Page 89 of The Missing Pages
Rosenbach’s store on Walnut Street was a warm and cozy one, not unlike Quaritch’s, where she had spent so many hours happily working behind the scenes. Dr. Rosenbach gave her a small room in the back, a few steps away from his own elegantly appointed office, and soon became quite pleased to have a female in close proximity to make him some tea or bring him his morning paper.
“You spoil me, Miss Lippoldt.” He smiled as he accepted a cup of tea from her. The fragrance of Darjeeling leaves mingling with the scent of old books was the perfume that made Ada happiest.
“It’s really no trouble,” she said. “I had wanted to talk to you about a copy of Christina Rossetti’sGoblin Marketthat has come up for sale. We have at least one client who I think might want it for their library.”
Rosenbach merely nodded. Rossetti was not a poetess who warranted lifting his eyes up from his paper.
“And I have other excellent news to share,” she added, looking pleased. “Miss de Costa Greene was kind enough to write a letter of introduction for me to Mrs. Isabella Stewart Gardner.”
The name rang like a bell in Rosenbach’s ear. “The art collector in Boston?”
“The very same.” Ada was elated to have finally caught Rosenbach’s attention. “Mrs. Gardner is hoping to add to her rare illuminated manuscript collection.”
“Now that’s music to my ears,” Rosenbach said as he put down his newspaper. “I believe a portion of the family’s early wealth came from importing pepper from Sumatra,” he noted, as though he was recalling an exotic tale. “Well, I’ll be quite impressed if you add her to our client list. Quaritch will be as well!”
Ada beamed. Her goal was not only to prove herself useful to Rosenbach, but to become invaluable to him so she could stay in Philadelphia for as long as necessary.
“And one more thing,” she continued. “I also wondered if you wanted me to start organizing all those papers in the back. I noticed several piles that might benefit from a proper tidying.”
“Why, you’re a veritable angel, Miss Lippoldt. Thank you! It has been rather difficult for me to keep up with all of that, and my brother is not much better.”
“It’s no problem at all. I enjoy organizing and creating a system that works for everyone.” Ada had only briefly met Rosenbach’s older brother, Philip, who handled the arts and antique side of the business, not the rare books.
“I don’t know how Quaritch ever agreed to lend you to me,” he said, taking another sip of tea. “Why, I hardly even miss coffee anymore.”
Ada laughed. “His sister, Charlotte, told me when I started working at the store that the only way to guarantee you won’t be replaced is to make sure you’re irreplaceable.”
For the next several weeks, Ada put her energy into seeking out financially independent women who were interested in building their libraries. As June approached, her stomach no longer gripped with nausea, but her waistline had begun to thicken ever so slightly. In the evening, after she had taken off her dress and chemise, her hands patted her stomach. It was as if she had ingested a small loaf of bread.
She kept her ears tuned for any mention of Eleanor Widener.
“Have you heard any news from Mrs. Widener?” she cautiously asked Rosenbach one afternoon in early June. “I saw we received a telegram from Mr. Quaritch indicating he had secured one of the Cruickshank volumes that was on Mr. Widener’s wish list.”
“I don’t want to approach her about that until after her daughter’s wedding next week. Her grief is still immense.” He shook his head. “Mrs. Widener had been planning a huge set of festivities for months prior to the tragedy. But now it will only be the immediate family attending a small ceremony at Lynnewood Hall.”
“I understand,” Ada said. She had not returned to Lynnewood Hall after seeing it from afar in the taxicab when she’d first visited Rosenbach. Every night when she got to her room and finally had time to lie down, she would imagine herself in a room there with Mrs. Widener, informing her she was carrying her grandchild. In some versions, she envisioned Mrs. Widener embracing her. In others, she pictured herself being cast out as a liar. It was a story that had an undetermined ending.
“I still miss Harry very much,” Rosenbach said in a rare moment of intimacy between them. “He was more than a client to me. It’s hard to believe he isn’t going to walk through that door and sit down.”
Ada nodded, forcing back tears. How she wished she could tell Rosenbach the truth of her own feelings about Harry. That she still missed him very much, too. That he was more than a client to her as well. That she truly loved him.
“I will treasure my brief time in London with him and those first few days on theTitanic,” she managed to answer instead.“I’ll always remember all our conversations about books,” she said, her voice breaking.
“Oh, don’t cry now.” Rosenbach leapt up from his desk chair and handed her his handkerchief. “Harry wouldn’t want either of us to grieve on his behalf. He’d be so happy to know you were working here and assisting me. It would bring him great joy, I imagine.”
She blotted her face with the linen square and smiled. “Forgive me,” she said.
“Come, sit down,” he said kindly as he pulled up a chair. “You know Harry used to sit in this exact one.” He tapped the armrest. “I remember just before he left for England, he bought the strangest thing from me, a children’s book about fairies.” He laughed, recalling the memory. “He told me it wasn’t for him, but for a friend.”
Ada knew exactly the book he was referring to. With the unique gilt letters and the sprite embossed on the cover. She had been so happy when Harry gifted it to her as a surprise. She had left it on her bookshelf in her room back in London and wrote to Quaritch’s sister to see if her belongings could be temporarily packed up and kept at the store while she was in America.
She could only pray that it was still there waiting for her. Tucked in a box along with Harry’s letters and the book of Rossetti poems he’d helped her secure. Everything that mattered to her seemed packed away now. Even the life growing inside her, she had begun to camouflage with longer blouses and wide sashes around her waist. As she worked on Rosenbach’s files at night, putting each paper away in its place, she yearned for the pieces of her life to be sorted with the same precision and ease.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
That Friday morning, Theo was waiting at the Wilmington train station for Violet, his car parked in front.
“How was your Thanksgiving?” he asked after she sat down in the passenger seat beside him.
