"Right," Samuel said, because something was becoming clear to him that had not been clear before. "Yes, of course, the library."
She nodded satisfied and kept walking. Samuel looked back at the empty yard where the wagon had left, then forward at Eleanor Bennett's back, and he felt something he hadn't felt in a very long time. He felt like things were about to become interesting.
Nathaniel met her in the hallway by accident. He'd come in from the Southfields earlier than expected, a fence line issue that had resolved faster than anticipated, and he was still in his work clothes, dusty from the morning, not remotely prepared for company. Eleanor Bennett was coming from the direction of the library with his grandmother, their voices low and engaged in a conversation. And he caught the tail end of "at least 400 volumes from what I can see."
Eleanor was saying, "The condition is better than I expected, though some of the older texts near the east window will need special care. Do you know how long they've been stored without proper ventilation?"
"My husband's collection," Margaret said warmly, "40 years at least. Some of his father's books as well. We've always known we should do something more organized with them."
"There's a Jefferson agricultural almanac from 1795 in there," Eleanor said. And there was something in her voice. Not excitement exactly, but a kind of quiet seriousness that was close to reverence. "I wasn't expecting that. It's genuinely remarkable."
"Is it worth something?" Margaret asked.
"Historically, yes. To someone who understands what it means, very much so."
They rounded the corner and saw Nathaniel. He watched the moment happen the way you watch something you can't prevent. Margaret's face shifted into an expression of theatrical innocence that he had learned to distrust deeply over 34 years. And the woman beside her, Eleanor Bennett, looked at him the way she had apparently looked at the house directly without any particular performance.
"Nathaniel," Margaret said, "You're home early. I'd like you to meet Miss Eleanor Bennett. She's come to organize the library. Miss Bennett, this is my grandson, Nathaniel Whitmore."
Eleanor looked at him for a moment. He waited for it. The slight adjustment in posture, the brightening of the eyes that had nothing to do with genuine feeling. The particular reorientation that happened when a woman understood she was in the presence of Nathaniel Whitmore specifically, and not just some dusty man who'd come in from the fields.
Eleanor Bennett said, "How do you do?" in the same tone she had used to discuss the Jefferson Almanac. Then she looked back at his grandmother. "I'll need proper cloth for the bindings that are beginning to crack. And if it's possible to get natural light into the room for a few hours each day, it would help considerably with the identification process."
Margaret nodded. "Whatever you need, dear. Nathaniel, would you make sure Henry opens the south shutters in the library each morning?"
"Yes," Nathaniel said. He was still looking at Eleanor Bennett. She was not looking at him. She had already moved on to the next item of business.
At supper that evening, Samuel waited until the biscuits were passed, and the silence had settled into a comfortable shape before he said anything. "She's different," he said.
Nathaniel cut his meat without looking up. "Who?"
"Miss Bennett, the woman grandmother brought in for the library. She's a librarian."
"She's a cataloger, I think, technically. She corrected me on that earlier." Samuel poured himself more water. "But that's not what I meant."
"What did you mean?"
Samuel considered how to say it. "She looked at you like you were someone who'd tracked mud in from the fields."
Nathaniel was quiet for a moment. Then, "I had tracked mud in from the fields."
"You know what I mean."
Nathaniel set down his fork. He picked it up again. He said nothing. Across the table, Margaret was eating her supper with a very particular quality of serenity that Samuel recognized as the look his grandmother wore when she had already won an argument that no one else realized had started yet.
"She's here for the library," Nathaniel said finally. "That's all."
"Of course," Margaret said sweetly, completely.
Samuel looked at his grandmother. Margaret looked at her supper. He thought about saying more. He let it go.
The second day, Eleanor arrived before any of them were fully awake. The cook, Mrs. Patton, found her in the library at 6:00 in the morning, already at work, a candle burning beside her on the table and a notebook open in her hand.
"Lord above, child," Mrs. Patton said, stopping in the doorway. "The house isn't even properly opened yet."
"I knocked," Eleanor said without stopping what she was doing. "The back door was unlocked. I didn't want to wake anyone."
"You could have waited on the porch."
"I've got a great deal of work to do." She looked up then, and there was something direct and unapologetic in her expression that Mrs. Patton wasn't sure she'd seen in a young woman in some time. "I'll be out of everyone's way in here. You won't even know I'm about."