“Aunt Ophie, Sassy didn’t mean it’s too late to call the hotels. She meant it’s too late for us to sit up calling. We need our beauty sleep. And we have a busy day tomorrow, don’t we?”
Bridgy looked to me for confirmation and I realized that she was right.
“As a matter of fact tomorrow is the Classic Book Club, which means it’s our longest day of the month. The club started out as a YA—young adult—Club so we scheduled it for four o’clock because the kids would need time to get home from high school on the mainland. It didn’t quite work. For three months in a row the only one who showed up was Holly—you remember, Maggie’s daughter.”
Ophie spent a few minutes describing Holly and Maggie as well-mannered ladies, lest we thought she forgot.
“Anyway, by the third month I’d decided to cancel the YA Club, but as it happened, Sally Caldera from the library had stopped in for lunch. When I was whining about my lack of success, she offered to come back.
“That month’s book was Dracula by Bram Stoker. Holly impressed Sally when she offhandedly mentioned that Stoker’s real first name was Abraham. By the time the meeting was over, Sally suggested that since the kids didn’t seem interested in showing up, we change the name to Classic Book Club and open it up to everyone. It’s become quite popular.”
Bridgy chimed in, “Ophie, you might want to drive your own car to the café in the morning so you can leave at the normal closing time. I usually stay for the meeting in case customers wander in.”
Ophie thought about that for a minute, her chin resting in her palm. Then she smiled. “Great idea. I can use the free time to track down the elusive Mr. Bucket Hat.”
And on that cheerful note, we said good night.
* * *
When the afternoon rush ended, I took some time to review my well-worn copy of The Turn of the Screw by Henry James, a masterpiece of gothic psychological drama. I checked my notes and crib questions carefully and then circled the chairs in the book nook. I wondered how many readers would show up. Usually I remind the members as I see them. Occasionally I send out cheery emails or notes. But with all the chaos that surrounded us since Miguel’s accident, I hadn’t had time to draw a breath, let alone do any outreach.
Bridgy asked if I wanted to serve sweet tea or iced decaf coffee. We had plenty of each so I decided on both.
Maggie and Holly were deep in an animated conversation when they walked through the door. They headed straight for the book nook. Their chatter sounded like mother-and-daughter Sturm und Drang, with Holly wheedling and Maggie using the no-nonsense mom voice.
Lisette Ortiz came in carrying a bunch of mixed flowers. “I thought we should brighten up the book nook since we are discussing such a dark story.”
I thanked her and brought the flowers into the kitchen. Ophie offered to arrange them, and when I walked into the dining room, Judge Harcroft and Jocelyn had joined the group sitting in the corner.
I looked at the wall clock, put on my brightest smile and took my seat. I was pleased at the turnout. I started by asking if anyone had to struggle to accept the fundamental theme that James was striving to reveal.
Holly giggled. “You mean the whole ‘corruption of innocence’ thing? With the kids? I think that was way more horrifying in the dark ages when he wrote the book than it is today.”
Lisette hesitated and then jumped in. “I wasn’t sure if we were supposed to believe that these events were actually happening in the lives of the governess and her charges or if the governess herself had some mental stress that made her imagine these ghosts and tragedies. After all, we were getting the entire story from a narrator who communicated with her by letter at the time.”
Ophie placed a vase overflowing with Lisette’s bouquet on Dashiell Hammett. Judge Harcroft sat straighter and started to object. Then he must have realized that he doesn’t own the table but only uses it for meals.