Not many people knew that Walter Fikus had a daughter.
But it was true, he did. He didn’t know what to do with her, however. This was no surprise as Fiona Appletree often wasn’t sure what to do with herself either. She sat in the Finkelstein library, day after day, reading.
There were thousands of books in this library, maybe tens of thousands, she thought. She had lived with her father at the estate for all of her sixteen years and she still had yet to see every book that was in the library.
She had yet to learn everything the words had to teach her.
She started when the door behind her opened. A shadow slipped along the hardwood floor in between the doorway. She raised a hand to her eyes and tried to see who it was. When the door closed and the shadow disappeared, Fiona saw that it was Hoolio, the gardener.
Fiona liked him. He was a nice man, a jovial soul that was always full of laughter and good spirits. But today, his spirits looked low. Fiona held out her hand to him in welcome. He nodded at her.
“Fiona.” He said.
She pointed to the seat beside her, invited him to come and sit down. “You don’t mind if I sit?” He asked. “That would be okay with you?” He shuffled in the doorway. “I…I know this is your space. But I needed a moment of quiet.”
She nodded, and patted the top of the wingback chair. It was one of her favourites, upholstered in thick brocade with gold dragon embroidery. Hoolio wiped his feet on the rug at the door. Fiona liked that he respected her space.
When he was sitting in front of her, she realized that he had been crying. Reaching out, she snagged a tear on one finger. She led it up to him and arched a copper red brow in query. Though no words passed between them, her question was clear: Why are you crying?
“It’s Walter.” Hoolio said. He put a hand over his mouth and Fiona knew that he hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. He sighed. “He doesn’t want to see me anymore.”
Fiona shivered. She had no love for her father or his ways. He slept with men and women, used them, took from them, lied for them. She wondered if he even killed for them. He had his fixations, the people he lusted after, but the darkness always chased him.
She hadn’t known that Hoolio had fallen under her fathers spell. Reaching out a hand, she patted Hoolio’s, took his hands in her own. She stood and went to a bookshelf. She pursued for a moment, ran her fingers along the spines of the books. To her, it felt as if she were playing the piano. The spines of the books were her keys and she was just waiting for the right note.
When she felt the lick of an electric shock run into her finger and up to her hand, she stopped her movement. Her hand landed on a slim, yellow coloured volume. Unlike all the other books in the library, this one was not bound in leather.
It was not a first edition, it was not a folio. It did not have fancy end papers or a signed front piece or colour plates. It did not come in a tray case, it did not have rippled edges. It was a simple, paperback book.
Fiona walked to Hoolio (who thought Fiona glided, rather than walked) and sat back down. She handed him the book. He took it with an air of reverence. Fiona knew that everyone thought of her as the crazy book woman.
But to her, this was her calling. To atone for her sins, she had secluded herself into the only room where she had known happiness. She had stopped speaking when she was nineteen. That was seven years ago.
Hoolio took the book and stared at it. “Winnie the Pooh by A. A. Milne.” He said.
Fiona tapped the bottom of the book.
“Illustrations by E. H. Shepard.”
He flipped through the book, letting the pages whisper to him. Fiona never grew tired of that sound. Sometimes, she would pick a book she knew and loved so well it was her own. She would take it off the shelf and let the pages glide over her fingers. That sound would carry the story she knew so well.
“Why do you want me to read this?” Hoolio asked.
He knew, Fiona thought. He knew that she only gave out books when she wanted to say to them. Something that they had to say to themselves. She wondered if Hoolio would be smart enough that, though she remained silent, she was using the books to speak for her? The books, and the words inside of them, were her voice.
In answer, Fiona remained silent. Instead, she placed her arms around herself and gave herself a squeeze. Then she stood and walked toward Hoolio. Bending, she placed her arms around him. She held him there for a moment while he cried.
When his tears were dry, she stood and patted his head. Tapped the cover of the book. Fiona hugged herself again, let herself smile when she remembered reading Winnie the Pooh for the first time, remembered the joy.
Then she tapped the book cover again.
Fiona hoped that Hoolio would accept the comfort the book would give.
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