THE BIBLIOTHECA INTRIGUE

EPILOGUE

"I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the Ages of this world alone."
- The Fellowship of the Ring (film)

The only clouds in the sky were cumulus, fluffy and blissful. A perfect spring day. Birds were singing, flowers were in bloom, a gentle breeze swayed in the early buds of the trees. Sun streamed into the room and reflected off the marble floor, the heavy velvet drapes pulled back from the tall radius windows, and the white walls and silver ceiling glinted and twinkled in the light. It really was like sitting in a moonstone. Today, the whole world seemed to glow with exhilaration.

Amy smiled softly and tilted her hand in a sunbeam, so that the antique gold of her moonstone engagement ring flickered back up at her. Lowering her hand, she took a deep breath and smoothed the skirt of her dress. She hadn't expected to be nervous. There was only one other thing in her life she'd ever been this sure of doing, and that was following Sheldon to Washington, D.C. almost a year ago. After a month of weekend visits and FaceTime sessions that lasted far into the night, she packed her boxes and moved in with her Hottie Librarian. And never even thought about looking back.

The photographer had left to set up for the ceremony, after a profusion of poses in front of the wallpaper and the white marble fireplace, repeatedly saying how elegant the white on white photos would look. Even her mother had stepped out, making her appearance among Amy's aunts and some other distant relatives with whom she wasn't as familiar. As the heavy secret bookcase was propped open, Amy could hear the crowd growing and buzzing in the reading room, but she couldn't see or be seen because the bookcase and sitting room were obscured from the guests by the screens that had been placed to protect the library's secret.

Alone, Amy wondered if she should have asked someone to be her bridesmaid. It wasn't a priority to her; this day was about her and Sheldon and no one else. But perhaps some conversation would have calmed her thumping heart at this moment. Her life had changed so much in the past year: a new city, a doctorate and a new job, living with Sheldon, and even, for the first time in far too long, new friends.

There was a soft knock on the door frame, and Amy looked expectantly for her mother to enter. Instead, a dark head of hair poked around the edge of the bookcase and his blue eyes blazed when he found her sitting on the purple sofa.

"Sheldon!" she admonished, quickly dropping her bouquet of purple tulips on the cushion as she tried to shield her lace-covered torso from him. "You're not supposed to see me! It's bad luck!"

"Phhlllfftt!" he blew out as he entered. Amy realized he was carrying a package. "I'm not superstitious, and neither are you. Have you heard how loud it's getting out there? All that talking in my library! It's unseemly."

Amy chuckled at his possessive streak as he stepped closer. "It's not your library anymore. It hasn't been for a year now."

"It will always be our library," he replied, smiling back. "Besides, I have something for you."

"Yes, it always will be," she said softly, lowering her arms and standing to meet him, the fabric of her gown rustling.

Sheldon's eyes raked down and back up again. "You look beautiful. So beautiful, Amy. I like your shoulders like that."

"Thank you." Amy blushed, and smoothed her hand along the top of her gown. She'd chosen an off-the shoulder dress, a silent tribute to Belle's ball gown. "You look pretty dashing yourself."

The dark suit fit Sheldon's long and lean frame perfectly. "I know." He reached up and touched his boutonniere, the tulip leaves created from the pages of a book. It was just one of Amy's many purchases from Etsy in the past few months. Although her wedding may not be grand, it was going to be perfect. No detail was too small to put her bookish stamp upon, even down to the titles on the spines of the 'books' that made up their cake.

Still smiling, Amy replied, "I have something for you, too. Let me get it." She stepped away to her bag and lifted out the small box. The everyday clothes she'd worn before changing were folded neatly inside, as though it was another life.

"Here," she extended her gift with a smile, and Sheldon reached out his own and they exchanged. "You go first."

Sheldon nodded and untied the large purple bow, his beautiful hands catching and pulling at the ribbon, stretching back and releasing it before reaching for another grasp. Then his neat fingers slipped beneath the paper, sliding gently, lifting the small patch of tape before he let the paper fall to the floor. His digits curled around the top of the box, the dimples of his knuckles popping as he twisted his wrist, the rectangular box creaking on its tiny hinges. Even now, accustomed to the sight of those hands folding laundry or making tea, accustomed to the feel of those hands upon her body, Amy still couldn't help but sigh softly with longing.

"A Montblanc fountain pen!" He lifted the blue pen out and inspected it closer. "The writers series?" His eyebrow went up questioningly and Amy nodded.

"Jules Verne," she explained. "One of the fathers of science fiction. I thought you could use for your own equations and papers. You know, so someday when someone is collecting your manuscripts, they'll be beautiful. Plus, it matches your eyes."

"Thank you! I love it!" Sheldon put his arms out, but, just as Amy was about to step into his embrace, he lowered them. "Maybe it will crush my boutonniere."

"Oh, yes." Amy stopped.

"The first thing I'll write down is my wedding vows," he said, slipping the pen into his interior breast pocket and patting his lapel.

"I thought we were memorizing them," Amy replied, her brow furrowing at all the effort she had into it and the fear of forgetting them in a just a few minutes making her heart thump.

"Oh, we are. But I'll write them down for prosperity. You know, for someone to collect in the future."

Amy smiled softly, a memory surfacing. She'd returned home to their apartment to find Sheldon already there, pacing and mumbling. After inquiring what was wrong, he said, in a serious way that make her throat constrict, "We need to talk."

"We do?"

"I know you suggested that our vows should be taken from great works of literature, but I've been reading all of Tolkien and it's not there! I was hoping my memory was mistaken and it really was in The Silmarillion, but it's not!" Sheldon's eyes were wild with hysteria as he pointed to the coffee table covered with books.

"Calm down. What's not there?"

"The quote! The perfect quote! It was made up for the movie!"

Reaching up, Amy had calmed him with her hand on his cheek. "It was only a suggestion. If you what you want to say is from a movie than so be it. All that matters is that you'll be saying it to me, at our wedding, because you mean it."

"Really?" he asked.

"Really." She'd stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed him. "Besides, I know you want to prove that hobbits are romantic, too."

"Arwen's an elf," he protested softly, kissing her back.

"What are you chuckling at?" her groom asked, pulling her back to the present.

"I'm just thinking about how much I'm looking forward to your vows," Amy explained.

"With good reason. Now open yours," Sheldon encouraged.

Nodding, Amy removed the paper and opened the box. It was a postcard. A very old postcard from the looks of it. Gently, she reached in and pulled it out. The heavy cream paper was almost pristine, and the embossed printing was raised from the surface. Holding it up closer, she studied the illustration. There was a dark-haired woman, sitting on the grass in a meadow, holding a book and reading. Her white dress was somewhere between Grecian and Edwardian, and it pooled at her feet. Next to those feet rested a loose bouquet of purple tulips. The image became hazy just beyond her as it dissolved into a dizzying array of curves and dips and curls, braiding itself into an intricate circle to surround the reader, all the ends meeting at the top in heavy gold and silver paint at another bouquet of tulips.

"Is this . . .?" Amy asked, breathless in the face of so much beauty.

"Turn it over," Sheldon whispered.

She did and she read aloud, "'Ceiling. Longbow Tulip Library." She looked up at Sheldon's grinning face. "How did you ever find it? Everyone thinks it was lost to history."

"Please. You're marrying the foremost expert in rare manuscript research and acquisitions this country's library system has ever known. If you want to know what the original ceiling looked like, I'll find it for you."

Not caring any more about his boutonniere or her dress or much of anything, Amy turned and sat the postcard down quickly next to her own bouquet before she threw herself at him, and his arms caught and surrounded her, tucking her face in under his chin, just the way she liked. "It's perfect," she hushed, trying not to cry and ruin her make-up.

"She looks like you," Sheldon murmured into the top of her veil.

"Do you ever think about them?" Amy asked into his chest. "They had so much faith. He built a library, knowing she'd come. She planned to follow him across an ocean. But she never got to see her library. They never got to spend a lifetime together."

Sheldon pushed her away gently and reached up to brush her veil away from her face. "Then we owe it to their memory to continue the course of happiness they never got to achieve. And we will. I have faith in us."

"That was almost sentimental," Amy said with a soft smile.

"There's something about this library, I guess."

Before Amy could reply further, she heard the sounds of the string quartet starting their prelude in the main reading room. She pulled away. "You should go. Especially before my mother gets back in here and sees you. She is superstitious."

Sheldon picked up her hand and brushed his thumb along her wrist as he leaned over to whisper in her ear, "I'll meet you at the fireplace, in front of the lamp."

THE END

My beloved readers, this coda is my gift to you. Thank you for all your kind reviews!

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