Upstairs, Mr. Sutcliff rose from his chair for a second time that morning. William stood in the doorway as shakily as his son had earlier, along with his mother and what must be his wife. The old man smiled.
"William."
Twenty years were suspended between them.
"Mr. Sutcliff, sir."
"You have come back."
"Yes, sir. I have."
"Your appearance freezes my blood." He lifted his pipe weakly. "Then again, I must look frightful to you too."
William shifted his feet. He cast a glance around his old room. Shari used to sit on the window seat. "You're looking well, Mr. Sutcliff."
The old man grunted. "I met Yeats. A fine boy. Strapping young lad."
William squared his shoulders. "We're very proud of him. It hasn't been easy. But I've made a life. And Yeats has done well. He's overprotective, at times, trying to make up for my episodes."
"I can't imagine." Mr. Sutcliff shook his head.
"I can't bring her back, sir."
"Can't?" Mr. Sutcliff gave a sidelong glance. "Or won't?"
"No." William shook his head. "I tried for years. I can't remember enough. I lost six months of memory, a year in the hospital after that. Everyone thought I was crazy. I thought I was crazy. I've been on antidepressants ever since."
Faith watched both men closely.
Mr. Sutcliff squeezed his eyes shut. "That is all, is it?" He clasped his pipe to his chest and murmured:
"'Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn …'"
William finished the stanza. "'… Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.' William Wordsworth, 'Surprised by Joy.'"
Mr. Sutcliff shut his eyes.
Gran swept past her son and daughter-in-law and helped the old man into his chair. "Don't give up hope, dear Mr. Sutcliff. You and I are poets. We allow ourselves a little melancholy. But these children love stories. Shari loved stories. So did William. Solid, wise literature, full of adventure and the greatest of all ingredients … hope. I have not met a child's story yet that did not offer it somewhere. Surely in this house there are doors that can be opened again to bring Shari home."
"I've spent days in the library!" Mr. Sutcliff moaned. "Nothing so much as a whisper. Only the silly bookend can't keep still. And he won't talk."
Faith shook her head.
"Bookend?" William repeated. He tapped his forehead. "That's important."
Mr. Sutcliff nodded silently. He closed his eyes.
"Poor man," Faith murmured.
"We'll need to revisit the library," said Gran. "Perhaps something will trigger your memory."
"Oh, it's in the library, all right," said William. "I just don't remember what it was." He avoided his wife's eyes. "Something my great-grandfather put there. Something very powerful."
"I've ransacked that room," Gran said. "But I'll look again. And you should too, William. We need a clue."
William's voice was strained. "The bookends. Mum, when you mentioned them something stirred in my memory."
"What are you suggesting?" Faith asked. She kept glancing from Mr. Sutcliff to her husband.
"Nothing, yet."
"Of course it's the bookends," Mr. Sutcliff muttered. "Their magic is manifest in the library somehow. And don't discount the wishing well, broken as it is! Philip Trafford would have known. But he took all his secrets with him!"
"The well does not work," William muttered. "I wished a thousand times and the wishes just swirled around but never came out."
"Oh, dear," Faith whispered.
About to turn, William suddenly stopped. "Have you read Collfield's unexpurgated version of the Arabian Nights, sir?"
Mr. Sutcliff nodded somberly. "Dangerous book. I cannot think of a more volatile, intelligent, exotic setting than that."
"Why do you keep on about this book, and the library, and a bunch of bookends?" Faith looked at each of them. "I have been told that William and Shari were on an adventure one day when they were attacked. Attacked by men! Real people, somewhere on this property. You are scaring me. Thank God Yeats isn't here."
Walking stiffly to his bed, Mr. Sutcliff picked up the book. He held it out to Faith. "This is only a copy of the one in the library." He ruffled its pages. "Hot sun and sand by day. Sweat and filth consume the streets. Steal an orange, lose a hand. The wealth and wisdom and science of the upper class are uncontested in the world." He took a step closer. "She would have to use her cunning, all her strength, to stay alive in a place like that. And who brought her there, hmmm? Who? Unconscionable villains!" A tear rolled down his cheek. He stumbled.
"Help him, William," Faith directed.
"All her abilities," said the old man as they laid him down. William gasped when Mr. Sutcliff suddenly gripped his hand. "Will it be enough?"
