The Whispered Word Read online

  Nora selected a white mug with a donut covered in pink icing and rainbow sprinkles. The picture of the donut was flanked by the words I and care.

  For the first time ever, Nora wished she owned an innocuous kitten or puppy mug.

  “Anything tempt you?” she asked the girl.

  “A Wilkie Collins, please. I loved his Woman in White.”

  Nora was impressed. She didn’t run across many twenty-somethings familiar with Collins or his work.

  “Me too,” she said, moving behind the espresso machine. “Even more than The Moonstone, actually.”

  She hadn’t asked the girl if she wanted sugar or special milk because she didn’t make a habit of giving her customers too many choices. If they wanted sugar, they could stir it in themselves. If they wanted soy, almond, or coconut milk, they were out of luck. Nora didn’t stock those items. She was neither a Starbucks nor a grocery store. Her espresso machine was a refurbished model that ran on a wing and a prayer. Since she expected it to die without warning, Nora was always a little relieved when her customers ordered a cup of black coffee or herbal tea.

  “What’s your name?” Nora asked over the hiss and sputter of the machine. She glanced at the girl while frothing the milk.

  There was no answer, so Nora finished preparing the drink. When she was done, she set down the donut mug next to the dish of food.

  The girl kept her eyes fixed on the counter. “It’s . . . Abilene. Abilene . . . Tyler.”

  Given the pauses, Nora couldn’t help but wonder if the girl had just dreamed up that name. If so, it didn’t matter to Nora. She’d call the girl whatever she wanted to be called.

  “That’s a pretty name.” Nora gave the girl a friendly smile. “I don’t like it when people watch me eat, so I’ll leave you to your meal. Sit here and enjoy your food. I’m going to head to the front and take care of my opening chores. I don’t need to mess with the window display, thanks to you. In fact, I won’t want to change that for weeks. It’s really amazing.”

  Abilene returned Nora’s smile with a small, shy smile of her own. “Thank you.”

  Later, Nora was behind the checkout counter, circling yard-sale ads in the paper, when Abilene silently appeared. “Thank you for the breakfast. The bread and berries were really good. And thank you for letting me stay here last night. I’ll show myself out.”

  She turned toward the front door.

  Nora knew the girl couldn’t show herself out. The door was locked and the heavy brass skeleton key was inside the cash register. As she watched Abilene and tried to decide what to do about the young woman so clearly in need of help, something occurred that prevented Abilene from leaving Miracle Books.

  She was close to the front door when the rubber strap on her left flip-flop snapped and she lost her balance. Pitching forward, she collided with a floor spinner crammed with paperbacks. The display was made of acrylic, and Nora gasped in dismay as it gave way in a series of violent cracks. With the cracking sound came another noise. A cry of pain.

  By the time Nora dropped to her knees beside the girl, Abilene was cradling her right hand. She tried to hide the blood seeping from between her fingers and the tear tracks wetting her cheeks, but failed on both accounts.

  “Don’t move,” Nora ordered and ran to get a dish towel from the back.

  When she returned to Abilene, the girl refused to let her look at her hand.

  “I’m fine,” she stubbornly insisted.

  Nora scowled. “The hell you are. You’re bleeding all over my floor. Come on. I need to see how bad it is.”

  Averting her gaze, Abilene offered Nora her injured hand.

  Nora gently pried off the fingers covering the wound, and blood immediately welled from a cut across Abilene’s palm. It was deep enough to require sutures. This wasn’t a shallow wound that would heal on its own. It had to be closed by a professional.

  “You need stitches,” Nora said, balling up the towel and pressing it against Abilene’s palm.

  The girl drew back so abruptly that she nearly knocked Nora over. “No.”

  Nora glanced at the girl’s wrist, but the hospital bracelet was gone.

  She didn’t think she stood any chance of getting Abilene to an urgent care facility or a doctor’s office. She probably wanted to avoid all health care facilities. Why else would she have shown up last night in a dress that was far too big for her, Dollar Store shoes, and the look of someone who hadn’t eaten or rested well in weeks?

  “Listen to me, Abilene.” Nora spoke very gently. “I have a friend who can patch you up. I’m going to call him. He won’t tell anyone about you and you’re going to stay with me today. No arguments. You’re going to rest and eat. No one will ask you questions. If they do, you don’t have to answer them. Okay?”

  Abilene shook her head and Nora feared the girl would bolt the second her back was turned. She’d have to find another way to coerce her into staying put, which wouldn’t be easy. Abilene was as agitated as a caged bird.

  Why? Nora silently wondered as she held the girl’s hand. What happened to you?

  “This isn’t a debate.” Nora adopted the firm, no-nonsense tone she’d employed during her previous life as a librarian. Pretending that Abilene was an unruly high school student, she said, “You broke my spinner and you’ve made a mess. This has to be cleaned up before I open at ten. The way I see it, you have two choices. You can make a dash for the back exit and pass out in some field a few miles away. Your left foot will be torn to shreds because you have only one shoe, which clearly doesn’t fit. And what happens to your foot doesn’t matter because your hand will eventually get infected. You’ll run a fever. You’re obviously too weak to handle that and you will pass out. Whoever finds you will call for an ambulance. Or the police. Is that what you want?”

  Abilene refused to answer.

  “Your other option is to let my friend patch you up. You can get a little strength back, change into clothes that actually fit, and do a few light chores to earn your keep.” Nora cocked her head. “Do you like books?”

  Judging by the window display, the girl definitely did. But Nora wanted to see if the question would elicit a response.

  Abilene’s head whipped around. She faced Nora without flinching and her eyes were lit with twin sparks.

  “I love them,” she said in a voice that was almost loud. There was passion in her reply. Anger too.

  Nora was relieved by this show of emotion. The girl had a layer of steel beneath that translucent skin. She’d probably drawn on this strength to have made it to this point. Wherever it was she’d run from, the running had taken its toll. She still had fight in her though. That was good.

  “I love books too,” Nora whispered to the girl. “They saved my life.” She traced the burn scar on her cheek, holding Abilene’s gaze the whole time. “Which is why you should believe me when I tell you that this is a safe place for you. Here, among the books. And with me, a woman who was rescued by them.”

  Abilene glanced around the shop. The glint left her eyes. It was replaced by a look of longing. Doubt flickered across her face. Or was it fear?

  Nora wondered just how long Abilene had been on the run. Why was she afraid? Was Nora inviting more danger into her world? She’d already risked life and limb for a complete stranger that summer. And yet here she was, offering shelter to a young woman who acted like she was being hunted. Was she? And if so, who was the hunter?

  This maelstrom of thoughts was interrupted by a buzzing noise outside the bookstore. Nora told Abilene to press the dish towel against the wound on her right palm and walked over to peer out the front door. What she saw made her breath catch in surprise.

  A crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. Men, women, and children were all staring at the bookstore’s display window. The collection of locals and visitors were pointing, smiling, and snapping pictures of Abilene’s creation with their cell phones.

  Nora looked at her watch. It was nine thirty, which meant the trolley from M
iracle Springs Lodge had arrived early and delivered Nora’s favorite kind of customers: the wealthy kind.

  “There’s a group of people out on the sidewalk, admiring your work,” Nora told Abilene. “Apparently, I’m not the only one who thinks you can make magic.”

  The compliment brought a rush of color to Abilene’s cheeks and she glowed with delight. The reaction was so powerful that Nora sensed her guest was unaccustomed to praise.

  “So? Should we see to that hand?” Nora asked.

  After a brief hesitation, Abilene reached out with her index finger and held it over Nora’s pinkie knuckle—over the empty space where the rest of her finger should have been.

  “When did the books save you? After the fire?” she asked in a timid whisper.

  Nora snatched her hand away. “We all have a story. We all have secrets. But we don’t have to share them.”

  Someone knocked on the front door and Abilene gave a start.

  Since she didn’t recognize the man, Nora walked over to the door and pointed at the sign indicating the business hours. He’d have to wait until she opened at ten, because she had to clean up the broken spinner and figure out what to do with Abilene.

  She muttered a line of poetry to herself. “ ‘How did it get so late so soon?’ ”

  “‘It’s night before it’s afternoon,’” Abilene said, quoting the next line in the poem.

  When Nora gaped at her in surprise, Abilene responded with a shy smile. “I like Dr. Seuss. That’s why I chose The Cat in the Hat for the display.”

  “You’re obviously a reader.” Nora waved her arm, indicating the shelves behind them. “This is where you belong.”

  Abilene slowly got to her feet. Facing Nora, she took a deep and steadying breath. “I’d like to stay. For a little while. With you. And the books. All of these wonderful, wonderful books.”

  Chapter 2

  He feels himself buried in those two infinities, the ocean and the sky, at one and the same time: the one is a tomb; the other is a shroud.

  —Victor Hugo

  Jedediah Craig accepted a mug of black coffee with a frown. Normally, the text on a black mug covered with white paw prints—THE ONLY VICIOUS THING ABOUT MY DOG IS ITS GAS—would have elicited a grin from the handsome paramedic. Not today.

  “What’s her story?” Jed asked, and then held up his hand. “Forget I asked. You don’t know her story and I don’t think she’s going to give it to you. She’s not in very good shape, Nora. And she’s obviously hiding something. She’s too banged up not to be keeping secrets.”

  “I don’t need medical training to see that,” Nora replied irritably. She was instantly contrite. It wasn’t Jed’s fault that Abilene had decided to pick Miracle Books as her stowaway spot. “I’m sorry. I really appreciate your taking care of her, but I can handle things from this point. I think. At the very least, I can get some food in her and give her a place to rest. Beyond that . . .” She shrugged.

  Jed gestured at his medical kit. “You might have to change her bandage tonight. I left supplies in your kitchen. She wouldn’t tell me what her pain level is. She wouldn’t even take a sip of water. She just stared out the window and went away someplace in her mind. I’ve seen patients do that. It’s a coping mechanism.”

  “Maybe she froze because you’re a man,” Nora said, feeling guilty that she’d left Abilene alone with Jed so she could clean up the broken spinner rack. “Was she afraid of you?”

  Jed considered this for a moment. “Not afraid. Uneasy. She couldn’t wait for me to leave.” He took another sip of his coffee and handed the mug back to Nora. “Thanks for that. You brew a mean bean.”

  Nora walked him to the front door. On the opposite side, customers were lined up, eagerly waiting to gain entrance to the bookstore.

  “Are you having a major sale or has another national network plugged the badass bookstore bibliotherapist from Miracle Springs?”

  Though Nora was relieved by the reappearance of Jed’s humor, she was too distracted to think of a witty response. “I guess they’re here for the bubble wrap” was the best she could manage.

  When Jed looked confused, she directed his attention to the display window.

  He whistled. “I had no idea you could do that with packing tape. That’s amazing.”

  “Abilene created this scene last night. I thought she was in the storeroom, sleeping. I guess she was trying to thank me for letting her crash here.”

  Jed stared at the transparent tape figure for several seconds before turning to Nora. “Be careful, okay? You don’t know a thing about this woman. Yes, she created something beautiful. Yes, she’s wounded and fragile. But she’s not a child and there are probably many sides to her. Sides she hasn’t shown you yet.”

  “I certainly hope so,” Nora said. Smiling at Jed, she thanked him again for his help. She then opened the door to let him exit and to invite a crowd of customers to enter.

  * * *

  Over the next few days, Nora learned very little about Abilene other than she was extremely tidy, was perfectly comfortable with silence, wore a size two, and could recite entire passages from her favorite novels, all of which Nora would categorize as classics. She was also completely and utterly mystified by technology.

  “I have this weird feeling that she’s never owned a computer or cell phone,” Nora told Hester on the phone one afternoon. “She knows her way around the kitchen though. Last night, I was too tired to cook. It had been another crazy day at work, and I’d resigned myself to the idea of wolfing down a sandwich and a clump of grapes and going to bed early with Finn’s The Woman in the Window. I’d barely walked into my house when Abilene announced that she’d make supper for us if I’d trust her to do it.”

  “Trust her? That’s a weird choice of words,” Hester said. “It’s not like you stock cases of Dom Pérignon or white truffles in your kitchen.”

  “I thought it was odd too, but Abilene is odd. I don’t mean that in a bad way. She’s just different. She sure can cook though. Which is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Hester released a low groan. “I already don’t like where this is headed.”

  Nora had been rehearsing her speech in her head and now presented her plan to Hester. “I’m not used to sharing my life, and while I can handle having Abilene crash on the couch for a few nights, I can’t hire her to work in the bookstore. She isn’t cut out for customer service. She hides whenever a customer enters. Not only that, but having her around all the time is throwing me off balance. You, on the other hand, could use her. She could take over some of the prep work or the less complicated baking. At the Gingerbread House, she can stay in the back. She’d be out of sight, which would make her more comfortable.”

  Hester didn’t answer right away, and Nora didn’t press her. She stayed quiet, giving her friend the chance to weigh her options.

  “Neither of us are used to sharing our lives,” Hester said. “We have the Secret, Book, and Scone Society. That’s enough for me. I’m not looking to widen my social circle. And to be honest, something about this girl makes me nervous.”

  “Me too,” Nora agreed. “I think she reminds us of ourselves—of the parts of ourselves we’d like to forget. The scared, weak, foolish parts.”

  Hester sighed. “You’re probably right, which means I can’t turn my back on her. I just hope she can handle the Gingerbread House. It’s a cute name, but there’s nothing cute about the hard work that goes into every roll, cake, and scone. I’m not sure Abilene’s up to it. How’s her hand?”

  “Of all her wounds, whatever they are, the one on her hand will probably heal the cleanest,” Nora said.

  * * *

  The women of the Secret, Book, and Scone Society met that Saturday night to assemble the first of their Secret Kindness tote bags.

  “My contributions are loaves of honey wheat, marbled rye, cinnamon raisin, and rosemary focaccia bread as well as buttermilk biscuits and cheddar rolls,” said Hester. “Who’s getting t
he inaugural round of bags?”

  June upended a canvas sack and pairs of colorful, scented socks tumbled out onto the coffee table. “We should pick six people from the bank. After all, those folks had no clue they’d all be losing their jobs because their coworker was a thieving, lying son of a bitch.”

  Estella scooped up a pair of socks and held them to her nose. “I love the purple ones. They’re as soft as a puppy’s ears and smell like fresh lavender. We should give these to that lady who was so sweet to you, Nora. I can’t remember her name, but you said her hairstyle made her look like a blond pineapple. Not a client of mine. As the premier beautician in this town, I don’t style hair into fruit shapes.”

  Nora felt a rush of shame over her choice of words. The woman with the bouffant hairstyle had been kind to her. Now, she was unemployed. “Her name’s Melodie, and she didn’t have much to spare before she lost her income stream. Money was too tight for her to treat herself to more than one new book per month. I gave her a manga book to see if she’d enjoy the genre. She loved it. So yes, let’s drop a bag on Melodie’s doorstep. I’ll give her a Sailor Moon adventure and I bet she’d love that loaf of cinnamon bread, Hester.” Nora pointed at the mound of socks. “The fuchsia socks? What’s their scent?”

  “Pink grapefruit.”

  “Perfect,” Nora said, and Hester put the socks next to the loaf of cinnamon raisin bread.

  Estella picked up a pair of gray socks. “Are these for a man?”

  June nodded. “I assumed we’d be spreading kindness to both genders, so I learned to knit heavier socks—the kind guys wear with work boots or what-have-you. They’re unscented.” She studied Estella. “Do you have something for the men? I’m not sure they’ll understand if they find a Magnolia Day Spa sampler kit complete with candles and a face mask on their doormat.”