmond and on those nights he courted Abigail as she had never been courted before. They ate in the finest restaurants, danced at the rooftop pavilion, saw movies, went to the opera, walked in the park and kissed. When they were alone, John whispered words of love into her ear and kissed her so ardently that Abigail truly believed her body would burst into flames. Her happiness would have been complete were it not for the fact that John always left. “I’ll be back,” he said, and after a while Abigail came to understand that he was true to his word.

It was easy to know when John was in town, for Abigail’s feet never touched the ground. She’d float into the library looking radiant as a movie star and click on the radio, despite the Silence Please sign she’d put there herself. Old men got tickled behind their beards and boys were told how handsome they were growing to be. Bouquets of flowers appeared at the reading tables and there were dishes of chocolates set out on the circulation counter even though Halloween was almost two months off. Abigail’s cheeks blushed scarlet, not only while John was in town, but for a week afterward.

“You’re in love!” Gloria said and Abigail nodded. “But,” Gloria stammered, “you don’t know a thing about this guy.”

“I know he makes me happy,” Abigail answered. “Just, look at me!”

Gloria had to admit she’d never before seen Abigail looking so good – her cheeks were blossoming, the curve of her face full and round, her mouth upturned and tinkling with the sound of laughter. “Does he feel the same about you?” she asked.