Boxed In(20)

She had been sitting long enough. Annie found the book on the Penobscot tribe, double-checked where in the Dewey decimal sections poetry was located, and dove back into the stacks. Longfellow, Edna St. Vincent Millay, May Sarton leaned against Frost, Hughes, and other names Annie didn’t recognize. Determined not to miss a single poetry book, she stooped and tilted her head to read every spine, pulling out any book with the remote possibility of containing the poem she was seeking. She felt like a swimmer draining water out of her ear.

Nothing.

Time to search the Web, Annie thought as she gathered her things and walked through the arch to the Reference Room. Though the room had filled considerably while Annie searched the stacks, one of the many computers was still free. Smiling at the few people who looked up as she walked by, Annie settled in at the computer and clicked on the Internet icon. Accessing Google, she typed in the words of the first line of the poem: “sister otter water dancing.” While the search engine proclaimed “about 280,000 results,” those results were not helpful. From many mentions of a children’s television show, PB&J Otter, to animal profiles from naturalists to adult monikers for social-networking websites she didn’t recognize, Annie scanned pages and pages. She typed in other lines from her copy, but the poem was not to be found.

“Well, that certainly sped up the process,” muttered Annie, a little disappointed. Her eyes darted around the room to make sure she hadn’t disturbed anyone. She’d been so intent on her search, she’d almost forgotten where she was. The Stony Point Library Reference Room was beginning to feel too much like home. Mentally crossing off the possibility that the poem had been copied from a published piece, Annie felt comfortable with her conclusion that the poem had been a private composition. How to discover who the author was and why the verse was in Gram’s attic was another story.

Not yet satisfied with her research for the day, Annie switched her focus. As teenagers came and went after posting statuses on their Facebook pages, and adults checked movie schedules or sent employment applications, she cast a line to see if she could hook some more information on the Passamaquoddy people. Her second effort was more successful than her first. In addition to links from the Abbe Museum, state government, newspaper, and various cultural websites were sources to be explored. She even found links for an old Disney movie, Pete’s Dragon. So that was why something had been buzzing in the back of her memory when she had looked at the exhibits at the museum. She had heard the word Passamaquoddy sung and spoken when LeeAnn and she had watched the movie on video together so many years ago.

With the hint of a smile hovering around her mouth, Annie began to read and read. At times there was little to smile about in the stories of devastation by new diseases brought to the land by European settlers—her own ancestors—or the neglect of government-paid employees and land agents. Then she stumbled on photos of art pieces that delighted her, and a video showing a Passamaquoddy artist weaving with nimble hands. She might have read on until Grace Emory, Josephine Booth, or whoever was scheduled to be the last staff member to leave that day came to shut down the computers. But her stomach had other plans, growling louder and louder until Annie was sure she was bothering others in the room.

Reluctantly she closed out the Google website and packed up her notebook and pen. As she walked across the Great Room, she waved to Grace who was behind the front desk, scanning books that had been returned. On her way down the porch steps she realized she had not checked out The Penobscot as she had planned. It was sitting tucked next to the computer. Reassuring herself that she would have plenty of time to stop in at the library after lunch, she continued on to cross Oak Lane, heading for The Cup & Saucer.

Annie thought she would be eating at a time when free booths were hard to come by, but when she pulled the door open, she was surprised at the low volume of conversation. Noting the amount of open seating, she glanced at the clock hanging beneath the high shelf populated with ivy-filled giant teacup planters. “Three o’clock!” Annie couldn’t hold in her gasp.

A familiar chuckle reached her ears from the second booth from the door. Ian Butler leaned out and waved to Annie.

“Mysteries can be time hogs, and I hear you found a doozy.” Ian slid out of the booth. “Want to share with me what you found over a late lunch, Annie?”

Annie patted her tote bag. “I’d love to, Ian. In fact, I was thinking of you at the library this morning.” Realizing too late how that might sound, she hurried on before the mayor could comment. “When I was in Wiscasset before my trip, I saw signs on the library door stating the new hours of operation. The town has had to cut the hours due to the economy. I was wondering today what magic you and the town commissioners have conjured to keep our Stony Point Library open regular hours, and without staff reductions too.”