The Little Wartime Library Novels & Stories

“I’ll catch up with you later. I want to look around somewhere quieter.” They didn’t question me, just exchanged knowing looks before heading off. “Don't get lost. I'm afraid someone might kidnap you. Be careful." Livia didn't want to leave me alone but I insisted so they let me go. That was how I ended up inside a small, tucked-away library. The warmth hit me immediately, along with the familiar scent of paper and wood. The place was peaceful, almost timeless. I didn't realize when time passed as I kept reading books. It was almost evening. The sun has already set. I rose from my seat and put the books back.

On the one hand, those books had become disheveled, and the quality of the printing left much to be desired; she was still going to look for a more respectable edition to replace them, and on the other hand, in the margins of those books there were memorable notes dear to her sentimental heart. The home library had to be given away to good hands and sold to used bookstores for a nominal fee. Of course, if it weren’t for a strict ultimatum from her parents, indicating that only the most beloved and rare publications can be preserved, which fit exactly in one small box - an outrageously ridiculous amount - Leah would certainly have tried to move all her numerous bookshelves, under which she ha

The restricted archives under the main library smelled like dust, old leather, and secrets that hadn’t seen daylight in decades. Lucas wiped sweat from his brow even though the room was cool. It was past 11 p.m., and the only light came from the green banker’s lamp on the long oak table and the faint emergency strips along the floor. Professor Marcus had kept him here for three hours cataloging a new donation of Civil War letters—rare, fragile, and full of raw personal truths.

We don’t do it in his office. Not in the room with the drawer and the sealed windows and the ghosts of a hundred quiet negotiations I was never part of. We do it in the small library off the main hall. Sunlight filters through high windows, dust motes drifting over shelves of actual books instead of contracts. There’s a round table in the middle, scarred and solid, the kind that looks like it’s heard arguments for generations. Even here, in the hush of paper and light, I can feel it: the outside world pressing against the glass. Helicopters have thinned, but the war and the watchers haven’t.

I’d like to see a little bad luck screw me over worse than I already am. Faded maps droop off the walls. Chipped versions of the precise little tokens everyone is pushing around on a much neater map scatter the shelves below them. I pick one up and twirl it between my fingers. A week in the library, and I’m still not sure what war they were fighting. The enemy tokens are red, but that could be a royal color or just something aggressive.

piper said winking at her. After she finished her meal Hazel stared at her wrist then at the door. "Piper, can you take me to the library?." Piper's eyes lit up. "Yes! Let's go." She danced dramatically. ....... The library was three stories of old wood and older secrets. Piper led her to the history section, the third row, back corner. "Anything specific?" "I will know when I see it." Hazel ran her fingers along the spines. Territorial wars. Bloodlines of the east.

BUT THIS ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅• IS PRESENT DAY. ANYWAYS, PLEASE ENJOY! ༻☆✫☆༺ The Goodwill library was a sanctuary of knowledge and silence. Tall wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with countless books that whispered secrets of the past and promises of the future. The soft hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of pages turning created a soothing atmosphere. Students were scattered throughout the library, some hunched over their computers, others buried in textbooks, all lost in their own worlds of study and contemplation.

We’d planned our next path more wisely and carefully, tracking the path from one town to another so to ensure we had enough time to walk during the day and find somewhere to eat and rest for the nights. We’d ended up staying at The old lantern in for just over a week, more because of the weather forecast, it had said the snow would completely stop and the sun would be out meaning spring was definitely on its way. The day before we leave I remember Flos book in my bag and take the opportunity to have a look through it. It was a book inside a book, it looked as though she’d already filled one so had bought another to carry on her story. The fist part of the book brought me to tears, with the w

I stopped by the library—the same one I’d visited as a girl, the place where I first found stories about women who dared to rise beyond the walls they were born in. Mrs. Bertram, the head librarian, recognized me immediately. “You’ve grown into yourself,” she said as she welcomed me inside. I smiled. “I’m trying.” “I heard about the Foundation. And the baby. Congratulations.” “Thank you.” “I always said you had a story inside you.” “I think it just took time to find its voice.” I donated a dozen books from the Barlowe house—stories I wanted other young girls to find: Jane Eyre, Little Women, The Secret Life of Bees, Becoming, The House on Mango Street, and more.

Faith stands up with a serious look on her face and talks to the walls when she says, “Please let me take this book with me. I promise I will take good care of it but I need it to continue spreading good in the world.” It remains silent around us which we take as their blessing for taking the book. We hurry up the stairs and out of the library. I quickly get on Thorn his back and wait for Faith who is staring at the top of the library like she is saying goodbye. Then she sits behind me and I say, “You could always come back when the war is over.”