Violists | Page 5

as smart a dresser as he seemed. Her thoughts chanced to light upon him sometimes, and within the fortnight, she decided he must be attached to the university. Perhaps a professor--well certainly not a full professor, he was far too young and had not grown into that masculine stuffiness that comes with long tenure--and his physique was trim. No, she decided, he was probably a fresh young assistant to an elder professor.
"Gretchen, dear." Miss Sadie's voice crackled behind her in a very strange manner and Gretchen looked around. "I do fear I'm catching some contagion, dear," Miss Sadie continued in a whisper, "can you possibly mind the desk until closing?"
Gretchen hesitated for a moment. She had worked long enough in the library to feel at ease, and with classes already in recess for the Christmas holidays, there were few patrons. "Of course, Miss Sadie," she answered. "I do hope you're feeling better tomorrow."
"If not, I shan't be in," Miss Sadie replied in a very weak tone. "I'll--I'll try to send word."
"I'll see to everything, Miss Sadie--just take care of yourself." She paused. "And I'll inform Mr. Johnson--it's no trouble at all." With a smile and a pitying wag of her head, she added, "Take good care of yourself."
Miss Sadie thanked her, and took her leave. Gretchen was alone, at last, if only for an evening, as temporary queen of the reference desk. Well, it was about time she was asked to do something besides fetch books, she thought airily, and took a seat at Miss Sadie's desk. Miss Sadie was not very neat for a librarian, she thought, wiping a finger across the desk, so she began to tidy a few things up. She put down a fresh blotter and arranged the papers in a more orderly manner, then opened a drawer in search of a cloth. Really, Miss Sadie is the epitome of disorganization, she muttered, seeing the jumble. It's a wonder that a woman like her can retain such a position.
Bing-bing! Gretchen looked up suddenly when the bell upon the front counter sounded. Standing there with his hand poised above the bell was the young man.
"May I be of assistance?" Gretchen asked, in her most librarian-like tone.
The young man smiled. "I sincerely hope you can. I wonder if you might be able to help me find this book?" He held out a small slip of paper between two fingers. "It doesn't appear to be in the open stacks."
Gretchen glided to the desk and took the slip of paper from him. A glance at the number was sufficient. "You're correct," she told him, handing the paper back. "It's in one of the special collections."
"I wonder, then, Miss..." He paused, drawing out the word into a silence, until Gretchen felt obliged to fill the audible gap.
"Haviland," she offered in a whisper.
"Miss Haviland. Could you help me locate it?" He smiled with the slightly curling lips he always wore. Not condescending, she decided--perhaps amused, or even flirtatious.
Gretchen stood flustered for a moment. Patrons were not allowed into the special collections--they were under lock and key. Should she leave the reference desk unattended while she fetched it for him? In the interim, what if another patron had pressing business? A preposterous quandary, Gretchen then told herself. "Of course, Professor," she replied crisply. "Let me bring the key."
The young man laughed then, with a toss of his head so that his black curls flopped into his eyes. He suddenly sighed, with an exaggerated look of defeat, brushing back his hair. "Do I appear so like a professor, Miss Haviland? How did you know?"
It was Gretchen's turn to be amused, and she smiled as she went to Miss Sadie's desk drawer to bring the key. "You have not the air of a student, Professor..." she drew out the word in a manner imitative of his previous query, until he had to break into a wondrous smile.
"Bridwell!" he exclaimed, and rapped four fingernails once upon the desk. "Employed only this year--in the English department."
"Professor Bridwell," she continued, imparting a certain air of coquetry to her words, "your dress is frankly too punctilious for a student; and if I might be so tactless, you seem... more evolved, shall we say."
Having drawn out the key, she beckoned him to follow. They ascended the back staircase--likewise taboo for patrons. All the while Gretchen thought how to exonerate herself should she be caught by one of her superiors while leading a patron-- alone--into the inner sanctum. She decided the best approach would be to plead ignorance--"Oh," she could say, "I had no idea that professors were considered ordinary patrons." Would that be sufficient excuse?
The book was easy to find, and Gretchen put herself to no particular difficulty--but nevertheless, Professor Bridwell's thanks were profuse. He consulted the book--which could not