Page 35 of The Missing Pages

Violet left the dining room and headed for the library.

Not only did she have to finish an English paper, but she’d promised Madeline she’d transcribe more of the Widener correspondence.

Earlier that afternoon, Madeline had handed Violet a stack of photocopied letters, most of them from Rosenbach to Harry, but also others that had been donated to the collection.

There were a few from Bernard Alfred Quaritch in London, as well as some that Harry had written to Luther Livingston, another friend and book dealer he admired.

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine Harry getting ready for his journey.

His excitement that his grandfather had obtained such a precious book, one that might fall into Harry’s own collection one day.

Violet imagined his palpable energy. His brimming expectations about what new books he might discover across the pond.

But she also realized that nowhere had she been able to find in any of his letters, in her discussions with Madeline, or in the archives, any mention of Harry having any sort of emotional life.

Of his being in love. He was twenty-seven, a prime age for settling down.

His family was rich, he was well educated, and from all accounts, including the obituary written by a fellow Harvard classmate, A.

Edward Newton, he was a gentleman in every regard.

But the thought kept returning to Violet, almost as if the seed had been purposely implanted inside her head: Why hadn’t anyone asked if Harry had ever been in love?

What was it that Stead had written about creating a code to ask a question to the other side?

Violet knew she was doing something that would sound ludicrous to anyone at the college, certainly Jenny and Lara. But what did she have to lose?

She got up from the table and walked in the direction of the Memorial Room.

There was, of course, no one there. She turned her head and surveyed her surroundings.

No students were coming up the stairs, no librarians were walking through the rotunda.

She was completely alone and no one was looking.

Violet gathered all her courage and moved the rope and snuck in.

Once inside, she walked over to Harry’s desk and chair. There was a black-and-white photograph of him in a silver frame, his eyes warm and kind. The flowers she had ordered for this week were still fresh. She inhaled the smell of roses and sat down at his chair.

“Harry,” she whispered. She looked at the photograph intently, hoping it might help. “If you can hear me, can you make some sort of sound?” She was hoping maybe another book would drop or the desk lamp might flicker to send her a signal.

She waited several seconds and thought nothing would come of it. She knew she had only a few minutes before one of the night librarians saw her and told her to get up from the table. Maybe her transgression would be discovered by Madeline. Maybe she’d even lose her job.

“Harry,” she said his name again. “I’m listening.”

It was then she swore she heard a noise. She looked around the room. But there was no one, absolutely no one, there. Still, she was sure she’d heard something.

The sound had emerged from underneath the desk.

“Harry…” She wanted absolute confirmation she wasn’t imagining things. “Just signal one more time. Okay?”

Violet sat completely still, her hands knitted on her lap.

But this time the sound was unmistakable. She heard him knock.

He had signaled her. He had communicated from the other side.

It was too crazy to share with anyone. But in the few minutes she’d sat at the table, Violet had managed to ask him a question:

“Have you ever been in love? One knock for yes, two for no.”

He answered again with a single knock. Hearing it made Violet’s heartbeat accelerate.

But just when she was about to ask Harry another question, the night librarian entered the room.

“Violet?” His voice was stern. “You know no one is allowed to sit at Mr. Widener’s desk!”

She shot up, nearly falling into the desk. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Berns. I just wanted to think about what flowers to order for next week. It was a mistake, and I swear it won’t ever happen again.”

“I certainly hope not,” he glowered. He gave her a look that went right through her.

Violet had been forewarned by the other pages not to sit at any of the furniture in the Memorial Room, not the large table and certainly not Harry’s desk.

The only person who had ever been allowed at Harry’s desk was Eleanor Widener when she was alive.

Madeline had told Violet that her first boss at the library, a woman who was in her late sixties when Madeline began working there over thirty years earlier, once relayed a story of seeing Mrs. Widener visit the library before her death in 1937.

Supposedly she asked for a particular book to be brought down from the collection.

“I believe it was Harry’s cherished first edition of Treasure Island,” Madeline had told her.

“Ms. Widener sat at his desk reading each page very slowly until it was nearly dusk. Then she quietly gathered herself and left.”