Page 29 of Whispers of Shadowbrook House

Oliver wasn’t avoiding his uncle’s invited guest. If he managed to move through the bedroom wing of Shadowbrook without ever crossing her path, that was his good luck.

As well as some careful maneuvering. But not hiding.

The secondhand instruction to keep his distance from the woman was easy for him to obey.

He made his way to Maxwell’s room and knocked on the door. Pearl answered, her smile warm.

“Hello, Mr. Waverley.” Her eyes sparkled, and Oliver wondered if she was remembering the best parts of their meeting in the mirrored room the day before. He hoped she could ignore the worst.

“Good afternoon. I came to invite you both to join me at the dock. We could spend an hour watching boats and ships.” He wanted to get outside, and he was sure an outing would be good for Maxwell.

Pearl pointed to the boy’s small table where Maxwell sat, his head tilted to the side.

“What is he doing?” Oliver whispered.

“Listening.”

“To what?”

Pearl gave a quiet sigh. “His happy memories.”

“I can’t tell if you’re pleased about that or not.”

Pearl drew Oliver away from Maxwell. “I’m very happy he’s focusing on something pleasant. But the woman who suggested it—have you met her? Your uncle’s friend?”

Oliver shook his head. “The kitchen staff find her odd, and Mrs. Randle suggested I keep my distance.”

Pearl’s one-sided grin landed directly in Oliver’s heart. “Amazing you’ve kept her at bay this long. I don’t know how long you’ll be able to manage that. She took her evening meal alone in her room last night, and I stayed here with Max.”

As if on cue, Maxwell’s door creaked open, and a tiny dog wearing a fluttering gold ribbon around its neck pushed its way into the room.

“What is that?” Oliver knew the answer, of course, but he couldn’t quite make the animal’s existence fit into Shadowbrook House.

“That’s Misty. She came with your uncle’s houseguest.”

The dog’s bark was far too loud for such a small animal, and Maxwell leaped immediately from his chair. Clearly, the boy was smitten. He knelt and held his hands out for a sniff.

Pearl pulled Oliver farther away from Max and the dog.

Could she be looking for reasons to tug on his arm?

To speak to him in a low voice? “The dog’s already figured out her way around the house.

She’s come to visit Max in his room several times.

He doesn’t want to stay in bed for long hours if there’s a chance of playing with Misty. ”

“I would never have dared ask for a pet when I lived here. It wouldn’t have crossed my mind. I can’t believe Uncle Arthur allows it.”

Pearl shook her head. “I don’t think he expected his guest to travel with an animal.”

They watched Maxwell tumble with the little dog for a few minutes.

Pearl crossed her arms over her stomach. “Is it ridiculous that I’m trying not to resent an animal? It seems easy for Misty to get Max playing. I have to convince him, sometimes beg him, just to get out of bed.”

A crack of thunder shook the windows in the room. Misty buried her head under Maxwell’s arm and whimpered. Max whispered comforting words into her coat.

“Maybe now isn’t a great time for a trip to the dock.” He walked over to Maxwell and placed a hand on his head. “Have you shown your little friend the library yet?”

Maxwell looked up at Oliver. “No. Do you think she’ll like it?”

Oliver grinned. “I like it. You like it. I think even Pearl likes it. Chances are good the dog will like it too.”

Maxwell scrambled to his feet and lifted the dog into his arms. “Come on, Pearl. We’re going to show Misty the library.”

Oliver was glad it was so easy to get the boy to agree to leave his bedroom. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the sickly smell of the place, and he was grateful the air in his own room didn’t carry such a sour, sharp scent.

Following Maxwell and Pearl across the landing to the east wing, Oliver listened to Max chatter at the little dog, telling her about the treasures they’d find in the library.

When they reached the library’s door, Oliver pulled it open for Max and Pearl. Inside, he knelt at the hearth and started a fire, listening to Maxwell as the boy introduced the little dog to some of his favorite titles.

Once the flames were licking at the logs, Oliver turned and sat on the floor, his back to the fire, and watched Pearl and Maxwell as they wandered along a wall with floor-to-ceiling shelves stuffed with books.

He watched the way Pearl’s hand trailed along the shelves, fluttering across spines.

He could practically feel her fingers tracing his shoulder with the same feathery touch.

After a few minutes, Oliver heard Maxwell call his name. “Was this library here when you were a boy?”

“Probably for several hundred years before I was born.”

“Did you have a favorite story?”

Oliver got to his feet. “I kept my favorites on a low shelf out of the way—just here—but I’d be surprised if they were still here.

They weren’t great or valuable or even pretty to look at.

” He pointed to a section of the shelves where he’d stored ragged copies of the adventure books he shared with his friends, each boy taking the stories home in turn.

His collection of illustrated books, none written specifically for children, had been his most treasured, providing pictures that he tried to replicate in his notebook.

Of course, none of the books belonged to him.

But his uncle hadn’t seemed to mind Oliver’s takeover of a few books.

The old man may have never even noticed.

He knelt in front of what he’d always thought of as his shelf and was surprised to find the same selection, relatively untouched.

The exciting stories, pages ruffled from water damage and childish treatment, stood like sentinels of his boyhood memories.

He pulled one of the illustrated books from the shelf and held it out to Maxwell.

“These helped me learn to draw.”

Max flipped through the pages, giving several of the illustrations a long look as the dog ran circles around his feet. Over his shoulder he asked Pearl, “Do you remember my picture books?” He turned to Oliver. “We used to read them a very long time ago.”

Oliver caught Pearl’s knowing smile. “A very long time ago” meant something different to an eight-year-old than it did to an adult.

“I do remember. Would you like me to find one for you?” Her voice made the question sound like the effort would be a pleasure.

Maxwell’s smile widened and his eyes sparkled. “Oh, yes, please.”

Pearl seemed to know exactly the books Max meant.

She pulled two from a shelf and handed them to the boy, who took a seat in the middle of a velvet couch, tucking the dog into his lap.

He patted the cushion beside him, and Oliver obediently sat.

Pearl came to Maxwell’s other side and watched Maxwell show Oliver the playfully colored pictures as the small boy expertly guided the dog’s nose away from the pages.

Pearl’s arm rested on Maxwell’s shoulders as he eagerly explained the story.

Oliver leaned in to look closely at the pictures, casually resting his own arm across the back of the couch.

When their sleeves made contact, Pearl glanced up at Oliver.

Instead of moving away, he drew his arm an inch closer.

The smile she gave him was not as playful as her expression occasionally was; she looked at him with serious eyes. He held her gaze many long moments as he answered Maxwell’s unending questions.

When Max closed one book and reached for another, Oliver shifted.

He ought to pay better attention to what Maxwell was showing him.

But he kept his arm close enough to Pearl’s that he could rest a finger on the fold of her shirtsleeve’s fabric.

Could he feel her heart beating there near the crook of her elbow?

Or was that his own blood pulsing into his fingers?

“I always get a new book by Mr. Caldecott for Christmas, even though I’m too old for them now.” Maxwell turned the first few pages of a well-read book, its papers soft at the edges, to find a favorite illustration. Oliver smiled at the thought anyone would ever fully outgrow a beloved book.

They spent more than an hour there, Maxwell eager to share the books he’d loved.

Oliver thought he could be perfectly happy to join Pearl and Maxwell in the library every day and stay for hours.

At least as long as the house stood and they remained in it.

What, he wondered, would he do with the books upon the sale of Shadowbrook?

Surely the Campbell Company would have no use for them.

His thought was interrupted by Maxwell’s laugh as Misty turned around and lifted herself onto her back legs, her front paws on Maxwell’s shoulders.

The boy wrapped his arms around the furry, white body and laughed harder, both leaning into the dog’s obvious affection and tilting his head away from some of the more intense friendliness.

“Her tongue tickles,” he said with a giggle.

His laugh turned to a cough, and Pearl leaped up from the couch. She picked up the dog and set her on the floor, then reached for Maxwell’s hands. Instead of taking Pearl’s hand, the boy wrapped both his arms around his chest and curled into himself.

Oliver stood, his own breath hitching, wondering if this would turn into a dangerous fit.

With one hand rubbing slow circles on Maxwell’s back, Pearl spoke softly.

Feeling helpless, Oliver stepped close and put his own hand on Pearl’s back, echoing her gentle circles.

She never stopped speaking words of comfort to Max, but she turned and sent a small, grateful smile in Oliver’s direction.

How was it possible she eased his worry when he set out to offer her comfort?

Maxwell’s cough subsided, and his breath—a thin wheeze—slowed. After only a few minutes, he sat up and lowered his arms to his sides.

“I’m all right now.”

Oliver might have believed Max if he hadn’t needed to breathe in the middle of the short sentence.

Pearl’s responding smile was brief, and it didn’t reach her eyes, but Oliver was impressed she was able to manufacture even the echo of happiness in the frightening moment. There were elements to her strength that fascinated him.

Maxwell must have noticed the falseness of her expression, because he reached for Pearl’s hand and held it in both his own. “I really am fine. See? This was a good adventure. No one got hurt. The library is a good room. It’s so quiet here. No angry whispers. We should come here again. All of us.”

As if in agreement, the dog barked and jumped onto the couch, turning two full circles before settling on the seat next to Maxwell.

Oliver felt Pearl’s laugh in the hand he still held to her back. Maybe this effort wasn’t a disaster. He would keep trying to convince her he was worth the occasional frustration.