Messages in a Bottle

written by J. Timothy Quirk (c) 2022

The following is a work of fiction. Any similarities between any parties or situations are completely coincidental.

The smell of rare books is one of the seven olfactory wonders of the world that no electronic reader can replicate. If it could be bottled, the fragrance might consist of cedar or redwood, a note of nostalgia, a hint of “discovery” and more than an ounce or two of “joy”. A used bookstore, if you can find a good one, exists to provide the existential experience of immersing yourself in that scent and, if you’re fortunate, to carry a piece of it with you when you leave; I’m not talking about the antiseptic used bookstores attempting to replicate the look and feel of the last bookstore chain in the country, although any bookstore is better than none, I’m talking about the kind of used bookstore that requires walking up or down stairs to earn passage, where the paperbacks are double or triple stacked, the price is written on the top corner on the second page in pencil, a cat is somewhere on the premises and, if you’re lucky, there’s a sale.

Harper was in her youth when she first walked down the steps from street level into a used bookstore and became forever enchanted with the world of used books. She could find something of interest in nearly every category, but she preferred certain sections, like fiction and poetry, over others like reference and biography. The narrow pathways between rooms were sometimes made narrower with more boxes of books that had yet to find space on the shelves.

Her soul stirred when she held in her hand certain leatherbound classics as if by virtue of their binding, the value of the work to the greater society was affirmed.  Jane Austen was always in fashion, but Harper already owned copies of Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility and Emma. This made the discovery all the more fantastic when, kneeling down to rifle through the books in a box on the floor, she lifted a curious treasure, an early 1900’s illustrated edition of Austen’s Northanger Abbey.   

There was no dust jacket and the small depiction of the main character on the front caught her eye. The illustration on the inside of the cover was equally colorful and charming. Harper could not help but smile as she used her thumb to flip through the book to view more illustrations when she noticed a pressed dried rose and a small piece of stationary folded once within the pages.

She opened the paper and could not stop herself from reading it.

“My Dearest Elizabeth,

Please accept my message in a bottle, carried on literary waves from the

solitary island of our shared invention. We made difficult choices and they will always be

honored until every consequence of every choice reaches their natural end.

The years never became my ally. In the decades since our time together,

I kept my promise to you. I moved forward. I never wallowed in unhappiness or regret.

Strangely it was always in my happiest hours and moments of triumph, that I

Thought of you and missed you most.

We have both lived life and we have both lived fully.

We simply did not live it together.

If this note finds you, and you are happy, please know it is all I have ever truly

Wanted and that our shared choices, though difficult, must have indeed been the correct ones.

And if this message has failed to live up to the promise of my thoughts, if it has angered

 you or made you unhappy, please forgive my use our shared passion for used bookstores

and for Austen as my emissary.

But if by some chance you are free and have wondered if what we shared was true…

 wonder no more and come find me.  

Your eyes created music in my soul that the years would not silence.

Your kisses were like flying.

Your touch was my world.

And if there was no music, if there were no more kisses or touches, I would still recognize your

Heart. That is everything. That is all.

With Love,

                Edward”

Young Harper read it once more and clutched the book close to her heart. She looked at the price written in pencil in the top corner of the second page and calculated she could purchase it.

But then…she folded the paper neatly back into its page, realigned the flower, closed the book and returned it to the box. The communication would never reach its intended recipient if she took it home. Some day she would find another edition of Northanger Abbey in some other used bookstore and when she did, she would find it unclaimed by someone’s long lost lover.

Sound: musical transition  

Many years later, Harper became involved in another one of Barnaby Druthers investigations and found herself back in a familiar city where she chanced upon the cherished used bookstore. It was still in business, though the original proprietor had long since retired and bequeathed the responsibility to a younger generation.

As she crossed the threshold once more, she inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly like a form of meditation. She allowed her fingers to gently glide across the hardcovers in the front as she made her way to the back where the classics were showcased.  There on the second shelf beside Mansfield Park was a copy of Northanger Abbey and Persuasion together in one volume.  It would have been difficult to imagine that the same copy of Northanger Abbey with the note and flower would have remained on the shelves all these years. She sighed and picked up the edition before her and thumbed through the pages.

Inside was a note on a stationary pad with a flowery décor. At that moment, Harper recalled every detail of the note she read in her youth. Now, almost trembling with excitement, Harper opened the message before her and read the following:

                “Dearest Edward,

I received your message in a bottle and if heaven favors the foolish, you may one day

find my reply as proof that only the angels thread the loom of fate’s tapestry.

I am pleased you lived well. I too lived with purpose. My journey was fulfilling and rewarding

and is still in progress.

If we were of a later generation, perhaps our choices may have been different but then again,

if we were of a later generation, would we truly be ourselves or would we be other people,

with other values and dreams?  Would we have meant the same to each other in some other

time? There are no answers without attempting to create fiction. I will not live in fiction.

And more to the point, the decades of decisions since we knew each other have forged new

people. We are no longer who we were. I am me as I am now, not the heart, eyes or kisses  

from memories past.   

You spoke of consequences reaching their natural end. For our story, that time came and went,

Perhaps even before you wrote your note, perhaps not. But it was not my responsibility to find

you. To live forward means never living in or for the past and that’s what was offered.

                I accept the past as it was; I have no need to find answers to what might have been. 

I acknowledge there could be something new, not existing on memories alone.

If our shared past was not the lodestar guiding us backwards, if it was not an anchor,

keeping us still, if the past was simply a collection of stories involving two other people and did

not preclude a future, then you may search for those answers, not with messages in a bottle,

but in person, face to face. Then we shall discover together what is true today.  

And if you do find this edition of Northanger Abbey, but a knock on my door never comes, then

always remember there was once a woman who loved you so much that she

agreed to let the past live only in the past, to allow you the wonderful life you lived.

                With Love,

                Elizabeth

Harper closed the book. Had this Edward seen Elizabeth’s note? If he did, wouldn’t he have purchased the book?  The note may have been read by hundreds of patrons but only Harper was a private investigator, and she had a burning desire to see the story through.

She discerned that the messages were communicated through the same bookstore which indicated both parties were most likely living in the same proximity to the bookstore, a fact which gave her a glimmer of hope that the odds of a successful search for two individuals with the names of Elizabeth and Edward was less than simply impossible.

She searched an archive of wedding notifications for an Edward and Elizabeth but there were no listings where the bride and groom’s projected ages were relevant. Perhaps a wedding was not in the cards. Perhaps a wedding was not necessarily the true “happily ever after” for the story. It is quite possible that happily ever after meant a cozy reunion followed by a solid friendship or perhaps happily ever after meant a life apart, moving away from the past and simply being fulfilled by themselves in the present.  

After a matrimonial search had been exhausted, she searched many online social media platforms for the names which was too voluminous to bear fruit.  After some contemplation, she searched for posts involving Northanger Abbey, Edward and Elizabeth. That is where she found them.  Some mutual acquaintance must have been with the older couple and thought it was social media worthy. The post read: “What a cute couple Edward and Elizabeth reading #northangerabbey”. They were an older couple, spotted in a café on the outskirts of the city. They both had large print editions.

Harper now had a photograph of the principals. She could use that.

There was an old café, a used bookstore, love of Jane Austen, a photo and a common city. She had all the clues and the wealth of data on the internet to search.

Harper located the Elizabeth first. She had striking, unmistakable curly hair. She was well liked, good natured and volunteered within the community.  Finding her meant finding Edward within the hour. Harper discovered that Edward reached some level of success as a vice president for an insurance company. He prospered during the age when employees worked for one company and retired from it. That world did not exist anymore.

Harper began to investigate further into Edward and Elizabeth’s personal lives when she immediately stopped short and closed her laptop. It was not her place. Maybe she saw someone had grandchildren, maybe someone’s child was famous enough to have a special check on their social media account.

It didn’t matter. Harper recognized the past was the past and both Edward and Elizabeth were not living there. They were alive. They were together. And they were, for the moment, happy. Any story can end with happily ever after depending on when the author chooses to leave the tale. Harper decided it was time to end the tale here. Happiness does not have to have “ever after” next to it, for Harper, in her mind, Elizabeth and Edward had found happiness in the present and that was all the resolution she required.

That night, she found Northanger Abbey online and began to read. After the second chapter, she stopped, closed her eyes and put the e-reader down. In the morning, she resolved to find another used bookstore that sold a used, hardcover copy of Northanger Abbey with the smell of cedar or redwood, a note of nostalgia, a hint of “discovery” and more than an ounce or two of “joy”.