Still amazed at how much Wesley had loved her work on England and Russia, Maggie emptied the contents of the third packet onto her desk after the last patron left for the day. The package from Wesley and the list of tasks from Miss Eloise had been side by side on her desk when she’d arrived that morning. After peeking inside to see what her next assignment was, she’d placed it in her desk drawer while she completed the tasks on Miss Eloise’s list.
Maggie was certain the dear woman had practically beamed with pride, as if the exchange with Wesley were equal to a social debut. But it wasn’t anything like it.
Anticipation warred with her burning conscience all day. She’d had to cut short her second meeting with Wesley to arrive home before her father. Yet, curiosity for learning fueled and mounted as she read the third assignment. She was to read parts of Brave Little Holland and write discussion questions. Inside the packet was a copy of the book. She could take it home and read it in her room.
It wasn’t that she wanted to keep a secret from her father. It was more that she couldn’t bear it if he were somehow shamed by her wanting the things he could never provide. Protective sadness for him sagged her shoulders. She would tell him, but only if he asked.
Still, she would need to stay late at the library once more. It would give her access to the atlas and other reference materials she needed to complete the work.
In a prayer, she searched her heart for any wrong motivation and found none. Surely there was no harm in helping Wesley one more time.
She opened the book to the right chapter and scanned the pages.
Glancing at the clock, Maggie calculated there was enough time to spend at least an hour on the assignment. She headed to the table along the south wall, near the atlases and other maps. She spread her materials across the table and stepped onto the lowest rung of the library ladder to reach for the large table atlas on the top shelf. It was a wide and awkward book to balance. Twisting, she stepped down as the book nearly slipped from her hands.
“Let me help with that, Maggie.” Wesley relieved her of the volume and extended a hand to her.
“I didn’t expect you.” Maggie wavered as she stepped down, startled by his appearance and the unexpected warmth on her arm when he reached to steady her. “I only just opened the assignment you sent over. I’m afraid I’ve not even begun it.” She stepped back toward her chair, putting the library table between them. “Perhaps you should return another day and I’ll have it completed for you.”
She sat down to begin her study, but realized he still held the atlas, saying nothing. Rather, he stared at her for a moment, then, “Miss Abbott, I wonder—do you do everything so thoroughly excellently as the work I’ve asked of you?”
She eyed the atlas she needed to get started. He caught her distraction and slid it behind his back as if to hold her attention captive. Did real professors inspire such a case of sudden nerves in all their students? Maggie drew in a soothing breath and gave him the unspoken attention he awaited.
“Your work is near perfection. I’d wager your teachers found it a delightful pleasure to instruct you in school.”
Heat shimmered across her cheeks and prickled her scalp. She told herself it was not from the directness of Wesley Graham Hill, nor the kindness in his words. It had been Miss Eloise who’d taught her everything she knew since her twelfth birthday when she’d quit school to care for Papa’s broken leg. The library matron had seen to it that her education wasn’t halted and had put her to work shelving returned books after hours, while church ladies took turns caring for her father.
“Thank you.” Maggie averted her gaze and fidgeted with the paper that listed her assignment.
Wesley stepped closer. “Maggie, you needn’t be shy about it. You’ve got real ability. Haven’t you been told that before?”
No, she hadn’t. Well, yes, by Miss Eloise. But she’d not counted that in the same way she imagined it might feel to garner a top position in the classroom. Yet, now—here, in the quietness of her domain, under the study of the handsome Wesley Hill—the compliment only served to remind her of the chasm of differences between them. Though why she should care if he knew her station simply muddled her thoughts entirely.
“Mr. Hill, please. The atlas—may I have it?” Daring to look up, Maggie found his eyes dancing with delight, one half of his mouth pulled up with mischief.
“Only if you let me join you. Work the assignment along with me. Show me how you apply your genius.” He held the atlas out to her.
“Well, I suppose academic study is an acceptable reason for your time spent here.”
“Quite proper, I assure you.” He cracked open the atlas to the map of Holland. “Now take me on a trip to Holland through the pages of Brave Little Holland so I can re-create that world for my readers just as you’ve created worlds for me in your last two assignments.”
She had created worlds for him? Maggie opened the pages of three other reference books she’d found about Holland and laid them out on the table. Turning to the chapters they were to study, she found the names of towns and leaned over the map with him to find where they were situated. “There. See how the North Sea meets the lowlands on the northwest coast?” She pulled away from where his sleeve had brushed against hers and began to read aloud. She loved the descriptions of dikes, lowlands, thatched roofs, and of villages along the River Zaan where seventeenth-century windmills dotted the riverside.
The hands of the library clock ticked as she painted verbal pictures of the land and people while Wesley scribbled on papers. After he’d filled three entire pages, Maggie launched further into a description of Dutch tulips. She halted midsentence when she noticed that Wesley had stopped taking notes. A peculiar look came over his face as he leaned back in the chair and rested his head on his fingers laced behind his head.
“Shall I stop?”
“No.” He continued to keep his attention on her as she paced back and forth, book in hand, looking up now and again to expound from her imagination what it must have been like to live in Holland in 1800. Still, he said nothing.
“Oh dear, I’ve gone off topic too far, haven’t I?”
Wesley stood, moving closer to face her. “No, Miss Maggie. For you’ve taken me to Holland and back with you.”
The look in his eye had changed.
A nervous tremor warmed through her middle. “Did you like it?”
The wall clock began to chime six o’clock.
He closed the book she held, his hands over hers. “Very much.”
Miss Eloise’s voice chimed over the third gong of the wall clock. “Miss Maggie, time to close up.” Her footsteps sounded in the hallway, coming closer.
Maggie startled, managing to slide her hands and the book from beneath Wesley’s. “I must go.”
“Please Maggie, don’t rush off again.”
“I mustn’t be late.” She scooped her papers into her folder and slid past Miss Eloise, kissing her on the cheek as she did every night. “Good night, Miss Eloise.”
Wesley stared at the empty hallway where Maggie had once again abruptly disappeared. He’d hoped to escort her home and ask her to attend a lecture with him the following week, but she evaporated before he had a chance.
“Like a butterfly, she is. Isn’t she?” Miss Eloise looked down the hall after her, then winked at him.
“Yes, she is always flitting off just as I expect her to land.” He reminded himself the matron was the ally he needed, but he wasn’t sure how to gain her trust and prove his mission was honorable.
“Bright and lovely, too, yes?”
“That she is. That she is.” Wesley grinned, knowing he couldn’t find the right words for exactly what his intentions were. To ask her to the music festival for the Final Fling at the end of the summer, of course. But having never met her parents, how was he to gain permission to court her? Or was she of independent age, able to answer for herself? There really was nothing about her that was conventional, which intrigued him all the more.
“Mr. Hill, that butterfly should be caught by someone who can appreciate her beauty and her need to fly. She has a solid mind and a passion that no circumstances should hinder. Now help me put that atlas up on the shelf. I’m too old to climb the ladder.” The silver-haired matron plunged the atlas into his hands.
Wesley reached the atlas to its place and turned to find Miss Eloise studying him with a gleam in her eye and more of a grin than he’d ever seen on her before.
“Does anyone court her, Miss Eloise?”
“No sir. You’d be the first to ask about our Maggie.”
He stepped off the bottom rung. “I’ll be back in one week.” He dared to wink at the old woman.
“Of course you will, though I’d have you mind not to trifle with her.” Blessing and threat wove through her words with the precision of a loving guardian.
“You have my word of honor.” Wesley laid his hand over his heart, spurred to continue his pursuit of the lovely Miss Maggie Abbott.