“Is this the new library?” said an older woman with a shopping cart. “We need a new library.”
Lots of other old ladies nodded approvingly.
“I’m afraid not,” said Nina. “It’s going to be a shop.”
“It’s a van.”
“I know. A bookshop in a van.”
“I miss that library.”
“So do I.”
Nina winced. “Well, once we’re ready, we’ll have lots of lovely books for you.”
A young woman with a stroller stopped beside the van.
“Hello! Are you selling books?” she said cheerfully. “Got any for children?”
“Of course!” said Nina, leaning into the stroller. “Hello there.”
“This is Aonghus,” said the woman. She squinted. “I know you’re meant to read to them, but he gets really bored and wobbles off or tries to bite something. Mostly the biting thing.”
Aonghus grinned, showing gummy teeth.
“All our books are ripped to shreds,” the mother went on. “Someone asked me if we had a dog and I nearly said yes.”
“Have you tried cloth books?”
“Yes,” she said glumly. “He actually swallowed those. So we’re back to hardback. At least they’ve got some fiber.”
Nina smiled. “Hang on,” she said. “Someone else had exactly that problem.” She hopped up into the van and came out with a near-pristine copy of Don’t Bite Me. It was an incredibly successful board book about various animals with teeth that encouraged children to point at their own teeth rather than use them.
“What’s that?”
“Well, it’s got a lot of pointing. Maybe if he’s pointing at it, he won’t bite it so much.”
“Or he’ll bite his own finger,” said the woman hopefully. “Good training. Thanks! I’ll take it! I’m Moira, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Moira and Aonghus,” said Nina, realizing that she would have to get prices marked up in the front of the books. “And also your invisible dog.”
Moira paid her, looking cheerful as she handed the book to Aonghus, who stuffed it in his mouth hungrily.
“Maybe keep it in your bag till you can practice the pointing,” suggested Nina.
She watched Moira go, smiling, then, as if the floodgates had opened, sold her entire stock of Georgette Heyer and Norah Lofts to a cluster of old ladies, who buzzed around her still complaining about how awful it was that the library had gone. By the time she’d driven back to the barn to make cauliflower with cheese (swiftly followed by a reminder to herself that until either she’d gotten a separate kitchen or it was warm enough to have all the doors and windows open, she shouldn’t cook cauliflower again) and start scrubbing the van, she realized she’d have to figure out some way of getting the rest of the books up here, and quickly. Because this might just work.
Nina turned around and looked out of the window of the barn the following day, over the fields, where moorhens and even the occasional kestrel were swooping down. The place was full of birds. And there was just so much sky. A gray bank of clouds was hanging over the sea, approaching fast, racing one another. A piercing shaft of sunlight pushed in between them. There was rain, far away, the mist coming off it as some other farmer’s field was watered, and the faintest pink line on the horizon, later in the evening, illuminating the end of the multicolored fields. Every time she crested the top of Kirrin Hill, she saw the shining fields of rapeseed pop up, almost too bright a yellow against the blue patches of sky. It felt like weather was being made in front of her eyes, the sky a huge screen of flowing and whorling movement.
Which meant you generally needed an extra sweater, she realized. And a jacket. But it was worth it.
It was time to drive over the train crossing again. Surinder had been very clear about this during their final wine-fueled chat: she needed to conquer her fears and get on with everything anew; she’d had a shock, but she couldn’t let it beat her. But also, Nina was curious—no more than that, she told herself—as to whether Marek and Jim had picked up her bag from the tree.
It was a daft idea, and she shouldn’t dwell on it. Anyone could have taken it. And they shouldn’t be leaning out of trains anyway. She’d caused enough damage. Nonetheless, she slowed down carefully, and parked in the turnoff just before the crossing. The bag was gone. But that didn’t mean anything. There was, however, she noticed suddenly, another bag there, hanging quite far out on a branch, bright yellow.
Smiling to herself, she shinnied up the side of the tree, remembering those days of hiding in the apple tree to read in peace. She inched her way up the trunk until she could grab a lower bough, then lightly raised herself and crawled toward the bag. As she got closer, she could see that it very clearly said NINA in big square letters. She leaned over with excitement blooming in her chest and untied it.
Inside was a little book of poetry, in Russian and English, by a writer Nina had never heard of called Fyodor Tyutchev. She smiled in delight. It was an old cloth hardback, evidently well-worn. There was no inscription.
Tucked into the front of it was a little note from Jim that said, gruffly, Hope you’re okay after everything. Sorry again I shouted. Got a scare. Marek says maybe we can make it up to you by bringing some stuff up. Let us know. And underneath, an e-mail address.
Suddenly the sun came out from behind a fast-moving cloud and hit the tree trunk dead on. The warmth felt absolutely glorious on Nina’s back. She wriggled backward with the book and got comfortable against the tree trunk—she was an expert at getting comfortable in trees—then began to read.
Be silent, hide away and let
your thoughts and longings rise and set
in the deep places of your heart.
Let dreams move silently as stars,
in wonder more than you can tell.
Let them fulfill you—and be still.
She looked at the first poem for a long time, idly rubbing a leaf between her fingers. How very strange that someone she had met so briefly, under such extraordinary circumstances, should turn out to be able to pinpoint exactly what she was feeling, and how. Or, rather, take what she was feeling and make her feel so very much better about it.
The verse in the original Russian looked equally beguiling, if completely incomprehensible.
Молчи, скрывайся и таи