Escape to Ecclesia

With just a short walk Molly wound her way down into the main road of the small fishing village of Doyle. Keeping to the shadows as best she could, the distinctly feminine silhouette skirted off into a laneway where her favourite second-hand bookstore was nestled. The sign above this store-front was archaic and romantic. It looked much older than any other sign made in the early 1950s. Readers discovered why immediately: “Jebediah’s Uncommon and Rare Books…est. 1884” What was uncommon is the fact Jebediah still ran the place! Molly had no idea just how old this man could be-70 or so years on. He certainly looked ancient but he never changed. Molly had known him all her remembered years and he remained exactly as he was. Most town folk just explained that he was “Jebediah Junior” but Molly believed she knew better. Jebediah and his collection of books had captivated Molly since she was five and was learning to read. An entire decade. Her favourite corner was lined with his shelves of ‘Originals’. These were books that were hand-made rather than published. Books, such as Leonardo da Vinci’s sketching blocks and chronicled accounts of old, often obscure kings and kingdoms. How Jebediah could have laid hands on such treasures she couldn’t begin to know but she loved believing in the mystery and magic of it all- even if she didn’t have all the answers. She refused to believe he had fabricated it all. Yep, he definitely had rare books! Beneath the sign, connected and dangling, was an old kerosine lantern that burned ceaselessly day and night. As Molly briskly skipped down the alleyway to the door she felt excitement mount within at the prospect of this unexpected visit back in time. The bell atop the inside of the door jingled as she opened it and fell hurriedly in. “Hello, Molly.” came an aged voice from a darkened corner. “Good morning, Mr. Jebediah.” Molly answered, a little out of breath. “Someone chasing the truant child?” Jebediah smirked knowingly. He always seemed to know a lot of Molly’s untold secrets. Molly concluded that he had to be magically gifted somehow. She never realised how transparent she was to someone who was interested. “Come on in, child. Let’s sit in the café and I’ll make you some hot chocolate no charge!” he added hastily as he saw her begin to say she had no money. Jebediah’s store was in two sections. Upon entry a person felt instantly projected back in time by hundreds of years. Dimmed light, 10 foot shelving that huddled close around an inner reading circle and others against the outer walls towered over head as high as the twelve foot ceilings. Tapestry-like rugs, soft and velvety with colours yellowed from age, were underfoot. Electrically powered lanterns styled as ‘Olde Worlde’ street lamps let off a diffused glow into the space which was silent but for the turning of heavy old pages. [Place marker Plate 2Jebediah’s bookstore] Once you found your book, you could sit in the circle on a heap of huge, silky cushions, or go out into the adjoining section, where a row of booths lined the parallel walls, one under the street front window, and the other against the back wall. Aside from the obvious bookworms, and literature lovers, there were rarely any other guests. This is where you could get hot and cool drinks from Coca Cola to coffee. Although, a fairly recent addition, this area retained a familiar comfortableness about it. It felt safe and peaceful-like one’s own home ought. The far end boasted a healthy fire spilling a warmth and light into the room that beckoned would-be fictitious world travellers. It was a perfect reading and reflecting environment. A few moments later, Molly sat opposite Jebediah in the nearest booth with her hands cradling a steaming cup. The old man asked after her mother. Molly’s face clouded.“She’s not well at all.” She answered. “She had me take little Joey to stay with Aunt Faye yesterday. I really think she’s planning on dying ” Molly’s voice broke off and she held back the tears striving for expression. Only in speaking about it aloud to Jebediah did Molly realise just how heavy-hearted she’d become. It was at that point Molly looked up and noticed they weren’t alone. Over Jebediah’s shoulder Molly could see a stranger seated in the booth at the far end with his back to them, facing the fire. Jebediah, noticing her changed expression, tried to regain her attention. “And that step father of yours?” he asked suspiciously. Molly didn’t answer but stared at her cup, a tear doggedly dropping in spite of her restraint. The thought of her mother dead and Joey gone left her wondering what would become of her. She was sure Aunt Faye wouldn’t take her because she’s too old and burdensome. The reality of being left alone in a house with Stepfather left her speechless and sick in the stomach. It was too dreadful to conceive. Jebediah, standing to return to his shelves of books, patted her hand just like her mother had done “Don’t worry, child.” he said, pausing to look back over his shoulder at her. “You will know pain but you will find peace.” Something inside her mourned and rejoiced almost simultaneously at his words. She could tell he was right. Truth reverberated within her that way-but how much pain, and how long before the peace? Jebediah stepped forward into the library section and as he did Molly saw the stranger was now standing in front of the fire packing his pipe with tobacco. He looked up and their eyes met for a split second. He quickly dropped his gaze again, to watch the handiwork of his fingers. With his eyes safely averted, Molly had a moment to take note of his appearance. He had the look of an old European private investigator or, at least, how Molly thought one would look. Although not presently wearing them, he had a heavy tweed coat and cap. His suit was different to those normally seen around her village. More like something Molly had seen men wear in films at the Pictures. On the table in front of where he’d previously been seated there lay a magazine. Even from where she was Molly recognised the cover to be a National Geographic. Lifting his gaze, he caught her eye and smiled so warmly she found herself returning one to him without a second thought. Much to her concern, he placed the pipe between his lips, picked up his belongings and headed toward her. Taking the pipe with thumb and forefinger, he began to speak. “May I join you for a moment, young miss?” he sounded like the perfect English gentleman. Glancing over her shoulder to affirm the presence of Jebediah, Molly nodded. The man placed his articles of clothing on the bench seat across from Molly and sat down beside them. He opened the magazine out onto the table, spinning it as he did so, making it right way up for Molly. She looked down and on the exposed page was an article about a supposed ‘Disappearing Island’. Her eye traced a path to the bottom right corner of the double page spread to alight upon a photo of the man standing before her. The caption gave credit for the writing and photography of the article to a “Papa Cino”. “I am Papa Cino, a freelance photo journalist. Molly looked again at the image beneath her fingers. Something about it intrigued her. Her puzzled brow aroused his curiosity and he ventured, “It means something to you…this island?” Perplexed, Molly answered slowly. “Yes…well, no, but…kind of…” “I know exactly what you mean!” he responded emphatically. “It was just that way with me as well! Like something from a dream. Been there, yet haven’t.” Molly was engrossed in the article. A few minutes later, without looking up, Molly continued her questions. “What is this place? Where is it? Who owns it? How can I get there?” Just then, the door bell rang and Molly jerked up to see that the man had left. She ran to the door and looked out into the lane way. Empty!