In the Librarian’s Garden
by B. Zelkovich
She writes Speculative Fiction, anything from dragon hunting and space whales to demon-dealing and ghost tales. She likes to explore human emotions in very inhuman situations. When she isn’t escaping through her imagination, she escapes into the wonders of the Pacific Northwest with her spouse and their four-legged son, Simon.
It all started with coffee, which was how Abigail Betts preferred to start most things.
The alarm shrilled and as she reached to turn it off a book fell off of her chest and onto the floor. She lay back into the pillows and considered sleeping in. After all there was nowhere for her to be today.
Or tomorrow.
Or the day after that.
The bedside lamp was still on, competing with the sun, bright with the promise of spring. She stretched and groaned and wriggled her toes and admitted that she was awake. Beside her on the bed the dog harrumphed his displeasure at being disturbed.
The bed was warm.
The hall not so much. The kitchen not at all. The pot on the counter stood empty. No comforting aroma, no warmth spread through the house to greet her.
No coffee.
In a caffeine-free haze she promised the dog she’d be back soon and stepped out into the front garden. The irises were just blooming though the tulips had already come and gone. Since school had closed Abigail had spent many mornings in the garden, drinking coffee and reading to the plants.
It was nice to see results.
She walked her dusty red bike through the gate and pedaled off down the lane. Spruce and oak trees that lined the road conceded to broad meadows and fields where cows stood in little clumps, heads obscured by the tall grass.
She’d never wanted a rural life, but it was a peaceful one. Abigail appreciated the quiet and the smell of grass in the sun and flowers on the breeze. She did not appreciate the seclusion.
The bustle of town made her smile. While her world may have screeched to a halt, the community still had lives to live. Shop doors stood open, inviting the good weather and their customers inside. Families walked down the street, restless children straggling behind their parents to ogle sweets in a bakery case.
Abigail recognized a pair of twins, red-headed and identical, who caused as much trouble as they had freckles. When Rachel (or was it Rebecca?) saw her the girl’s eyes went wide.
She snatched her sister’s hand and ran across the street. “Ms. Betts! Ms. Betts!”
She grinned at them, crouching to be eye-level. “Well if it isn’t the Misses Laurie!” She pressed an index finger to the tip of each of their noses and the girls giggled. “You’ve stayed out of trouble, I hope.”
They nodded. “We have, honest,” said one.
“Well, mostly,” said the other.
The first rolled her eyes. “It’s not trouble if you don’t get caught.”
“Not true,” said Abigail.
The second grabbed her hands. “We miss your stories, Ms. Betts!”
“Yeah! And the library.”
“And the plants.”
“And the books!”
Abigail bit back her sadness. “I miss them too.”
“When do you think we’ll get to go back?” Their eyes shone, bright as sunlight on the creek.
She sighed. “It takes a long time to rebuild a school. I don’t think we’ll be back until after the summer.”
Rebecca (or was it Rachel?) groaned and threw back her head. “That’s forever!”
“We can’t go all that time without storytime, Ms. Betts! We’ll die!”
Abigail agreed. She hadn’t even managed a week before she’d begun reading to the dog and then to the house plants and finally to the garden at large.
Looking at the Laurie twins, it was easy to see she needed to do something much sooner than the fall. For all their sakes.
She squinted at the girls. “I have an idea. But I’ll need your help.”
“Anything!”
“Anything at all!”
She whispered in each of their ears, watched their determined little grins grow, and gave them one of her own. “Go on then, we haven’t got all day.”
The girls snapped hasty salutes and sprinted down the street toward the charred ruins of the school. Abigail watched them go until they rounded a corner out of sight, then sighed and shook her head.
There was someone she needed to see and he would not be happy about it.
Elijah Crenshaw wasn’t a hard man to find. He was taller and broader than most, strong from years spent woodworking. It also helped that Abigail had once called his house home.
She didn’t bother with the front door. He wouldn’t climb the porch steps until at least an hour after dark. So, she rode her bicycle up the driveway, tires crunching gravel, and parked it against the converted barn behind the house. The radio played from inside, something bluesy and deceptively upbeat. She heard him singing along and paused.
There’d been a lot to love about Elijah — his heart, his hands, and the hoarse baritone of his voice chief among them. She could stand there listening to him sing forever, but that was a dangerous path.
Besides, she had a favor to ask.
She stepped into the workshop and stopped at the sight of him. He stood with his back to her, sanding a piece of wood. It left a fine powder of sawdust on his arms, pale against his dark skin.
She rapped her knuckles on the barn door. “Knock, knock,” she called over the radio.
Elijah startled, turned to face her with wide eyes. “Abbie.” He set the sandpaper down, peeled off his gloves, and hurried to turn off the radio. “What are you doing here?”
She grimaced. “I hoped to ask for a favor.”
“So, not a social call then.”
“No.” She would never admit to it, but they both knew she’d been avoiding him ever since she moved back to town last fall. They hadn’t seen each other since her father’s funeral.
Elijah shook his head. “All right, let’s hear it.”
“I need to build a gazebo in my front garden.”
He gave her a look. “Your garden’s a little small for—“
“— It doesn’t have to be big,” she said. “Just enough for me to sit and read from.”
Elijah looked her up and down and squinted. “What are you scheming?”
She blushed. “Nothing much, just a weekly storytime. You know, while school’s closed.”
“I heard about that. How’re you holding up?”
Poorly, if the mess of her kitchen and the pile of half-read books beside her bed were any indication. “I’m fine.”
He raised a brow at her. “And here I pictured you wrist deep on your third pint of ice cream.” There was a smile in his voice, a flicker of that old teasing tone.
“I’ll have you know I’ve reformed my coping habits.”
“Oh?”
She smiled. “I’m on my third batch of chocolate chip cookies.”
His laughter settled around her like a favorite sweater, but it petered off too soon. Elijah cleared his throat. “Can I get you something to drink? Water, coffee?”
Coffee sounded delightful, and she almost accepted his offer, but then she imagined sitting at the kitchen table with all the years between them and shook her head.
“No, thank you.”
He watched her, like he could solve the riddle of her if he just stared long enough, then nodded. “A gazebo, even a little one, is a big job. When do you need it by?”
“Saturday after next?”
He rolled his eyes and gestured to the work table. It looked like half a leg for a chair, walnut if she had to guess. “I have this dining set for Mrs. Laurie to finish, but I can start drawing up the plans.” He shrugged broad shoulders. “I should be able to get it done by then.”
“You’ll do it?” She’d expected him to turn her down. She’d half expected him to tell her to get off his property the moment he saw her.
He nodded. “And since it’s for a good cause, I’ll give you a discount.”
She covered her surprise, because she should have expected it. Elijah’s magic was his carpentry, pouring emotion into the wood until you could feel it even years later. He deserved to be paid for that sort of wonder.
She’d just have to dig into her savings. “Thank you, Elijah.”
He pulled his gloves back on, signaling the end of the conversation but Abigail lingered. She had something to say, something they should talk about, she just didn’t know how to begin.
He beat her to it.
“I’m surprised you came back.” He kept his eyes on his gloves. “I thought you wanted a big city life?”
“I did.” Life in the city was everything she’d thought it’d be, and a lot of things she’d never imagined. It’d been vital, pulsing with life and people and magic so much it overwhelmed. Constant excitement with no one to share it.
“Yet, here you are.”
She shrugged. “Wants change.”
His head snapped up, the question clear in his eyes.
She didn’t have any answers for him. Not yet. There were other questions she needed to answer first, like who she was when she was alone at night. When the work went missing and left her in a house too empty to feel like home.
When it became clear she wasn’t going to say anything Elijah sighed. “So I’m told.”
Abigail flushed and tried to come up with some response. He deserved at least that much.
As always, he saw her floundering and gave her mercy. As always, he let her go. “I’ll swing by your place in a day or so and show you what I’ve drawn up.”
She nodded, backing out of the barn. “Thank you!”
He waved her off and turned the radio back on. The song shattered the spell and Abigail mounted her bike and hurried back up the drive.
It wasn’t until she parked the bike against her fence that she realized she never bought any coffee.
The next day, after another trip into town for coffee beans, Abigail knelt in her garden digging out the ferns to replant them elsewhere. The gazebo needed to go somewhere and the far corner, just against the house seemed as good a spot as any, even if the ferns disagreed. She hummed while she worked and the dog huffed from his spot lounging in the sun. It was peaceful and still in a way she hadn’t known in the city.
In a way she hadn’t known she’d missed.
The rumble of an old truck engine woke the dog, but he didn’t bark. The truck stopped at her gate. The door opened and closed, then gravel ground beneath boots, and the dog’s tail wagged a happy, sweeping rhythm.
Abigail sat back on her heels and wiped her dirty palms on her apron. Elijah let himself into the garden, rolls of sketch paper under one arm, and stopped to admire the splendor. Bright orange zinnias and pale pink peonies broke up great swathes of green moss and fern. That alone would be enough to impress, but the irises were what stole the breath. The intensity of the violet bleeding into blue contrasted with the vibrant yellow centers — a display so rich the hummingbirds could not resist.
Elijah loved hummingbirds.
“Abbie,” he said. “You did all this since…?”
She smiled, but didn’t bother fighting the sadness that swept through her at the thought of her father. “There wasn’t much else to do.”
He blinked at her and his shoulders sagged. As if he carried her grief like it was his own.
She looked at her hands in her lap. “Did you have something to show me?”
“Yeah.” He gestured toward the front door. “Can we…?”
“Of course.” She stood and led the way into her childhood home.
He paused to pat the dog on the head. “Hey, old boy,” he said, his voice soft and full of love before he remembered himself. But not before Abigail remembered nights when that voice whispered in her ear with so much adoration she’d shake.
She’d been too young to be responsible for a heart that big. And while the city had taught her more in two years than she’d learned in twenty, she still wasn’t sure she could bear the burden of his love.
Inside, she led him to the dining room. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“No, thanks.” He spread out several rolls of paper on the table. “I drew up two different designs. There’s this one—” he pointed to the smaller of the two sketches “—it’s more traditional and matches the house better, but, personally, I like this one —“ he pointed to the other sketch.
Abigail leaned toward him to get a closer look at the design. It showed a small, simple A-frame, but instead of a raised platform with stairs it consisted of three conjoined benches, with intricate lattice work rising up to the roof.
“It’s classic, but different,” he said. “Plus, some of the kids could sit with you instead of on the ground.” He glanced at her, eyes flickering over her face, and cleared his throat. “I’d use red cedar either way. It’s resistant to rot and pests, so it should hold up.”
She ran a finger over the A-frame sketch, felt the familiar warmth of Elijah’s magic suffused on the page, and smiled. “This one.”
He smiled at her, big and bright and beautiful. It would be so easy to lean into that smile, to press her lips to his and remember all the reasons she’d loved him in the first place.
Until the Laurie twins came screaming up the lane.
“Ms. Betts!”
“We did what you asked!”
The clank and shudder of the gate, along with the dog’s excited barking doused the tension between them.
Elijah nodded and scooped up his drawings. “The A-frame it is, then.” He headed toward the door, avoiding her gaze.
She followed after him. “I was hoping to put it in the corner, where the ferns used to be.”
“I can make that work.”
“When do you think you’ll start —“
“— I can start this weekend.”
They laughed as she opened the door and the Laurie twins started talking.
“Ms. Betts! We told everyone!”
“Every kid in town will be here!”
She blinked down at them. “Every kid in town? I asked you to tell your friends!”
Elijah chuckled. “That is every kid in town.”
“Yeah,” said Rachel (or was it Rebecca?). “We’re poplar!”
Rebecca (or was it Rachel?) elbowed her sister. “It’s pop-U-ler.” Then she noticed Elijah and grinned. “Hi, Mr. Crenshaw! Mama says you’re making us a new dining table.”
“Can we see it?”
“Yeah! Can we?”
He waded out into the garden, a girl at each elbow. “It isn’t finished yet.” He looked back at Abigail, eyes begging for assistance.
She stood in the doorway, crossed her arms, and laughed. “I’ll see you this weekend, Mr. Crenshaw.”
He scowled at her. “Oh, I won’t forget, Ms. Betts.” He helped the girls load their bikes in the bed of his truck and boosted them in after. He paused long enough to pat the dog goodbye, and then the truck rumbled back down the lane and toward town.
Abigail smiled and watched them go, until she lost them in the dust kicked up in the truck’s wake.
Saturday morning the coffee pot gurgled and spluttered. It filled the house with that deep, roasted scent. It warmed and reassured Abigail while she waited for Elijah to arrive. The dog watched her from his place on the couch, attuned in to her nerves. He let out a gruff little bark, announcing the truck moments before she heard the rumble of its engine.
She smoothed down her father’s old flannel and tried not to seem like she’d been waiting for him when she opened the door. She watched him back the truck to the gate, watched him hop down out of the cab and around to the bed.
“Do you want a cup of coffee before you get started?”
He shook his head. “I’ve got a thermos in the truck.”
“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “You’re sure? It’s fresh.”
“I’m sure, Abigail. Thank you, though.”
“Well, then, can I give you a hand?”
And so they got to work unloading planks of wood and tools and every manner of thing she knew nothing about. Mostly things with sharp edges and even sharper teeth. Things that, in anyone else’s hands, would scare her a little. She helped when directed and offered input when she thought it relevant. And all the while she tried not to think too much about the coffee she’d brewed and he’d refused. Luckily, Elijah made for quite the distraction.
He hummed to himself, often singing under his breath while he worked, pausing only to give her some direction. The spring sun was just warm enough to be comfortable, a cool breeze shushing through the trees.
For four mornings Elijah worked in her garden, the gazebo coming together in leaps in bounds. For four mornings Abigail brewed extra coffee to share. And each morning he turned her down, always having brought his own.
There had been a time when he’d sworn she made the best coffee he’d ever tasted. Now he wouldn’t even take a sip?
On the fifth morning, after he turned down her offer again, the tension was unavoidable. His refusal rankled her, and as the day wore on something between them shifted. Finally, as the sun dipped behind her pitched roof, Elijah dropped his toolbox into his truck with a clang and turned to look at her.
“Why’d you come back?”
“You know why. Dad needed me.” And that had been most of it, but a little part of her had been relieved to leave the city behind. To be held close in the comfort of the home she’d always known, even if it was different now.
He tilted his head, conceding her point. “All right. Then why are you still here?” He pointed at the house. “Your dad’s been gone over six months, Abbie, and other than the garden the place is the exact same.” He shook his head. “You’re not living here. You’re existing. So why not go back to the city and chase all those dreams you had?”
She flinched, pulled back from the truck as if the steel had shocked her. “Dreams? I wanted to go to college, get an education, have a career. Put my magic to good use! Is that so crazy?”
He ran a hand over his face. “Of course not. You were right to go—“
“—Then why are you so mad at me for it?”
“Because you never once asked if I wanted to come with!”
Abigail blinked. “What?”
“You left me here, Abbie. Alone.”
“You had your business, your folks’ place—“
“—And I would have left it all if you’d asked me to.”
How different would her life have been if Elijah had moved with her? If she’d had someone to explore and share all the wonders of their new, vibrant home? If that piece of her heart hadn’t been waiting back in her hometown but right by her side instead?
“I couldn’t ask that of you.”
“Why was that your decision to make?”
“You would have hated it.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I hated it there!” She sniffled against tears that threatened to fall.
He watched her from across the bed of the truck, but didn’t move.
“I was so alone. And everyone I met… I just kept comparing them to you.”
“What are you saying, Abigail?”
“I don’t know!” She scrubbed at her face. “I’m a mess, Elijah. It’s just me and the dog and the garden and the books I can’t ever seem to finish. It isn’t enough. Most days I can barely get out of bed because the house is so damn empty.”
He rounded the truck, reached for her and stopped just short of taking her hand. “Then come home.”
She bit her lip. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
She shrugged, the saddest little lift of her shoulder. “It’s all I have left of him.”
Elijah watched her for a long moment. For a second she thought he might kiss her, but he just shook his head and stepped back toward the driver side door. “I’ll be back in the morning to finish up.”
She nodded, but he didn’t wait for a reply. He climbed into the truck and drove into the dusk, never once looking back.
The next morning Abigail woke to the dog’s soft bark. She heard the truck door slam, heard the creak of the tailgate as it dropped, and she thought of all the reasons she should get out of bed. Not a single one of them was good enough.
He didn’t knock on her door. He didn’t check on her or call out for her. He worked alone for hours until she heard him pack up his tools, close the tailgate, and climb back into the truck. Until he started the engine. If it idled longer than usual, that was something, but still he drove away before noon.
And still she lay in bed.
It took a frantic set of fists knocking on her door to finally convince her to set her feet on the floor.
“Ms. Betts!” Said one Laurie twin.
“Mr. Crenshaw said the book nook’s done!” Said the other.
“It looks awesome!”
Abigail pulled her robe close and opened the door. Rebecca and Rachel Laurie stood on her front step, grinning up at her.
“Does this mean we’re ready?”
She stepped out into the garden and peered at the gazebo. All long, sloping lines in a cheery red finish, it sat nestled beside the house surrounded by shrubs and ferns and flowers of every color. He’d even set a pillow at each bend in the bench, begging her to curl up and bring a story to life.
A piece of paper fluttered in the breeze, taped to the intricate latticework above one pillow. She took it with cautious fingers. What did Elijah need to say so much that he would write her a note? Something he couldn’t say to her face. Something that might hurt him to say as much as it would her to hear.
She tucked the paper into the pocket of her robe.
“You’re not gonna read it now?” Asked Rebecca (or was it Rachel?).
Rachel (or was it Rebecca?) shushed her sister. “It’s private,” she said. “From Mr. Crenshaw.” She sang his name and gave Abigail a knowing look.
She gave them a playful glare. “Oh, hush. Don’t you two have work to do?”
Their grins spread wide across freckled faces.
“Saturday morning, 10am,” said Abigail. “Tell your friends.”
They didn’t waste time on goodbyes, they just ran for their bikes and shot down the lane, screeching to each other and anyone who would listen to them about the upcoming storytime.
Back in the house, she took out the note.
Abbie,
I’m sorry for yesterday. Not for what I said — I meant that — but for how I said it. I know what you’re going through, losing your dad and all, but you know that. And now I remember why I hate writing letters so much. I never was very good with words… I guess you know that, too.
What I want to say is that you don’t have to be alone. I’m here if you need me. Always am.
If you want.
Yours,
Elijah
She read his letter through a dozen times, and with each pass she felt worse and worse. What did she want? After her father died she wanted to disappear. Curl up and vanish into a hole of grief and memory. She’d done that all winter.
After the school burned down, she’d wanted a purpose. Something to do. To feel useful again. She’d done that too. Hatched a plan to bring some sort of normalcy back to the students and herself.
But what did she want now?
Jolting as that first morning sip, Abigail knew what she wanted. She dug a notepad and pen from under a stack of mail on her entry table and scribbled a short reply:
Coffee? Saturday. 10am.
Mid-morning Saturday, Abigail Betts’ garden bloomed with life. Children she hadn’t seen in months shrieked and laughed and played on the lawn, their joy at being reunited with their friends infectious. Their parents, many of whom she had never met, stood at the fringes, mingling with drinks and snacks in hand. But there were even more, unexpected guests. Townsfolk who had no children, but wanted to experience her magic for themselves. Curious people with nothing better to do on a sunny Saturday morning filled her front garden.
The Laurie twins really had told the whole town!
Someone had started up a collection plate to raise funds for school. It made rounds through the garden and each time Abigail saw it the pile was taller. It would have brought a tear to her eye if she hadn’t been so nervous.
She was used to reading to students, and while they could be brutal in their honesty, they were often appeased if she did enough funny voices. But adults? Her peers and neighbors sitting in her garden to listen to a story about a donkey? She’d made a terrible mistake.
Then she saw the face she’d searched for all morning.
Elijah stood near the gate, his thermos in hand. He wore his Sunday best, a crisp white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, khaki pants and suspenders. He smiled and laughed at something someone said, and his presence eased her nerves.
He had seen her read more times than either of them could count. In the garden on sunny days, in his workshop when it rained, and in the shush of their bedroom, her free hand brushing through his hair as he fell asleep.
Reading to Elijah was her favorite thing to do.
So when it came time to sit in the gazebo he’d built, a Laurie twin tucked at each side, Abigail read to Elijah Crenshaw. Her tongue trilled through the complex rhymes, sure as the donkey’s footing, and brought the book to life. Her magic flowed and the donkey flickered to life for her audience. With every page the book projected before her, large enough for all to see, embellished and animated by her imagination.
When the donkey got lost in the canyon children yelled helpful advice. Parents shushed, but the spectral donkey paused, looked at the audience, and tilted his head, big ears flopping comically to one side. Everyone laughed and Abigail read on.
Then the donkey made a friend in a cactus wren and the children cheered and parents clapped when the bird flew loop-the-loops. And when the pair made it out of canyon to find a bright green field the whole garden let out a sigh of relief. Safe at last.
Abigail shut the book and the magic donkey and bird dissolved from view. She looked up at the crowd, blushed at their cheers and claps, and smiled at Elijah. But he didn’t see it. He leaned against the gate with his eyes closed, hands in his pockets and his thermos at his feet. As the cheers died down and conversations started, he batted his eyes open and met her gaze.
His slow smile, warm and just a little shy, drew her through the crowd. She stopped before him, rocking on her heels, the picture book a shield held against her chest.
“Well? What did you think?”
He glanced around the garden, at their community gathered and laughing. “I think you throw one hell of a garden party.”
She rolled her eyes. “I meant the story.”
“It was cute,” he said. “I liked the bird.”
Of course he did. The bird was resolute, the anchor for the wayward donkey. “But you didn’t even watch.”
The way he looked at her then stopped her fidgeting and rooted her in place like a flower in her garden. “The magic isn’t in the images, Abbie. It’s in your voice.”
She blushed again and cleared her throat. “Would you like a fresh cup of coffee?”
Another smile, this one bright and vital as the sun. “I’d love one.”
She took his hand, his rough palm warm against hers, and led him into the house. As the crowd dispersed back to their weekends, the only hint that Elijah Crenshaw hadn’t left yet was the thermos that stood forgotten beside the gate.
© In the Librarian’s Garden by B. Zelkovich. 2023. All rights reserved.
