Washington, DC
There
was nothing Ava Harper loved more than the smell of old books. The musty scent
of aging paper and stale ink took one on a journey through candlelit rooms of
manors set amid verdant hills or ancient castles with turrets that stretched up
to the vast, unknown heavens. These were tomes once cradled in the spread
palms of forefathers, pored over by scholars, devoured by students with a
rapacious appetite for learning. In those fragrant, yellowed pages were stories
of the past and eternal knowledge.
It was a fortunate thing indeed
she was offered a job in the Rare Book Room at the Library of Congress where
the archaic aroma of history was forever present.
She strode through the middle
of three arches to where the neat rows of tables ran parallel to one another
and carefully gathered a stack of rare books in her arms. They were different
sizes and weights, their covers worn and pages uneven at the edges, and yet
somehow the pile seemed to fit together like the perfect puzzle. Regardless of
the patron who left them after having requested far more than was necessary for
an afternoon’s perusal.
Their
eyes were bigger than their brains. It was what her brother,
Daniel, had once proclaimed after Ava groused about the common phenomena—one
she herself had been guilty of—when he was home on leave.
Ever
since, the phrase ran through her thoughts on each encounter of an abandoned
collection. Not that it was the fault of the patron. The philosophical greats
of old wouldn’t be able to glean that much information in an afternoon. But she
liked the expression regardless and how it always made her recall Daniel’s
laughing gaze as he said it.
They’d both inherited their
mother’s moss green eyes, though Ava’s never managed to achieve that same
sparkle of mirth so characteristic of her older brother.
A glance at her watch
confirmed it was almost noon. A knot tightened in her stomach as she recalled
her brief chat with Mr. MacLeish earlier that day. A meeting with the Librarian
of Congress was no regular occurrence, especially when it was followed by the
scrawl of an address on a slip of paper and the promise of a new opportunity
that would suit her.
Whatever it was, she doubted
it would fit her better than her position in the Rare Book Room. She absorbed
lessons from these ancient texts, which she squeezed out at whim to aid patrons
unearth sought-after information. What could possibly appeal to her more?
Ava approached the last table at the right and gently closed La
Maison Reglée, the worn leather cover smooth as butter beneath her
fingertips. The seventeenth century book was one of the many gastronomic texts
donated from the Katherine Golden Bitting collection. She had been a marvel of
a woman who utilized her knowledge in her roles at the Department of
Agriculture and the American Canners Association.
Every
book had a story and Ava was their keeper. To leave her place there would be
like abandoning children.
Robert
floated in on his pretentious cloud and surveyed the room with a critical eye.
She clicked off the light lest she be subjected to the sardonic flattening of
her coworker’s lips.
He
held out his hand for La Maison Reglée, a look of irritation flickering
over his face.
“I’ll
put it away.” Ava hugged it to her chest. After all, he didn’t even read
French. He couldn’t appreciate it as she did.
She returned the tome to its
collection, the family reunited once more, and left the opulence of the
library. The crisp spring DC air embraced her as she caught the streetcar
toward the address printed in the Librarian of Congress’s own hand.
Ava arrived at 2430 E Street,
NW ten minutes before her appointment, which turned out to be beneficial
considering the hoops she had to jump through to enter. A stern man, whose
expression did not alter through their exchange, confronted her at a
guardhouse upon entry. Apparently, he had no more understanding of the meeting
than she.
Once finally allowed in, she
followed a path toward a large white-columned building.
Ava snapped the lid on her overactive imagination lest it get
the better of her—which it often did—and forced herself onward. After being
led through an open entryway and down a hall, she was left to sit in an office
possessing no more than a desk and two hardbacked wooden chairs. They made the
seats in the Rare Book Room seem comfortable by comparison. Clearly it was a
place made only for interviews.
But for what?
Ava glanced at her watch.
Whoever she was supposed to meet was ten minutes late. A pang of regret
resonated through her at having left her book sitting on her dresser at home.
She had only recently started
Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca and
was immediately drawn in to the thrill of a young woman swept into an
unexpected romance. Ava’s bookmark rested temptingly upon the newly married
couple’s entrance to Manderley, the estate in Cornwall.
The
door to the office flew open and a man whisked in wearing a gray, efficient
Victory suit—single breasted with narrow lapels and absent any cuffs or pocket
flaps—fashioned with as little fabric as was possible. He settled behind the
desk. “I’m Charles Edmunds, secretary to General William Donovan. You’re Ava
Harper?”
The
only name familiar of the three was her own. “I am.”
He
opened a file, sifted through a few papers, and handed her a stack. “Sign
these.”
“What
are they?” She skimmed over them and was met with legal jargon.
“Confidentiality
agreements.”
“I
won’t sign anything I don’t read fully.” She lifted the pile.
The
text was drier than the content of some of the more lackluster rare books at
the Library of Congress. Regardless, she scoured every word while Mr. Edmunds
glared irritably at her, as if he could will her to sign with his eyes. He
couldn’t, of course. She waited ten minutes for his arrival; he could wait
while she saw what she was getting herself into.
Everything indicated she would not share what was discussed in
the room about her potential job opportunity. It was nothing all too damning
and so she signed, much to the great, exhaling impatience of Mr. Edmunds.
“You speak German and
French.” He peered at her over a pair of black-rimmed glasses, his brown eyes
probing.
“My father was something of a
linguist. I couldn’t help but pick them up.” A visceral ache stabbed at her
chest as a memory flitted through her mind from years ago—her father switching
to German in his excitement for an upcoming trip with her mother for their
twenty-year anniversary. That trip.
The one from which her parents had never returned.
“And
you’ve worked with photographing microfilm.” Mr. Edmunds lifted his brows.
A
frown of uncertainty tugged at her lips. When she first started at the Library
of Congress, her duties had been more in the area of archival than a typical
librarian role as she microfilmed a series of old newspapers that time was
slowly eroding. “I have, yes.”
“Your
government needs you,” he stated in a matter-of-fact manner that broached no
argument. “You are invited to join the Office of Strategic Services—the
OSS—under the information gathering program called the Interdepartmental
Committee for the Acquisition of Foreign Publications.”
Her
mind spun around to make sense of what he’d just said, but her mouth flew open
to offer its own knee-jerk opinion. “That’s quite the mouthful.”
“IDC
for short,” he replied without hesitation or humor. “It’s a covert operation
obtaining information from newspapers and texts in neutral territories to help
us gather intel on the Nazis.”
“Would
I require training?” she asked, unsure how knowing German equipped her to spy
on them.
“You have all the training you
need as I understand it.”
He began to reassemble the
file in front of him. “You would go to Lisbon.”
“In Portugal?”
He paused. “It is the only
Lisbon of which I am aware, yes.”
No doubt she would have to
get there by plane. A shiver threatened to squeeze down her spine, but she
repressed it. “Why am I being recommended for this?”
“Your ability to speak French
and German.” Mr. Edmunds held up his forefinger. “You know how to use
microfilm.” He ticked off another finger. “Fred Kilgour recommends your keen
intellect.” There went another finger.
That was a name she
recognized.
She aided Fred the prior year
when he was microfilming foreign publications for the Harvard University
Library. After the months she’d spent doing as much for the Library of Congress,
the process had been easy to share, and he had been a quick learner.
“And you’re pretty.” Mr.
Edmunds sat back in his chair, the final point made.
The compliment was as
unwarranted in such a setting as it was unwelcome. “What does my appearance have
to do with any of this?”
He lifted a shoulder.
“Beauties like yourself can get what they want when they want it. Except when
you scowl like that.” He nodded his chin up. “You should smile more, Dollface.”
That was about enough.
“I did not graduate top of my
class from Pratt and obtain a much sought-after position at the Library of
Congress to be called ‘Dollface.’” She pushed up to standing.
“And you’ve got steel in that
spine, Miss Harper.” Mr. Edmunds ticked the last finger.
She opened her mouth to retort, but he continued. “We need this
information so we best know how to fight the
Krauts. The sooner we have these details, the sooner this war can be
over.”
She remained where she stood
to listen a little longer. No doubt he knew she would.
“You have a brother,” he went
on. “Daniel Harper, staff sergeant of C Company in Second Battalion, 506th
Parachute Infantry Regiment, in the 101st Airborne Division.”
The
Airborne Division. Her brother had run toward the
fear of airplanes despite her swearing off them.
“That’s
correct,” she said tightly. Daniel would never have been in the Army were it
not for her. He would be an engineer, the way he’d always wanted.
Mr.
Edmunds took off his glasses and met her gaze with his small, naked eyes.
“Don’t you want him to come home sooner?”
It
was a dirty question meant to slice deep.
And
it worked.
The longer the war continued, the greater Daniel’s risk of being
killed or wounded.
She’d done everything she
could to offer aid. When the ration was only voluntary, she had complied long
before it became law. She gave blood every few months, as soon as she was
cleared to do so again. Rather than dance and drink at the Elk Club like her
roommates, Ava spent all her spare time in the Production Corps with the Red
Cross, repairing uniforms, rolling bandages, and doing whatever was asked of
her to help their men abroad.
She even wore red lipstick on a regular basis, springing for the
costly tube of Elizabeth Arden’s Victory Red, the civilian counterpart
to the Montezuma Red servicewomen were issued. Ruby lips were a derisive
biting of the thumb at Hitler’s war on made-up women. And she would do anything
to bite her thumb at that tyrant.
Likely Mr. Edmunds was aware
of all this.
“You will be doing genuine
work in Lisbon that can help bring your brother and all our boys home.” Mr.
Edmunds got to his feet and held out his hand, a salesman with a silver tongue,
ready to seal the deal. “Are you in?”
Ava looked at his hand. His
fingers were stubby and thick, his nails short and well-manicured.
“I would have to go on an
airplane, I’m assuming.”
“You wouldn’t have to jump
out.” He winked.
Her greatest fear realized.
But Daniel had done far more
for her.
It was a single plane ride to
get to Lisbon. One measly takeoff and landing with a lot of airtime in
between. The bottoms of her feet tingled, and a nauseous swirl dipped in her
belly.
This was by far the least she
could do to help him as well as every other US service member. Not just the
men, but also the women whose roles were often equally as dangerous.
She lifted her chin, leveling
her own stare right back. “Don’t ever call me ‘Dollface’ again.”
“You got it, Miss Harper,” he
replied.
She extended her hand toward him and clasped his with a firm
grip, the way her father had taught her.
“I’m in.”
He grinned. “Welcome aboard.”
***********************************************************************************************My two cents: I think this book had a great premise and will do very well. I don't like to be negative about books, and I will never be. However, this book wasn't for me. I was very excited about the subject matter but this one ran too slow for me and I left at about 39 percent. I really tried coming back to it a few times, but it just didn't grab me. BUT! That doesn't mean I don't think everyone will feel that way. I think a lot of people will love it.
I want to thank the publisher for the opportunity. I am always grateful for the chance to read new books and share them!
