Free Kepler’s Dream by Juliet Bell Page B

collection, was my way of honoring Edward’s memory. That volume is thecenterpiece of a collection that Edward and I started together, while he was still alive.” She looked down at her snail shells for a minute. I did not want to think about what had been inside them. “To your father, I believe, the entire project was frivolous. We have very different opinions on the subject.” She looked back up at me. “In any case, Ella. Would you like to see it?”
    It wasn’t so much a question as a command.
    â€œSure!” I said, trying to muster something like enthusiasm.
    So the next morning, when I came into the kitchen for my usual breakfast of playground bark in a bowl (when George finally delivered Irene’s care package a week later, I could sneak handfuls of Froot Loops in my room, which is how I actually survived), there was Grandmother waiting for me at the table, her eyes as beady as Hildy’s.
    â€œAh, Ella! Shall we set off, when you’re finished?”
    I half expected to see a thermos and brown bag lunch beside her. She had that jazzy, expectant look teachers get when you’re going on a field trip—even if it’s to somewhere tedious like the botanical gardens or the local gas and electrical plant.
    I’d passed the Librerery a bunch of times when I was walking Lou. As field trips go, this one didn’t involve a lot of travel: the building was only about twenty feet from the house. You just had to go through the front door, elbow a few birds out of the way, then go around the side by some deserted wooden pens half covered in brambles. “That’s where I used to keep my pet skunks,” the GM said casually as we went by. “Dear old Arpege and Chanel Number 5. Remind me to tell you the story one day.”
    Skunks?
But there was no time to ask any more about that, as we trotted down a few steps and there we were.
    My grandmother’s key to her main house was a huge old-fashioned one, like the kind that unlocks the dungeon door in a fairy tale. But for the
Librerery
she used an ordinary key. As soon as she opened the door, there was a shrill beep, and she typed in a code for the alarm. That was something she didn’t bother with at home either, even with all her
things
. It was my first hint that there must be something worth guarding in here.
    It had been bright outside, and it took my eyes a minute to adjust to the dimness. The place was cool and hushed, and I suddenly felt very far away from everything. In another world.
    It was one long, high-ceilinged room, shaped like a chapel. Me and my mom—
ahem!
my mom and I—weren’t churchy people, but during Mom’s illness, Auntie Irene had taken me along a few times to her church. It was peaceful, and I liked the singing. I didn’t know how to pray, really, but I could see how going to a quiet stone building would get you in the right frame of mind to do it.
    The
Librerery
seemed something like that, only instead of saints and crosses all over, there were books.
    Hundreds and thousands of books.
    They were everywhere. On all the shelves, from floor to ceiling, stacked or spread open on high tables and side tables and low coffee tables, or packed in cardboard in a cluttered back nook. In the center of the room were a couple of armchairs, each with a lamp beside it, like if you were in the mood, you could justplonk yourself down in one of them, get comfortable and read. For the rest of your life.
    â€œWow,” I said.
    It was not the most imaginative utterance of my life, but I couldn’t think of what else to say.
    â€œYes, Ella.” She didn’t correct me, for once. “This is the Library.”
    The GM had, as Dad had said, a thing about books.
    â€œYour grandfather and I bought many of these together,” she told me. “I couldn’t have done it alone. Edward loved books, too. It was how we met, actually, at an antiquarian