The Library of Unruly Treasures

Chapter One

With all the flying Gwen had done, back and forth between parents, she should have gotten over her terror of heights. But even a quick glance out a plane window still made her feel faint. The only solution was to close her eyes and imagine she were somewhere else. Anywhere would do, as long as it wasn’t high up.

The intercom buzzed with a message from the pilot to prepare for a bumpy de-scent into the Boston airport--they were arriving in the middle of a rainstorm. At the first lurch, Gwen grabbed her armrests and held on. Another lurch, and another, and when there was nothing but lurching and falling, Gwen braced herself for the landing, the rumble and bounce as the plane hit the runway. Now there was just deceleration to endure: that feeling of a giant remorseless hand shoving you forward while the pilot jams on the plane’s brakes. By then all the babies on the plane were crying, and Gwen didn’t blame them.

Safe at last on the ground, she could open her eyes and look out at the storm. She pitied the runway workers. They were bent double to keep from being knocked over, their wind-filled slickers turned into unmanageable kites.

“Are you coming home to Boston?”

It was the woman sitting next to her, who until now hadn’t asked any of the ques-tions well-meaning adults always did when Gwen traveled alone. Shy, and prefer-ring not to talk about herself, she tried to act like a person who didn’t need help and was fine on her own. But that isn’t easy when you’re eleven and short for your age.

“I’m visiting my great-uncle, who lives in Dagarty.”

“Dalgety?”

“Maybe. I guess so.” Gwen had learned about this visit only a few days ago, and some of the facts hadn’t sunk in.

“It’s a great town. If you like books, go to the MacKinnon Library there. It’s one of the best in the area.”

Had Gwen misheard the woman? MacKinnon was her own last name, and her great-uncle’s. And her father’s, too, of course, but he’d never mentioned a MacKinnon Library. Gwen couldn’t remember him ever mentioning any library at all.

“Are you sure it’s MacKinnon?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Nothing in Gwen’s life had suggested there could be a building named after a MacKinnon--they weren’t that kind of family. But that there was such a building, and that it was a library, a temple of learning and dreams, was something Gwen wouldn’t have dared imagine, let alone hope for. She loved a library’s welcoming peace and quiet, but more than that she loved the endless shelves of books, those priceless treasures. She’d once believed that if she could be quiet enough, she’d be able to hear the whispers of the books’ characters as they waited to slip out from between their covers. It hadn’t happened yet, and now it was probably too late. Eleven-year-olds shouldn’t indulge in fantasies.

Ding! The fasten-seat-belt sign went from orange to dark, signaling the passengers that it was time to gather their belongings and disembark. Gwen tore herself away from libraries.

“Goodbye,” said the woman. “I hope you enjoy Dalgety.”

“Thank you for telling me about the library.” It was the first positive thing she’d learned about this visit.

She was being dumped on the great-uncle by her dad, the dad who was supposed to have Gwen live with him in St. Louis. It was his turn, her mom had said, and that was the plan. Until a few days ago when, without warning, he’d announced he was separating from his current (third) wife and that Gwen’s mom needed to keep her until he could get settled into a new apartment. But Gwen’s mom was about to leave for Costa Rica with her new boyfriend, where they were going to start a farm or something--the details had been hazy. No one, including Gwen, thought Gwen should go with them.

That was when her dad pulled his uncle Matthew into this mess. Why he’d agreed to take Gwen in was puzzling. He lived alone--his wife was dead, his daughter was in her twenties. A stranger could be nothing but an intrusion into his life. He cer-tainly wouldn’t be doing it out of affection for her dad. They didn’t like each other much and hadn’t seen each other for many years. This part--them not liking each other--was allowing Gwen a spark of optimism. The people her dad liked watched endless sports on television, shouting and throwing empty beer cans when their team was losing. If Great-Uncle Matthew wasn’t like that--and if she got to visit the MacKinnon Library--the visit might not be awful. It could even end up being bearable.

As the line of people inched toward the exit door, Gwen stayed behind, waiting for a flight attendant to escort her off the plane. It was another of the indignities of being young. Here he was. Time to go. He led Gwen out of the plane and up the ramp, plunging her into crowds of rushing people, piles of gaudy souvenirs, sweet food smells battling fried food smells, and garbled voices booming out of loud-speakers, and here was the airport’s final security checkpoint and the escalator down to the baggage-claim area. With Gwen’s fear of heights, escalators were a particular horror. To be high up and moving--it felt like she could be flung off and down into the depths, crushing the people below.

She wouldn’t tell any of this to the flight attendant. Better to figure out how to sur-vive the terror. She let him go first, stumbled onto the first step, eyes shut, and clung to the rail. She was practiced enough to sense when she was far enough down to open her eyes.

“Over there.” Her escort pointed into the crowd. “A man holding a sign for Gwen MacKinnon.”

Gwen peered around the flight attendant. Yes, there was the sign and--was that really Great-Uncle Matthew? He looked nothing like her dad. Tall and broad, with some gray in his hair, he’d spotted her now and was waving enthusiastically, as if he was glad to see Gwen. Was he glad, or was she making something out of noth-ing? Her mom did always accuse her of having an overactive imagination.

But when her great-uncle came to greet her, he was still enthusiastic and smiling, and Gwen’s doubts of his sincerity fled.

“You have to be Gwen,” he said. “You look just like my daughter, Nora, when she was your age. You are Gwen, aren’t you? Or did I go back fifteen years through a time portal and you’re really Nora?”

The smile made her smile back, while wondering what it must feel like to be Nora, with a dad who spoke of her with such warmth.

“I’m definitely Gwen. Hello, Great-Uncle Matthew.”

“Uncle Matthew will be enough, I think. Welcome to Massachusetts.” He thanked the flight attendant and sent him away, then reached out to shake Gwen’s hand. As she put her hand in his, she found that he smelled like rain--that was his soaking jacket--a hint of sawdust, and something else she couldn’t identify.

“I hope you like dogs,” he said.

That was the third smell: a whiff of dog. A dog! Gwen had always wanted one, but her mom was forever moving them from one town to another, one state to anoth-er, and always into apartments that didn’t allow pets.

“I’m not used to dogs, but I’d like to try.”

“Getting used to Pumpkin might not help you with general dog knowledge. She’s peculiar, and I say this with love. You’ll see.”

As they walked through the airport parking lot, Uncle Matthew shielded Gwen with his height and his umbrella, but the rain cared for none of that, and she was soon drenched. She didn’t care--it was pleasant to be shielded, even unsuccessfully. His vehicle was a fun surprise: a large van with MacKinnon Home Repair painted on the side. What a noble profession, thought Gwen, making homes safer, better to live in.

“You ready for Pumpkin?” He opened the van’s door and boosted Gwen up onto the step.

A dog was sitting on the edge of the seat, blocking Gwen’s entry, leaving her sway-ing there, trapped. The rain and wind assaulted her, while the dog pretended there was no such thing as a girl trying to get to her seat.

“Of all the fool dogs!” said Uncle Matthew. “Move over now!”

The dog gave up a reluctant ten inches, barely enough room. Gwen had to choose between holding up her left arm, like she was waiting to be called on, or putting it around the dog. She did the latter, gently, so as not to offend. Isolated in an exis-tential void, Pumpkin still pretended Gwen wasn’t there.

While Uncle Matthew threw Gwen’s suitcase into the back of the van, Gwen stole a look at Pumpkin. She wasn’t an attractive dog, with her bright orange coat, legs too short for her sturdy body, ears too big for her head, and, just now, a mouth clamped shut, vividly expressing her disapproval at this interloper.

“I’m sorry I’m wet,” Gwen said, thinking that might be what was annoying Pump-kin.

“She has terrible manners,” said Uncle Matthew, climbing in and shutting out the rain. “It’s all daughter Nora’s fault. She was worried about me being lonely after we lost Maggie--her mom--so she went to the shelter and picked out the puppy least likely to find a home. I’ve been stuck with this galoot ever since.”

“She’s interesting, though,” said Gwen.

“You’re being generous. Pumpkin, let’s make an attempt to be polite. Say hello and welcome to this girl who’s staying with us for two weeks. She’s my niece, and her name is Gwen MacKinnon.”

The change in Pumpkin was instantaneous, and startling enough that Uncle Mat-thew dropped his van keys. One moment she was a lump of aloof dog; the next she was on Gwen’s lap, her eyes boring into Gwen’s inner core, their noses a bare inch apart, so close Gwen went cross-eyed.

“Pumpkin, Pumpkin, remember what I told you about personal space.” Uncle Mat-thew tried in vain to pull the dog off Gwen. “I apologize, Gwen. This is not like her. Usually, she ignores anyone who isn’t me or Nora.”

“It’s okay. She’s just looking at me.” Gwen didn’t think there was much in her core that needed to be hidden from a dog. People, yes, dogs, no. She tried to lean back a bit to ease her eyes, but Pumpkin followed, now only a half inch away, and meant to stay there.

The van was ruggedly oblivious to the storm. Gwen felt regal, perched high above the cars, their white headlights and red taillights shimmering through the rain. Could the people in those cars be as safe and content as she was right now? Uncle Matthew turned on a low heat to dry them off and produced from somewhere a lumpy paper bag.

“Cookies. In case you’re hungry after the long trip.”

“I love cookies. Thank you.” Not used to such thoughtfulness, Gwen glanced over at this kind new uncle of hers. “And thank you for letting me visit.”

“You’re welcome.” He gave her that smile again, the one that made her smile back. “I’ll have to admit it was a bit of a shock, having your dad call. We’ve never been close--I knew he had a child, but I’d heard a boy. You don’t have a brother, do you?”

Gwen shook her head. “It’s just me.”

“Maybe I was confused.”

Or, possibly, her dad had thought it okay to say he had a son because that was what he’d wanted Gwen to be. He’d told her that a bunch of times when she was younger, mostly when he was annoyed with her. “I don’t know.”

“I called Nora for advice about having you visit. She was also surprised to find out you were a girl and wished she’d known earlier, but when I asked what difference it would have made--what did she have against boys?--she said, ‘Oh, Dad,’ and told me that I should definitely have you visit. She thinks I’ll enjoy having you around, and might possibly make you enjoy it too. How am I doing so far?”

The grown-ups in Gwen’s life didn’t usually ask for her opinions. She stared into Pumpkin’s eyes, trying to figure out how to answer, but Pumpkin was no help.

Uncle Matthew prompted her. “All right?”

“Extra all right.” Pumpkin blinked, which Gwen decided to interpret as approval.

“I’m glad. Nora’s in England just now, studying ancient religions, but she’s going to fly home before you leave.” He glanced over at her. “It’s uncanny how much you two look alike. You both have my nose, thin and with a slight arch.”

Gwen ran her finger along the bridge of her own nose--bumping Pumpkin’s in the process. It was just as Uncle Matthew had described, thin and with a slight arch. Neither of her parents had noses like that. She had a sudden new affection for hers.

Working around Pumpkin as well as she could, Gwen peered into the bag. Uncle Matthew had given her thick ginger molasses cookies, the best kind, substantial enough for a meal and delicious enough for dessert. Until now, she’d been too preoccupied to think about food, but suddenly she was ravenous. It would, howev-er, be impossible to eat with Pumpkin in her face like that.

“Can Pumpkin have some?”

“She won’t want to. She’s a food snob. Whoa!” He’d glanced over and seen Pump-kin nibbling. “You do have an interesting effect on her, Gwen. You’re certain you’re not some kind of dog expert? Pumpkin, no, wait, not a whole cookie!”

As they drove across the wide river that marked Boston’s northern edge, Pumpkin settled down on Gwen’s lap and fell asleep. They drove through neighborhoods crowded with houses and small shops, street after street of them, until Gwen, lulled by the rhythmic wap-wap-wap of the windshield wipers, fell asleep too, slumped against the window.

The next thing she knew, the van had stopped, and Uncle Matthew was scooping her out of her seat, murmuring something about a poor kid, worn out from her long day. Gwen knew she should be explaining that she could walk on her own, re-ally, but before her sleepy brain could find the words, she was flooded with a long-forgotten contentment. No one had carried her like this since she’d been a small child. She relaxed against his chest and listened to him argue with Pumpkin. About Gwen, it seemed. Pumpkin was protesting her being so high in the air, inaccessible to dogs, and Uncle Matthew was protesting Pumpkin’s getting under his feet and asking what had gotten into her tonight. Through the rain, Gwen got a befuddled glimpse of a shingled two-family house--Uncle Matthew lived on the first floor--then she was being carried inside, down hallways, around corners, and into a room. Uncle Matthew carefully laid her on a bed, and she was asleep again.