Birdie in Bruges by Heidi Williamson

Author:Heidi Williamson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Children & Teens
Publisher: Heidi Williamson
Published: 2022-09-11T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Birdie tugged at the rawhide that held the book closed.

The bow held tight, refusing to break free.

“Is it stuck?” Ben leaned forward. He looked as if he might get up to help.

Birdie grasped the rawhide at a spot closer to the bow and pulled harder. It scratched through the knot and, with a small spray of dust, came undone. The rawhide fell onto her lap, still wrapped snuggly around the back cover. She turned the book over and discovered a series of belt loops securing the thin piece of leather. They hadn’t been there the night before.

She lifted the cover, which stuck as if it’d never been cracked before.

The first page was yellowed and blank.

Birdie turned the page and discovered a paragraph handwritten in a careful, elegant script. She stared at it, amazed. She’d have sworn that paragraph wasn’t there when they examined the book at the pub the night before.

She couldn’t make out the writing.

“Is it his name?” Ben asked.

She held the book out to Mrs. Winggen. “Can you read what this says? I think it’s in Dutch.”

“Let me look.” She pulled a pair of glasses from the pocket of her sweater and slipped them on. She accepted the book from Birdie and held it open about a foot from her face, squinting at the curlicue script through the colorful plastic frames.

“No, dear, I don’t think this is Dutch. It may be… I don’t know, could it be Celtic? Celtic, yes, that could be it. Which, unfortunately, I do not read.”

“That’s strange,” Ben said. “Why would it be written in Celtic? That seems so unlikely.”

“To be here, you mean?” Birdie asked.

“Well, yes, to be here, but to exist at all. I thought the Celtic language was primarily an oral tradition, not something someone would’ve used in an old printed book. I saw a show about it on TV.”

“It’s handwritten,” Birdie said. “There are handwritten words at the beginning.”

“No, there—” Ben began.

“Yes,” she cut him off and opened her eyes wide, “there are.”

“I can guarantee you the boy who had this is not the owner,” Mrs. Winggen said, closing the book and tucking it into her lap with a protective grip. “It’s extremely old and few people outside of Ireland know the language anymore. Even they are doing all they can to preserve it.”

Birdie opened her hand in silent request.

Mrs. Winggen pulled the book closer. “Would you like me to hold on to it to see if I can find the owners?”

“Thank you for offering,” Birdie said with more politeness than she felt. “But we have some ideas about where to look next.”

The old woman loosened her hold on the volume and handed it back, looking all the while as if she’d prefer to slip it into the pocket of her coral sweater instead.

Birdie lifted the cover again and studied the script, but it meant nothing to her. The neat handwriting continued on the next page, beginning at the top edge and continuing all the way to the bottom, not wasting any space.

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