As I waited for the Red Inkers meeting to begin that night, I paced the floor of the bookshop like a caged tiger. How could Richard be working on an article about transcendentalist literature and not tell me about it? He certainly could research and write about any topic that he wished, but wasn’t it professional courtesy to tell your colleague when you ventured into their particular area of study?
I felt betrayed, and then guilt washed over me for feeling that way. Surely, Richard hadn’t told me because he’d been embarrassed about not making full professor.
I made one more lap around the shop when I heard a thud behind me. I spun around and saw Faulkner walking on the floor. Faulkner never walked on the floor. Staying high in the tree on his perch or on one of the high bookshelves was a great joy for him, especially when he could get to a spot that Emerson couldn’t reach.
Emerson was snoozing in his cat bed by the fire after our visit to campus. He opened one green eye and glowered at Faulkner. It was clear he found it odd, too, that the large crow was walking around.
“Faulkner, are you hurt?” I asked.
The big bird squawked at me. “The price of anything is what you’re willing to give in exchange for it.”
I folded my arms. “So you are paraphrasing Thoreau now?”
He cawed and leaped into flight. In the blink of an eye, he was back on his favorite branch at the top of the tree.
“Glad to see you’re all right,” I said, intent on resuming my pacing when I saw a book on the floor where Faulkner had been. It didn’t take a genius to guess what the book would be.
“You’re working for the shop’s essence now too?” I asked the bird.
He didn’t even deem my question worthy of a response. Instead, he snuggled his beak under his right wing like he was settling in for a nice nap.
I glanced at Emerson. The little tuxedo cat had lost interest. His expressive eyes blinked once, then slowly once more. I sighed. “I guess I’m on my own here,” I said. Not that they were listening since they were both fast asleep.
Knowing what was going to come next, I picked up the book.
In preparation for the Red Inkers meeting, I set a circle of folding chairs in the middle of the shop. It was how the meetings had been set up long before I returned to Cascade Springs. I sat in one of those chairs and put the book in my lap. As soon as I moved my hands away, the book opened. This time to an early page. I read:
I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life.
I leaned back in my seat. Thoreau’s great experiment was building and living in a cabin on Walden Pond on a bit of land owned by his mentor Ralph Waldo Emerson. He lived simply in a one-room cabin. Many think that he had no interaction with people, but that was not true. His family and friends visited him there. He also engaged with his neighbors of all walks of life. However, it was true that he spent most of his days alone. The shop’s essence wasn’t telling me anything new here. I knew what Thoreau had done. Having studied him for so long, I knew better than most.
“I went into the woods,” Faulkner called.
I looked up at the bird, and then back down at the book. Was that the part of this passage that the shop wanted me to pay special attention to? I went into the woods all the time to fetch water for the tree. It reminded me again of the person who had chased me out of the woods the morning of the wedding. Had Rainwater’s officer found that person or what he was up to? I made a mental note to ask Rainwater about that when he got home, whenever that would be.
Since we’d gotten married, David had come home at a different hour every night. I reminded myself this was just part of being married to the chief of police. He had warned me of what I was getting myself into. But even so…
The front door opened, and Sadie walked in. Seeing how her business was just across the street, she was always the first to arrive at Red Inkers meetings. She usually brought treats too. This time she didn’t disappoint, and she placed a plate of brownies on the sales counter.
“You’re reading that?” Sadie asked as she removed her coat. “Is it fast-paced? I saw it in the shop window when I walked to Le Crepe Jolie this morning to get a coffee. The bright cover really caught my eye. How is it?”
I looked at the book in my hand, and sure enough, it was the latest domestic thriller.
“I’m not that far into it yet,” I said.
“Let me know. I’m on the fence about reading it. There are so many good books to read. Sometimes you have to be picky.”
I nodded and carried the thriller to the new book section. As soon as I tucked it on the shelf, the writing on the spine morphed into Walden. I narrowed my eyes at the book.
The front door opened again, and Simon and Richard came in together.
“Simon.” Sadie ran over and hugged her boyfriend.
Simon was an insurance adjustor in Niagara Falls and was often late to the meetings because of his job. By the way Sadie reacted when she saw him, you would think she hadn’t seen him in months.
When I saw Richard, I didn’t know what to think. Anxiety washed over me as I considered how I was going to speak to him about Imogene and Renee. I didn’t want to do it in the middle of the meeting, that was for sure.
Simon and Sadie sat next to each other—so close that Sadie was almost in his lap. Simon didn’t seem to mind. Richard sat across from them. If you were to look up “college English professor” online, you would find Richard’s face everywhere. He had all the physical characteristics: wire-rimmed glasses that constantly slipped down his nose, elbow patches on his suit jackets, a well-trimmed beard, and pale skin. However, at the moment, he looked paler than usual.
“Is David coming?” Sadie directed her question at me.
I shook my head. “He’s working late at the station again tonight.”
Sadie sighed. “You guys have not had the greatest start to married life. Have you even seen him all that much since the wedding?”
I bit the inside of my lip. “He’s just busy at work right now with…”
“The dead woman. We know.” Sadie grabbed Simon’s hand and squeezed it tight. “David is an amazing man, and I’m happy you’re married, Violet. However, I don’t know if I would be cut out to be married to a cop like you are.” She squeezed her boyfriend’s hand a little tighter. “That’s why I’m glad you work insurance, baby. Your nine to five schedule suits me just fine.”
He chuckled. “Yep, I’m nice and boring.”
I couldn’t help but notice that Richard seemed to grow more and more uncomfortable as this conversation went on.
“We’re going to have such a small group tonight with David absent and Renee leaving the group,” Sadie said. “Did anyone else think that email came out of the blue? I mean, she was here last week and seemed to really enjoy the meetings.”
“I thought it was odd too,” Simon agreed. “But she said she had a lot going on at work right now and didn’t have as much time for writing. I think we all go through periods like that. Sometimes life gets in the way.”
“Richard, did she discuss it with you before quitting?” Sadie asked.
“She—she—” He started coughing and cleared his throat. “Frog in my throat. If you will excuse me, I’m just going to get a glass of water.”
I waited a full ten seconds before I said, “Why don’t you two pull out what you’re planning to read tonight. I’m going to go see if he needs help finding the glasses. You know Grandma Daisy. She never puts anything back in the same place twice.” I forced a laugh.
I went into the kitchen and found Richard standing in the middle of the room, gripping the edge of the island’s counter as if his life depended on it.
“Richard?” I said softly.
He jumped and knocked over the kitchen stool that was next to him. Quickly, he set it back on its legs. “Oh, Violet, it’s you.”
“Do you need any help finding the glasses?”
“Glasses?” He stared at me like I’d spoken a different language.
“Yes, for the water you came in here to get,” I said in my most helpful voice.
“Oh. Oh, yes, I do need water. That’s why I’m here.” He started to look around as if searching the air for water glasses.
I stepped around him, opened a high cupboard door, removed a glass from it, and filled it with tap water. I left the glass in front of him on the island.
“Thank you. That’s just what I came in here for. It’s just what I needed.” He couldn’t have sounded less convincing if he tried.
I sighed. “Richard, what’s wrong?”
“Wrong? Nothing is wrong.” He forced a laugh. “I’m dandy.”
I leaned back on the kitchen counter and folded my arms. “I don’t think anyone who has ever said they were dandy actually felt that way.”
“You’ve spoken to Renee, haven’t you?” He looked at the back door as if he was thinking about bolting.
“I was on campus today and stopped by the library. Even with everything closed, Renee was there working.”
“She is so dedicated to her job,” he said with a pained expression. “I’m convinced she was born to be a librarian. She is the most organized person I have ever met. She’s helped me so much with my research over the years.”
“You’re talking about her like she’s just a coworker, not someone you dated.”
He clasped his hands together and wrung his fingers. “Dating a work colleague was ill-advised. I realized it would interfere with our work. By breaking it off, I did what was best for both of us.”
I wasn’t sure he really felt that way because Richard appeared to be in physical pain, and if he twisted his fingers any harder, he might have dislocated them. I couldn’t watch it anymore. I picked up the water glass. “You need a drink. Here.”
He didn’t argue with me. Taking the glass from my hand, he took a long drink. When he was done, he asked, “How is Renee? Did she seem…” he trailed off as if he couldn’t find the right word or realized his question was inappropriate. In a way, the question was. After breaking up with her, Richard didn’t have the right to ask if Renee was okay anymore.
Even so, I answered, “She’s all right. She’s tough.”
He nodded. “I always knew she was resilient.”
“Why’d you break up with her? Renee said she didn’t know.”
He wouldn’t look at me. “I just had to focus on my research. My relationship with Renee was taking me away from my work.”
“Any relationship is a distraction,” I said. “You don’t believe yours was worth the distraction?”
“I—I care about Renee. She’s an amazing woman and a phenomenal librarian. I just have to focus on my work. Sometimes work has to come first.”
This was true. I’ve felt that way many times in my own life. When I was in grad school, I never dated. I didn’t want anything or anyone getting in the way of my goals. However, I also knew that that period was temporary. Someday grad school would end, and I would care about other aspects of my life again. And not just my love life, but my health and friendships too—everything that I put on the back burner in my all-encompassing quest to earn my PhD.
“Richard, what’s going on? You have been acting strangely for weeks. You’ve been avoiding me. Even at Red Inkers meetings, you have hardly said one word to me over the last couple of weeks.”
He wouldn’t look me in the eye. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, and I think it has to do with Imogene Thoreau.”
Richard stared at me, and then chugged the rest of the water to give himself time to think about his answer. “Who?” he squeaked.
I folded my arms. “I saw someone else when I was on campus today. Mary Alice. She told me all about Imogene visiting you and the article you are writing about her claim of being descended from Thoreau.”
He forced another laugh. “That’s ridiculous. I wouldn’t do any research on Thoreau without consulting you.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“Well, it’s your area of expertise. It’s just courtesy between professors to consult one another when it comes to concentrations.”
“But you didn’t do that,” I said.
He looked out the window again like he was really ready to make a run for it.
“Listen, Richard, I didn’t come in here to give you a hard time. It’s fine that you’re writing an article about Thoreau. It will help your career.”
He dropped his eyes. “Mary Alice told you that I didn’t get full professorship, didn’t she?”
I nodded.
He shook his head. “I love working at the college, but what I hate most about our campus, and any campus for that matter, is the gossip. It won’t be long before everyone on the faculty learns what a failure I am. How will I show my face at the faculty assembly? I know they will all be talking about it.”
“You’re not a failure. You were just missing some of the requirements for promotion. You will get them when you apply again.”
He balled his hands into fists. “I have to have everything I need when I apply again. There is no third chance. If I’m not promoted, I will languish as an associate professor forever.”
I don’t think Richard realized how offensive that might sound to a non-tenured adjunct professor. I would love to be a tenured associate professor. Talk about job security. Not that I needed job security, really. I had that in my bookshop with its mystical essence. That was the ultimate job security. I didn’t say anything about it to Richard. I saw no point in making him feel worse than he already did.
“I understand,” I said. “I just wish you had told me about it. Then I would have been forewarned when that woman came into Charming Books wanting to sell me a signed first edition of Walden.”
“What? Imogene never would sell that book. She wouldn’t even let me take it out of her sight. As I looked it over, she watched me like a hawk. She made me wear gloves—which I understood—but also a face mask so that I wouldn’t even breathe on it. I cannot believe she tried to sell it. When was this?”
“Why don’t you tell me how you met Imogene, and then I will tell you my story?”
I was sorry to admit it, but I no longer fully trusted Richard. We had worked together in the English department for the better part of two years. I thought I knew him, but seeing what he was willing to do when he was desperate to be published disturbed me. I think it upset me the most because I wouldn’t have cared. If he had come to me and said that he’d met someone with a first edition of Walden and that he wanted to write an article about her so he could reapply for a promotion, I probably would have offered to help him. He should have known that about me. Instead, he assumed that I would be upset or territorial, so he tried to hide it. Didn’t he think I would find out eventually? I read all the same journals. And every professor’s publications are listed in the faculty newsletter. What was he thinking?
I realized that he hadn’t been thinking. He’d panicked. Panic was what had caused him to break up with Renee as well. It made me sad that someone so brilliant would let fear rule their life like this.
“Very well,” Richard said. “I spoke to a woman at the end of the semester. She called herself Imogene Thoreau. She’d said she had a signed first edition of Walden that had been in her family for over one hundred and fifty years. I was shocked. She was looking for someone to authenticate it. I’d suggested libraries and auction houses to go to about her book, but she shot all my ideas down. Her reluctance to go to one of these reputable authenticators made me suspicious. Normally, I would have turned her away and told her to speak to an expert on the matter.” He swallowed. “However, I had just learned about not getting the promotion. I was in a weak state, so I agreed to meet with her in hopes of getting something to help me when I reapplied.”
I nodded.
“At the meeting, she told me why she wouldn’t go to those other archives and libraries. She had already tried, and they’d all turned her away because of her claim of being a direct descendant of Thoreau. As you would know even better than I do, this is close to blasphemy in American literature circles. Scholars don’t want to be told that they missed something from a non-scholar even if the non-scholar is telling the truth.”
“Do you believe that she was telling the truth?” I asked.
“I believe that she believed it,” he said. “There was no question that she thought she was related to Thoreau. However, I told her I didn’t know if I could prove she was related to Thoreau, but I promised her that I would try.”
“How were you going to prove that?” I asked.
He hesitated. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
“Didn’t she ask you how you were going to prove it?”
“No.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “All I said was that I would try. That’s all I could do. That I’d try if she would let me write two articles on her claim and about the provenance of the book. I knew she didn’t like my terms, but she agreed. I really believed she was at her wit’s end.” He paused. “I did mention you and the store. I said you might know more. She didn’t seem interested in Charming Books, and I can’t say that I tried to push her in that direction. I really needed a paper topic, so I didn’t mention it again.”
“But she never came to my store.”
He stared at me. “But you said she came to your shop and tried to sell the book.”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t Imogene. It was another woman named Roma Winterbourne. I met Imogene later. Imogene claimed that Roma had stolen the book from her. She’d let her borrow it because Roma had said she could prove she was related to Thoreau.”
He stared at me in shock. “She asked someone else for help?”
I nodded. “It seems to me she will talk to anyone who is willing to take her seriously about being descended from Thoreau. I can’t blame her for trying so many different tactics to prove she was right. She has been trying to prove this was true most of her life. She had to be feeling desperate.” I thought about what her son Edmund had said that the book had become the most important thing in Imogene’s life. By his tone, I would guess he felt that it was more important to Imogene than even he was.
Richard nodded. “She was looking for validation.” His face clouded over. “There was no way to prove what she wanted to prove as far I knew. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to get an article or two out of it. I used her—or planned to use her—and her book. Believe me when I say I have never been more disgusted with myself than I am right now.”
I wasn’t sure what I could say to that. That he had a right to be disgusted with himself? That I was disappointed? That he didn’t really do anything morally wrong, just ethically wrong?
“Richard, honestly, if Imogene’s story is proven false, do you really think articles about her will increase your chances of making full professor?”
He stiffened. “The college just wants to see a certain publication credits in reputable journals for promotion. They don’t expect me to prove anything. My article will focus on the delusions that people like Imogene have when it comes to famous writers. She’s not the first one to make such a claim about being a descendant of a great writer. My thesis is looking at how people go from adoration of a writer to obsession. Such an article will improve the reputation of the college. If I do that, yes, I will be awarded full professorship.”
Sadie popped her head into the kitchen. Her black ponytail hung over her shoulder like a tassel. “Are you guys ever going to come back in for the meeting? I really love Simon, but we can talk to each other all the time about our writing. We would like your opinions on our latest work. Simon has written the most gorgeous Christmas poems, but I love everything he writes. I don’t think he’s taking my critique too seriously. We need the input of real literary scholars like the two of you.”
“Right. Let’s start,” Richard said. As he brushed passed me to leave the kitchen, he refused to look me in the eye.