CHAPTER TWO: THE BOOK THIEF.
Mist swirls in the air, the ground vibrates with a muffled thumping. A black horse emerges suddenly from the mist. There is a man on its back, a black cloak swirling out behind him, his piercing blue eyes boring into hers as horse and rider thunder straight towards her. As horse and rider near he draws a long sword from under his cloak, it glints along its razor-sharp edge as it is pointed towards her. Mist swirls again, the image melts into it. The mist clears and shows a woman sat on a stile in a lane surrounded by fields. The woman is sat straight-backed on the stile, dressed in a long dark blue skirt and a smart Victorian jacket in the same cloth. She has a small hat with blue ribbons and peacock feathers perched on her blonde hair. She glances around her as if she is waiting for someone to arrive.
Violet opens her eyes, she stares at the picture on the wall in front of her, it is Klimt’s ‘The Kiss’. She is slumped on her sofa, she must have fallen asleep after she got back from work, ‘Jane Eyre’ is still open on her lap, she had been rereading the scene with Jane sat on the stile. Violet thinks about the image from the dream. The woman sat on the stile is nothing like how she’d always imagined Jane, Jane is a plain, small quiet governess. This woman was dressed smartly, if simply, and she had a vigorous and confident air about her, not someone who would have been content to spend their time teaching children how to draw. Violet thought about the stile she was sitting on and its surroundings, they seemed a lot closer to the description in Jane Eyre. But something about them was haunting Violet, they seemed too familiar, she could feel the image hunting for recognition. Searching through her memories looking for somewhere to rest, going backwards to her childhood. Eventually it found its home, an image from her childhood flashed into Violets mind of the same stile that the Victorian woman was sitting on, a walk in the country just outside the town. She was sure the stile in her dream was the same as the one she’d first been taken to as a very young child by her great grandmother, she could remember her great grandma sitting down on it to rest.
Now she had the two images in her mind she couldn’t shake them. She quickly changed into embroidered jeans and a pair of trainers, and pulling on a fleecy coat she grabbed her bicycle and set off. She cycled through the old winding streets of the town and out into the countryside surrounding it, she was surprised how she instinctively knew which way to go, which path to take. It had been a long time since she’d last been to this particular lane. She pedalled along wooded lanes, the wind in her hair, smelling the leaves and grass, the damp smell of the undergrowth. She paused at the entrance of the lane with the stile on it, it was how Bronte described it with fields on each side and hawthorn bushes and brambles lining it. Violet looked towards where the stile was, it was on a slight bend, hidden behind some particularly big hawthorn bushes. All around it was peaceful, not a soul was in sight, the sounds of the town were behind her and unheard. The only noises to break the peace was the call of birds and the occasional rustle in the undergrowth, everything else was as still and quiet as Bronte’s description. She took a deep breath and dismounted from her bike, leaning it against a nearby fence. She slowly began to walk along the lane towards the stile, her trainers making no sound on the ground, her breath coming shallowly. She was unsure why she was doing this, why she felt this tension, she had been here before and nothing unusual had happened, it was just a normal wooden stile set in a fence, a way across the boundary and to the path across the field. She tried to reason with herself, but still she felt the tightness in her chest restricting her breathing, her body tensed for she did not know what. She kept her eyes glued to the bushes ahead, with the stile behind them, she had got fairly close to it now, but had to still go only a little further before she would be able to see it. She found she was holding her breath as she took the last few steps silently. As she came around the edge of the hawthorn bush, she could see the old wooden fence, and the post next to the stile, she came a bit further round to where the stile was and for a moment she thought the stile wasn’t there at all. Until she realised it was hidden from her, someone was sitting on the stile and their clothes blended into their surroundings so well, she hadn’t at first glance realised that someone was there. She gave a short gasp and a pair of dazzling green eyes looked up into hers and a smile spread over his face. “Haven’t we met here before?” he asked her quizzically in a quiet voice. It was her book thief, and he was sitting on the very stile her grandmother had sat on and he was reading a book…she would have recognised it any where, she had last seen it been slid back on to its shelf by the very hand which was holding it now. She could feel her face heating up and going red, her body starting to tremble. She pointed a shaking finger at him. “You stole that book,” she shouted at him, “you…book thief.” She couldn’t even think of any names to call him that expressed what she thought of him and just stood in front of him pointing and gasping.
“I didn’t steal it,” he replied softly still looking into her eyes. “I’ll bring it back when I’ve finished reading it, I promise. Didn’t I bring back all the others.”
“You can’t just take books out of a library.” She continued to shout at him.
“Why not, everybody else does.” He replied calmly.
“Yes, I know they do, but,” this was not going as she’d thought it would, “you can’t do it willie nillie without librarians making a record of it.”
“But you knew which books I was taking out and kept a record of it.”
“Yes.. I know…but…” she felt the thread of the argument getting away from her. “But it’s just wrong, okay, it’s just wrong, it’s bad, bad, very bad.”
“Bad is realising chemicals into a river and killing all the fish.” He replied, “I haven’t hurt anyone by borrowing books.”
Violet could not believe she was loosing this argument, something she had fumed about for so long, she could feel her blood boiling now in front of him, his eyes still looking at her calmly. He was so good looking and so calming, she could almost feel waves of calm washing towards her as all her heat and anger drained away, all that heat of conflict seeming a waste of energy. “Look,” she said more calmly, “why can’t you just get a library ticket the same as everyone else. End of problem.”
“But it is a problem.” He replied “I did try to but I was told I needed a piece of paper to prove who I am before I could get one. I do not have one of these. I find it very odd to have a piece of paper telling you who you are, I know who I am I don’t need proof of it.”
“You don’t have any ID at all?” She answered in a puzzled voice.
“No,” he replied, “I don’t feel the need, I know who I am and everyone around me knows who I am. Apart from you of course. My name is Ayden.”
“My name is Violet.”
“A small shy flower with a vital colour and shining golden heart,” he replied, “a beautiful flower, it suits you.”
Violet caught herself blushing and smiling at the compliment and pulled herself together, this man paying her compliments had stolen a book, a book from her library, and right under her nose by some sort of magic trick and no excuses by a very handsome and gentlemanly man could change that. She pulled herself up to her full five foot four height and said “But you still stole a book from the library and you can’t do it again even though I have no idea how you did it and I don’t know what I’m going to do to stop you again, but I certainly am and you can’t keep it.” Violet inwardly groaned why did all her angry arguing progress into the arguments she used to have in the playground as a child. “Give it to me now,” she said holding out her hand.
Ayden looked slightly crestfallen and held the book a little bit closer to him.
“Now,” she said in her best firm voice and stern expression the sort which never failed to make small children burst into tears instantly. “Or I will hurt you.”
Ayden didn’t move the book towards her, but looked down at it nestled in his hands. “But I haven’t finished it yet,” he said in a pleading voice, “I hav
e to know what’s going to happen to Cathy and Heathcliff on those wild screaming moors. Don’t you sometimes want to be instantly transported to that wilderness on a bad day to just have your troubles blown away by that unforgiving wind to become lost in the heather and boulders.”
“Erm,” Violet replied looking away from him and then down at her feet, she felt the last of her anger and frustration drain away she knew she had lost the argument completely because the descriptions of the moors were her favourite parts of ‘Wuthering Heights’ and that was exactly how she felt about them. She looked back up at him her blue eyes looking into his, all her arguments forgotten and pointless. “Yes,” she said softly.
He held her eyes and smiled. He stood up from the stile and invited her to sit down where he’d been sitting, he then stood over her with the book open in his hands and read a passage to her, his voice was soft and full of expression, she could of listened to him reading to her all day, she had never heard a voice so perfect for reading aloud.
“Wuthering being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure, bracing ventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed: one may guess the power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun…”
She left him at the stile as the sun was just beginning to set, she would have to hurry if she wanted to get back to the town before dark. But she cycled along in a dream, a small smile on her face, thinking of his eyes pouring over the book and then looking into hers, his voice as he read the words, but especially those green eyes.
When she got home it was just dark, she looked out of her window as the first stars in the night sky appeared wondering if he was looking up at the same stars. She picked up her own worn copy of Wuthering Heights and curled up on the floor surrounded by cushions, with a fleecy blanket over her knees and a cup of hot chocolate on a small table at her elbow. She settled down contentedly to read her book slowly a word at a time.
Violet was awoken the next day by her alarm clock, she was confused at first by what the noise was, she was so unused to still being asleep when it was due to go off. She felt relaxed and content and warm curled up in her bed, and at first she wasn’t sure why she felt so happy and then she remembered a pair of smiling green eyes and she gave a big smile and hugged herself. She got out of bed and flung open the curtains, the birds were singing outside and she felt on top of the world, not even the thought that Ayden hadn’t actually given her the book back that he had stolen could dampen her spirits. She got ready in a daze and walked to work, even though autumn was on its way she felt like it was spring.
The other librarians were some what bemused to see a Violet who was actually polite to most of the library borrowers and occasionally actually smiled to them. They watched her as she went about her work with a small content smile on her face, fairly oblivious to everything around her. After she had left for the day the other librarians were discussing this strange change in her manner. The most senior and eldest librarian simply said, “it must be love, it’s the only explanation.” The others all smiled and nodded wisely.
After work that day Violet met Ayden at the stile to read some more of Wuthering Heights together sat side by side.
“I have a present for you,” she said producing a small flat box tied with a green ribbon. He took it from her and carefully opened it, inside was a small card with ‘University Library Card’ printed on it with the following words inscribed underneath in Violet’s copper plate handwriting, ‘Ayden. The Stile, Hay Lane.’ He laughed when he saw it.
“Does this mean you are not going to shout at me for taking books out of the library anymore?”
“It does,” she replied. “You may come to the library and check books out now without stealing them. How did you get this book past me?” she said stroking the cover of Wuthering Heights that he held on his knee. “I saw you put it on the shelf and leave empty-handed.”
“Just a little magic,” he replied mysteriously waving his hands through the air theatrically.
“NO really, how did you do it? I’ve read books on magic tricks and I cannot figure out how you did it.”
“Really, it was just a little magic.”
“NO, come on seriously, tell me,” she said hitting his arm.
“Seriously,” he replied rubbing his arm, “Oww, you’re not very gentle for such a beautiful lady.”
Violet felt herself blush with pleasure at the compliment. He smiled back at her and gently brushed a wisp of hair away from her face. She felt herself go weak at the knees, she was glad she was sitting down. He turned back to the book and began to read again, with his eyes turned away from her Violet got her breathe back. Ayden was reading a passage from the book with Cathy speaking about her love for Heathcliff.
“he’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same;”
His voice portraying their emotions, Violet had not heard it read so passionately before, she felt completely caught up in the scene and the lover’s feelings for each other. Ayden finished the passage saying the last line as he was turning towards her and looking into her eyes. Violet could see the emotions he had just been speaking about there in his eyes, and her heart gave a little leap as she realised that he was looking at her and it was herself that was inspiring the emotions. “Violet,” he whispered softly.
“Oh,” she said quietly. He brought his hand up and brushed another wisp of hair away from her face, smoothing it against her hair and then bringing his hand down the side of her face and gently stroking it and eventually cupping her face in his hand as he brought his face closer to hers. She found she had also moved her hand up to run it through his hair, it felt so silky, as he came closer she could smell meadow hay. She closed her eyes as his lips met hers, they felt soft and warm, pressed against hers. She felt herself melt towards him, her hands in his hair, butterflies in her stomach. She felt like this was the first time she had ever been truly kissed. When they drew their faces apart and she opened her eyes, his were still gazing lovingly into hers, his arm around her felt firm and strong. Just as she opened her eyes she felt as if there was a golden glow around them both. Love does strange things to the imagination.
“You are the still the most beautiful lady I have ever met,” he said softly his eyes never leaving hers. “I have always loved you from the moment I first met you. I have never known a spirit like yours”
“I love you too,” she replied a happy smile on her face, the words came out without her realising it, but as soon as she’d said them she realised it must have been her heart speaking because it was true it was how she felt. “But how can we feel like this, we only met yesterday.”
He smiled at her laughingly, “you think we only met yesterday?”
Feeling slightly confused she said, “Well yes, we met in the library yesterday, you stole a book, that all happened the day before today. Didn’t it?”
“Does it feel like that thou? I feel like I met you a long time ago and loved you ever since and that we have now just been reunited.”
She looked at him looking at her in an amused way and she had to admit he had a point. She felt she had known him for longer than two days and his kiss had seemed so right, almost familiar, it reminded her of something, perhaps it was the smell of meadow hay, smell was supposed to be the seat of memory, perhaps that was triggering a memory from a long time ago that she couldn’t place just yet. But however much she rationalized it she couldn’t shake the feeling that being with him felt right, she couldn’t deny the feeling she had for him. She felt like she had been reunited with a long lost part of herself, lost for so long that she hadn’t missed it until she found it again, and she knew she couldn’t lose it again.
The next few days passed in a happy haze for Violet and Ayden, they spent as much tim
e together as they could, always outside, either at the stile, or walking through the woods or through the parks or by the river. The days were blessed with summer’s last burst of sunshine, with autumn just starting to steal its warmth. They would walk or sit together, reading aloud to each other or talking, mostly about books or nature, Ayden was a very keen observer of nature and its seasons. They would often watch the first stars come out in the twilight together, Ayden with his arms wrapped around her to keep her warm. He would walk her home if it was dark, but would never come in, he always seemed reluctant to go inside, except for the library. When she’d quizzed him about this he replied that in the library he always felt like he was in a wood, due to the high ceiling and the towers of books were like trees with their height and leaves of pages. She wasn’t sure if he was joking or not.