The Bookshop of Dust and Dreams - Hardcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Mindy Thompson writes fantastical stories for middle grade readers. Mindy holds a B.A. in creative writing and spent ten years working in public and middle school libraries. She began writing upper middle grade with her past students in mind and hopes to give them a place to find themselves in the books they read. Mindy lives with her sister-turned-roommate in Southern Idaho and spends too much time watching historical beauty tutorials online. She believes everyone has magic inside of themselves, they only need have the courage to seek it.
 

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter One

November 3, 1944

Sutton, New York

The bookshop is feeling blue today. I sense it the moment my brother James and I arrive home from school. The lights are low, the ever-­shifting wallpaper is a cheerless dark gray, with somber books on display—­Wuthering Heights, Old Yeller, A Little Princess. The gloom sinks into my bones.

“Papa?” I call. He should be at the emerald-­green front counter, but he isn’t.

“We’re home!” James shouts.

The soft sound of customers chatting trickles toward us through the fiction section, but Papa’s booming voice, often too loud for the small, cramped space, is absent.

“What’s gotten the shop into a mood this time?” James asks, as the heavy atmosphere settles in around us.

Rhyme and Reason does tend to be moody, but it’s all part of the bookshop’s charm.

I pull the strap of my schoolbag over my head and hang it on the coat rack.

“There, there. Everything is going to be all right,” I tell the shop as I gently press my palm to the wall. The floral paper shifts from gray to a soft cream beneath my touch as it’s soothed.

A quote written on the chalkboard behind the front counter disappears, and new words emerge as the shop attempts to communicate its feelings.

“The little bird, always energetic and bright, felt like no one saw her for her beauty or her strength. They only saw her flaws.” —­The Tale of Little Bluebird, Ramona Woolridge

“I remember that picture book, Mama used to read it to us at bedtime.” James nods toward the board, as he hangs his schoolbag beside mine.

I remember it too and understanding rushes over me. That picture book tells the story of a boastful little bird who gets knocked down a peg by her friends and must prove her self-­worth in the end. Whenever a customer makes a suggestion to improve the shop, it deals a similar blow to Rhyme and Reason’s self-­confidence.

“Will you tell Mama and Papa I’m going to Arthur’s house? We’re all meeting there to listen to The Adventures of Superman.” James tilts his head, and his fine brown hair falls over his eyes. Nine to my thirteen, he and I could not be more opposite. He loves going to school, where he’s friends with everyone in his grade, and he spends most of his free time outside with them, as if he doesn’t want to be tied down by the shop.

I glance at my watch. The radio program starts in five minutes. “You better hurry, or you’ll miss the beginning.”

“I’ll be home for dinner!” he calls as he rushes out the back door.

I turn my attention to the shop, a shiver running through me. The usual warmth has disappeared. The hanging bulbs are off, and pale light pours in through the front windows, illuminating the tall bookcases in a soft glow. Even the wisteria and climbing hydrangea, which drip from every shelf and surface, seem to droop.

“Someone has hurt your feelings, again,” I say as I unbutton my wool coat. The shop had a similar episode just last week. A customer didn’t like the orange wallpaper Rhyme and Reason had decided on that day, and suggested we pick something more tasteful. Rhyme and Reason went into a spiral for hours before Papa could calm it down.

I check on the potted lemon tree by the front door, to see how it’s fairing in these conditions. The focal point of the shop, its tall branches almost touch the ceiling. The leaves are a deep rich green that match the color of the front door and the growing fruit are a luminous, crisp yellow.

As I reach for the water pitcher that sits in the window, one of the branches brushes my shoulder in hello.

“Hello to you too,” I say.

Mama often reminds us that lemon trees are a symbol of healing and travel, both of which Rhyme and Reason specializes in.

The flip calendar that hangs just to the right of the entryway begins to shuffle through months, dates, and years. A customer is approaching!

Our shop isn’t a normal bookshop. Rhyme and Reason finds people from out of time and brings them to our door. It searches a hundred years into the future and the past to find customers who need the light and hope it can offer through books and community. Papa says bookshops are good for broken souls and wounded hearts.

The calendar stops shifting. November 18, 1989. A customer visiting from the future. The bell above the door rings out as it pops open.

Mr. Makuto, one of our regulars with a bright smile and loud laughter, steps inside. “Hey there, Poppy, how ya been?”

“Just fine, Mr. Makuto,” I greet him, feeling like I need to shield my eyes from the bright green jacket he’s wearing. “How are you?”

“Great. I finished the first book in the murder mystery series you recommended. I’m back for book two! Do you happen to have it?”

“Let’s find out.” I lead him into the fiction section. He was here a few days ago, and I remember exactly where to find the book he wants. I pull it off the shelf and hand it to him.

“That’s the one.” He smiles.

I start to respond, when I hear a shuffling sound behind me. The books on the endcap display shift, and one entitled Tales of Woe is brought front and center.

“Oh goodness.” I suppose finding Papa cannot wait. The bookshop is growing more forlorn by the second. “There are four books in that particular series, but the author wrote a spin-­off that has eight. They’re all here, I’ll give you some time to browse.”

Mr. Makuto nods, and I move around him. After a quick scan of the area, I see that Papa is not in the fiction stacks. I cut through the fantasy aisle and emerge in front of the lilac hedge. It runs along the right side of the shop, all the way from the front to the back, concealing the children’s section from the main floor. The lush green vines and bursting purple blooms morph into a doorway as I approach. I slip through and the gap seals behind me.

The children’s area, made up of short white shelves, is lacking its usual color and life today. The mural on the wall, a vast painting of an enchanted forest full of glittering colors and ever-­changing characters, shows a bleak, stormy landscape. The kites and airplanes, which usually circle the ceiling, lie lifeless on the floor.

I move around the corner, and see Bibine Zabala and her twin grandchildren, Kosma and Prosper. Bibine stands on the raised Storytime platform, acting out a fairy tale, the way she always does.

“—­let me tell you, dear reader, of the terror that struck their hearts at the sight of the seven-­headed serpent.” Bibine holds a well-­worn copy of Basque Mythology. She wears a costume from the dress-­up box we keep beneath the mural. A paper crown adorns her head, and a red velvet cape cascades from her shoulders. Her grandchildren wear crowns too, and Prosper clutches a wooden sword. “The great serpent came out to eat only once every three months, and it was a terror to behold.”

Kosma and Prosper sit, captivated by their grandmother, their cheeks red with excitement. They’re nearly identical, with glossy dark curls and big brown eyes. The Zabalas visit us from 1937. Kosma and Prosper are refugees from the Basque Country. They were sent to live with their grandmother and grandfather in the United States after their parents were killed. Bibine spends hours inside the shop with them, telling stories and acting out plays. Shy when they first...