The Blue Door - By Christa Kinde Page 0,5
notice.” A throat cleared, and the older man finally straightened from his task. Icy gray eyes peered over wire-rimmed glasses, and he quietly asked, “Has something happened?”
“Yes, sir. Apparently, there’s this girl …”
Milo ushered Prissie and Beau through the front door of The Curiosity Shop, setting off a cheerful twinkle of notes from the tiny wind chime suspended just inside the door. He walked briskly down the center aisle, poking his head around the corners into the alcoves along one side of the shop, making sure there were no other customers. “Harken!” he sang out. “I’ve brought guests!”
The Curiosity Shop was mainly a secondhand bookstore, though Harken Mercer had accumulated an odd assortment of paraphernalia over the years — outdated maps, sea shells, star charts, historical time lines, geographical samples, and sheet music cluttered flat surfaces or were tacked up wherever the walls weren’t lined with bookshelves.
Naomi had brought the Pomeroy children to this shop almost as often as the local library, and all of Prissie’s memories of it were good ones. Whenever she poked around through the shelves, she always discovered something she hadn’t known she was looking for. That’s probably why Momma liked to call Harken’s store “The Miracle Shop.”
“Prissie Pomeroy,” greeted the proprietor, his deep voice rolling from the direction of the back room. He strolled through the door, a stack of books in his arms. Harken was a tall man with skin as black as his smile was white. “And Beau as well? Excellent!”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Mercer,” the siblings chorused. Momma insisted on manners, and all her children could use them in a pinch — even the boys.
Once again, Koji was ignored, but Prissie doubted it was because Harken couldn’t see him. The old man’s kind brown eyes briefly strayed to their invisible companion, and they held a smile of welcome.
Prissie didn’t really know much about the shop owner other than that her father looked up to him a great deal. According to Dad, The Curiosity Shop had been on Main Street ever since he was a kid, and Harken was well-known and well-liked by the other West Edinton business owners.
“Has Milo told you why you’ve been recruited?” Harken inquired.
“Work,” Beau promptly answered, though his attention was wandering. He’d inherited Momma’s nose-in-a-book tendencies and was scanning the nearest shelves.
“Right you are, my boy,” the shop owner chuckled. “I’ve already divided the shipment in half. These boxes will need to go into the storage shed behind the building,” he explained, pointing to a good-sized stack in front of the register. Choosing a set of keys from a hook, he tossed them to Milo. “If you would be so good as to unlock the shed.”
“Happy to,” the mailman replied with a wink, and he ducked through the door into the back room.
“The rest of these,” Harken continued, gesturing to a smaller pile, “will need to be unpacked and shelved.”
“What kinds of books are in here?” Beau asked as he tilted his head to read the box’s label. “Any stories? You don’t have many.”
It was true. Probably the strangest thing about The Curiosity Shop was that Harken didn’t stock much fiction. Prissie had noticed it as well, but she’d never asked because it seemed a little rude. Though she narrowed her eyes accusingly at her brother, she was just as eager to hear the old man’s answer.
“This shop’s contents reveal the avenues taken by my own curiosity. These books are a reflection of my personal interests.” Harken gazed around the store, then spread his arms wide. “You can learn a lot about a person from what they choose to read.”
Prissie’s eyes darted to the nearest shelf, which held an entire row of books on the Middle East — archaeological histories, travel guides, volumes of photography, and even a few cookbooks. Since Harken seemed to be inviting it, she joined Beau in wandering around, taking note of the different kinds of books in his collection: old sets of encyclopedias, stacks of travel magazines, academic journals, nature photography, space exploration, and oddly enough, books of crossword puzzles.
“So you’re mostly into information?” Beau asked. “Do you have a computer? Because you can find even more on the Internet.”
The old man nodded. “I use the computers at the library when the need arises, but I’ve found that I prefer books. It may take me longer to find what I need, but I learn unexpected things along the way. Many times, the journey is just as important as reaching the goal.”
“These are stories,” Beau