The Librarian Spy

by Madeline Martin

There was nothing Ava Harper loved more than the smell of old books. The musty scent of aging paper and stale ink took one on a journey through candlelit rooms of manors set amid verdant hills or ancient castles with turrets that stretched up to the vast, unknown heavens.

There were many ways in which one could read. Either tucked into the corner of the sofa with a strong cup of coffee or lying in bed with the book hovering above one’s face—though admittedly this is not done without peril.

“Mar Lago,” Ava replied. “The wide sea.”

“I’m a librarian,” Ava answered proudly. “I love to learn.”

To everyone, she was perfect for this job. Everyone, that is, except her.

When her mother was alive, they often read the same books together.

The copy of Little Women by Ava’s bed did not mean her mother would come home, of course, but it was forever a reminder of her mother and their shared love of books that seemed to—even now—bring them together.

polyglot,

The Daily Mail occupied one section, its date two weeks behind on April 8, 1943, with a headline proclaiming, “Allies Close in as Rommel Runs.”

As she took her place beside Denise, her code crafting education with the Resistance officially began.

The world wanted Hitler to fail, and Elaine was proud to finally be doing her part.

The recipes Elaine had been forced to learn were dismal, ones centered around Jerusalem artichokes and rutabagas or trying to stretch a tin of sardines or a single egg as far as possible.

It was a reminder of the pervasive hunger that gnawed at their unfulfilled bellies and fogged their minds with weariness.

Getting Sarah and Noah to Lisbon had not been easy. The difficulty of their trek had been written all over James’s face. But now that they were here, now that she had witnessed with her own eyes the level of their awe at such basic things no human should have to endure life without, she was grateful beyond measure for their safety.

Hitler put a cyanide capsule in his mouth and a gun to his temple not long after. Many saw his suicide as a coward’s way out. For Ava, there was some justice in knowing that Hitler had died with the same scrabbling fear as so many of his victims.

After all, there was nothing Ava loved more than the scent of old books—except, of course, the power of the written word.