Violists | Page 5

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Several times thereafter in the course of a fortnight Gretchen saw the
same young man about the library, and they developed an acquaintance
that began and ended with nodding pleasantly and wishing each other
"good day". She thought him quite the most interesting patron she had
seen in the library for... she knew not how long--perhaps never in the
two years she had been there. He was flamboyant, certainly, Gretchen
decided, but he had not that rakishness or arrogance that so often
accompanies one who is 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,