12. Celine
Celine
The lesson I had today was another boring one. Well, I’m sure it was fascinating to the others, but I escaped into my head again. I thought of anything and everything except where I was currently sitting. It hasn’t even been a full week of these classes, and I’m already sick of it.
How the hell am I supposed to keep doing this?
As I daydreamed, I thought about the job opportunity that I probably wouldn’t get. Catherine said that they’d wait for me when I return from vacation, but I don’t know when I’ll be getting out of here. Who knows how long they are willing to wait?
After feeling down about not getting my dream job back, I focused on Father Alexander and how I was to meet him so he could show me to the library. Not only do I not want to be here, but now I have to spend my free time helping a grumpy old lady?
I guess it can’t be that bad since I’d be surrounded by books. Even if they aren’t the type I read or edit for Monica when she was too busy to do it herself.
At least I’d be in my element.
Thanks to my daydreaming, the lesson goes by quickly, and when it’s over, I hurry out of the class to meet Father Alexander outside his office. I don’t have to wait long because as soon as I show up, he walks through the door.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” I give a tight smile and follow behind him as we make our way.
I’m in complete awe as I step into the library. It is something out of a movie.
There are five shelves per bookshelf, which are lined against the stone wall. The shelves’ wood is a deep shade of brown that makes them appear almost black. My eyes roam over the many books, not able to count them all. I wasn’t expecting the library to be so nice.
It’s almost gothic-looking with the dark gray stone and dark colored shelves. On the back wall is a large window that floods the space with natural light. You probably would only need to turn on the gold chandeliers at night to illuminate the space.
Even on a stormy day, there would be enough light in here. The thought of seeing this beauty after the sun goes down makes me excited. Maybe helping out in the library won’t be too bad.
I step further into the room, my mouth open in amazement, and I’m so in my own head that I forget that Father Alexander is standing next to me.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” His deep voice pulls me from my thoughts. All I do is nod. I don’t even glance over at him. “Sister Greta will be more towards the back, where her office is.”
I allow him to lead the way, following behind him with my hands clasped behind my back. Everything in here looks so old, I’m afraid that if I touch something, it will break or dissolve into dust.
We round a corner and enter a short hallway that leads to another part of the library. And here I thought all of the things I had just seen were old.
The shelves in this part aren’t wooden like the others.
No, these shelves were carved into the stone.
Old books line them, and when I get a closer look, I can see the dust coating the faded spines.
As I inspect the books, I hear Father Alexander announce his arrival to Sister Greta, who responds with a grunt.
Turning to see a woman sitting at her desk, a large book open and a pen in her hand. Glasses sit on the center of her nose, but she doesn’t look up from her work.
“I’ve brought you a helper,” Father Alexander tells her.
“I don’t need a helper,” she says with a fire that I admire.
I glance around the space, taking in the dust and cobwebs that have collected throughout the years.
“It looks like you need help.”
Father Alexander’s head whips in my direction, his brows shooting up as his eyes go wide. In a way that he couldn’t believe that I just spoke to her that way.
I only spare him a glance before looking past him to where the old woman is sitting. My statement has caught her attention because she has stopped whatever she was working on. She stares at me over her glasses, inspecting me like a parasite.
“What makes you think you can talk to your elder like that?” Sister Greta scowls as she puts the pen down.
“I was merely stating a fact.” I don’t break eye contact with her. If I do, then she has the upper hand. “There are cobwebs in every corner of the room, on the chandeliers, and the shelves look like they have been collecting dust for over a hundred years.”
It is so quiet in here that you could hear a pin drop. I don’t even think I can hear Father Alexander breathing. It makes me think he is holding his breath as he listens to the interaction, awaiting something terrible to happen.
“What is your name, child?”
“Celine.” I introduce myself.
She hums in either satisfaction or disapproval. With a woman like her, it is hard to tell how she is feeling, and right when I think she is going to shoo me away, she says, “Very well, then.”
Father Alexander lets out a low breath. “Celine can help you most days after her lessons. Whatever you need her to do.”
I give him a skeptical look because I thought I’d only be helping out on my free days. Not after lessons, too. He doesn’t bother looking my way, which makes me huff and move my eyes back to the old woman.
“You can start by cleaning since you so rudely pointed out how dirty it is in here.” She picks up the pen and returns to her work. “There are supplies in the back closet.”
I have to wander around until I find it since she didn’t point in a specific direction. When I enter the closet, I hear Father Alexander step in behind me. I peek over my shoulder to see him eyeing some supplies on the shelf.
“What are you doing?” I ask cautiously.
“I was going to help you gather the cleaning supplies.”
“You don’t need to do that.” I turn around to face him and move closer so I can reach for a duster that is sitting on the shelf next to him. He takes an immediate step back, as if he doesn’t want me near him. “I can manage on my own.”
He dips his head in understanding. “Try not to speak like that to her again.”
“Or what?” I bend forward to grab a bucket off the bottom shelf and watch as his feet shuffle back to get further away from me.
“It’s not kind to speak to your elders with that type of tone.”
“That was my normal tone.” I drop the duster into the bucket and straighten myself. “Are you suggesting that I don’t speak to her at all?”
“No. Just be nice.” He takes another step back, leaving the closet, and points to his mouth. “And maybe smile.”
I keep my face straight because I hate it when people tell me what to do, especially when a man tells me to smile. “Just you wait. Greta is going to love me.”
“Sister Greta,” he corrects me with a stern voice.
I pause mid movement, the tone in his voice catching my attention. “I can’t call her by her first name only?”
“It is considered rude,” he informs me.
“So I wouldn’t be able to call you Alexander?” I question as I grab a container of Clorox wipes and place it in the bucket. “Or just Alex?”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, as if he is irritated. “No.”
“Shame.” I fake a sigh. “Saying Father Alexander all the time is a mouthful. It would be nice to shorten it. What about Father Alex?”
“You’ll call me Father Alexander, Celine.” His voice is rough and dripping with authority. The amber of his eyes darkens for a brief second before changing back to normal with one blink. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting I need to get to.”
He turns and walks away without another word. My teeth clench together, and I breathe heavily out of my nose before I head back into the library.
Sister Greta is still sitting at her desk, writing things down while reading that giant book. She doesn’t acknowledge me, so I don’t bother her. I go into the first room Father Alexander brought me to, set the bucket down, grab the duster, and begin sweeping the cobwebs.
After an hour of clearing out webs in both the main library and Sister Gretas’ office, which took longer than expected due to the numerous amount, I go back into the closet to grab paper towels to clean off the duster.
When I come out, I toss the dirty towel into the trash can and stare at the window behind Sister Greta. It’s stuffy in here and too damn quiet. She hasn’t spoken one word to me in the past hour. Not like I expected her to.
“Can I open the window?” I break the silence.
“No.”
“It’s hot in here, and I can’t breathe.”
She inhales deeply to make a point. “I can breathe just fine.”
I roll my jaw, watching the pen fly across the paper as she writes.
With annoyance, she sets the pen down and pushes the chair back.
When she stands, I’m taken aback by how small she is.
Someone with such bite and grumpiness to their personality, I wasn’t expecting a four-foot-eleven woman.
She looks up at me, peering into my soul through her glasses, before glancing up at the ceiling.
A sound of approval leaves her, and her following words fill me with pride. “It looks better.”
“It does.” I agree.
Her eyes drop from where the cobwebs used to be to the shelves. “Those, however, are disgusting.”
“I haven’t gotten to them yet.”
“Clearly,” she comes out from behind the desk, grabbing a cane to help her walk. “Will you always be working at a snail’s pace?”
“These rooms are filthy,” I remind her, trying to hold back a snarky tone. “It’s going to take a while to get them to their original state, but after that, I’ll move faster.”
“Good.” She hobbles towards the hall. “When you are finished cleaning, you can help me place books back on the shelves I can not reach.” She stops in front of the stone shelf, running her finger along the smooth surface.
She lifts her finger, staring at the dust covering the tip of it. “Another day.”
She waddles away and goes to do whatever she needs to do in the other part of the library while I begin to tackle the dust.