Beyond All Dreams (2 page)

Lieutenant Rowland hadn't finished his rant. “Those scientists put decent sailors' lives in jeopardy, all so they could play with their test tubes in the middle of the ocean. We're not reopening the case, and you need to quit pestering the navy with ancient history. This incident is over. Is that clear?”

“I hear you, sir.”

The lieutenant leaned forward. “What's the matter with your voice? You're muttering like you've got cotton in your throat. Speak up!”

Anna stiffened. She'd been teased about her voice since childhood, but at least now she had the ability to speak. As a child
her throat had been so badly damaged she was completely mute. When she was fourteen, she had an operation that helped restore her voice, though she still spoke with a low throaty tone that made her the target of schoolyard bullies.

She cleared her throat and tried to speak a little louder. “I've heard everything you said, but I'd still like the case reopened.”

Lieutenant Rowland's eyes iced over. “
Women
,” he said contemptuously. “The government made a mistake ever letting women work in the Capitol. They're nosy, meddlesome, and don't know how to follow orders. I heard that the Library of Congress only employed female librarians on a probationary status. When is that up for review?”

Anna's knees went weak, and she was tempted to grab the desk for support. What he said was true. The library hired women for a trial period almost a decade ago, but their probationary status had never been officially rescinded.

“Well?” Lieutenant Rowland barked. “When are the women going to be reviewed for permanent appointments? Because if you keep meddling, I want to be at the hearing for the reconsideration of employing females at the Library of Congress.”

“Don't!” Anna burst out, her voice finally loud enough to get Lieutenant Rowland's attention. Eight of the forty librarians were women, and all of their jobs would be in jeopardy if she couldn't placate this man. “There's no hearing scheduled,” she said in a calmer voice. “Our appointment seems to have become permanent without formal acknowledgment.”

“Is that so? Let's make sure you don't call undue attention to yourself by prying into military affairs that don't concern you. Is that clear?”

Horrifyingly clear. It wasn't only Anna's job he was threatening, but the livelihoods of all eight women who worked at the Library of Congress.

“Yes, sir, it's clear,” she said softly.

Her limbs felt heavy as she climbed the stairs back to the top floor. She'd become complacent over the years, since the library's director treated the women with the same respect he gave the male librarians. Mr. Spofford was like a grandfather to them, but he had never actually made their appointment permanent. Instead, his career had been spent haggling for the funding, design, and construction of the new library being built across the street from the Capitol. It had taken decades, but the palatial new library building was nearly complete. Next month the Herculean task of moving the entire library into its lavish new home would begin.

By the time Anna returned to the map room, the congressional pages were gone, but she was surprised to see Mr. Spofford at the single worktable. With his narrow frame bent by age, Ainsworth Spofford looked even older than his seventy-three years.

“There you are,” Mr. Spofford said, looking relieved. “I've been called to a meeting with the engineers about the new building. I need you to attend the hearing of the Committee on Fisheries for me.”

Anna winced. Mr. Spofford was good at providing support at congressional hearings, but they were torture for Anna.

The library director noticed her anxiety. “This will be an easy meeting,” he assured her. “The Committee on Fisheries is a paltry group. No one bothers to attend their hearings, so you'll be fine. Just be on hand in case someone needs to consult these maps.”

He filled her outstretched arms with a stack of atlases and maps. It was doubtful she'd be called on to speak, but she loathed anything that dragged her out of the library. And congressmen could be so difficult. She prayed everyone would ignore her while she quietly blended into the woodwork.

Anna's skirts made it awkward to navigate down the staircases while lugging bulky atlases and map tubes, but the elevators were reserved for members of Congress. For a nation founded on the principles of democracy, the hierarchy in the Capitol was astounding. Congressmen walked the gilded halls like royal princes, while staffers like Anna scurried after them with maps or anything else they needed. After reaching the first floor, Anna walked through an acre of marble corridors until she arrived at the designated room.

Mr. Spofford was wrong; the meeting room was swarming with onlookers. They clustered in the doorway and trailed down the hall, anxious to get inside. She wiggled through the crush of people and headed to the chairs along the back wall that were reserved for staff, grabbing the last open seat. Like all the committee meeting rooms, the vaulted ceiling was covered with elaborate paintings and hand-carved cornices. A long table dominated the center of the room, already filled with congressmen from across the nation.

“What's going on?” Anna whispered to the congressional aide sitting beside her.

“It's Lucas Callahan's first meeting since he got demoted to Fisheries,” the man replied. “Everyone wants to see if he'll show up and submit to the humiliation.”

That explained it. Anna had heard about the Callahan affair. Literally. Last week the shouting from the House floor carried all the way up to the top story of the Capitol. Luke Callahan was one of the most charismatic men in Congress, but he was also a thorn in the side of the Speaker of the House. The animosity between the men boiled over, and rumor had it that Mr. Callahan tried to throw a punch at the Speaker, stopped only because the sergeant at arms intervened. Speaker Jones had had enough of Mr. Callahan's temper and removed him from the prestigious
committee that controlled the budget of the United States and demoted him to the Committee on Fisheries.

Anna was secretly pleased by Luke Callahan's demotion, for he was an outspoken critic of the Library of Congress. Anyone who voted against libraries was someone she distrusted. She looked at the center table, scanning the wooden nameplates before each congressman, until she landed on Mr. Callahan's sign.

His chair was still empty. Was he going to appear? Rumor claimed Luke Callahan had a hot temper and wouldn't take the Speaker's humiliation lying down. She'd never seen the library's nemesis, but she imagined he'd probably be some stodgy old man without a trace of compassion or intellectual curiosity. What kind of barbarian voted against libraries?

Anna fidgeted, realizing she was the only woman in the room, and she always hated that. Anything that called attention to herself was to be avoided, but there was no help for it today.

“Make way, make way!” a boy shouted, his young voice cutting through the din. The crowd parted as a congressional page elbowed his way into the room, banging a ceremonial mace on the floor. “Make way for the esteemed congressman from Maine!”

Behind the boy, two pages carried a leather satchel and a folder of papers. And behind them . . .

Oh my.

Mr. Callahan was no stodgy old man. The young congressman strode into the room with the easy confidence of a man born to power. His chestnut hair was tousled with streaks of gold. He had sparkling blue eyes and the sun-chapped complexion of a man who loved the outdoors. Yet it was his smile that caught Anna's attention. It was effortless—confident and self-assured with gleaming white teeth.

“Look who is slumming with the peasants on Fisheries,” a congressman from the table taunted.

“Slumming? On the contrary.” Mr. Callahan flashed a broad smile and stretched his arms wide. “It's an honor to be of service to this nation's world-famous fisheries and oyster beds. The privilege is entirely mine.”

His good cheer was greeted with a rumble of laughter and foot stamping. Mr. Callahan circled the table, clapping men on their backs and trading quips with enviable sophistication. He had an indomitable sense of energy as he made his way to the benches where the journalists sat, continuing to shake hands and exchange greetings with the newspaper reporters. Amethyst cuff links winked from his wrists as he reached across to the back row to personally greet each of the journalists.

It was the flashy cuff links that gave him away. Anna's eyes widened as the jolt of recognition hit her. She'd seen this man often, but always from the third-floor balcony looking down into the first-floor reading room of the Library of Congress. He was a frequent visitor to the library, always occupying the same spot at a table near a window as he quietly read each day during the lunch hour. From the balcony two stories above, all Anna could see was the top of his head, but he always wore those amethyst cuff links that glinted in the sunlight as he turned the pages of his book. She'd never known who he was until just now.

That
was the man who had voted against every library bill ever brought before Congress? Whose blistering diatribes against their new building could peel paint from the wall? How strange that the library's chief critic was one of their most frequent patrons.

Against her will, a tiny bit of resentment softened, even though Luke Callahan was the embodiment of the type of person she always avoided. A man with that sort of blinding confidence and popularity wouldn't know what it was like to be teased or be on the outside. He never had to worry if he'd
be allowed to attend school like a normal student, or if today was the day a pack of vicious children would circle around to see what it sounded like when a mute girl cried.

Anna pushed the memories away as the meeting began. Committee meetings were usually lethally dull, and the hours dragged by while a congressman from New York tried to protect his state's struggling oyster industry. “We refuse to pay taxes on beds suffering from New Jersey's smelting runoff. It is poisoning our oyster beds and degrading our waterfront.”

“It's impossible for those smelting plants to pollute New York waters,” another congressman said. “The currents don't flow that way.”

Mr. Callahan raised an arm and snapped his fingers. “Someone get a map so we can settle this.”

That was her cue. Anna fumbled with the map tubes beside her, searching for one that charted ocean currents.

“Map!” Mr. Callahan demanded in an obnoxious outburst. His eyes met hers across the crowded room. Unbelievably, he looked directly at her and snapped his fingers again.
Snap, snap, snap
. Did he really expect her to spring across the room like a dog summoned to heel?

Of course he did. Most congressmen were accustomed to people bowing and scraping, and Anna clenched her teeth as she approached. She laid the map on the conference table before Mr. Callahan and was close enough to smell his pine-scented cologne. Before pulling away, she whispered in his ear, “Snapping your fingers works better if you wear a crown and use a scepter to point out where I should scurry.”

Without waiting for a reply, she returned to her chair, holding her breath the entire way back across the room. Had she really just reprimanded a congressman? She slid back into her seat, and then risked a glance at Mr. Callahan.

He was staring at her with a stunned expression, as if the natural order of his world had just been upended. A mouse had reached up to bat the snout of a fearsome lion. She tried not to smile, but her mouth twisted in an effort to suppress the grin.

The astonishment faded from Mr. Callahan's face, replaced by a dazzling smile that could slay a maiden at a hundred yards. He tipped his head in a tiny bow, new respect in his eyes.

Then, to Anna's horror, he rose to his feet and held an arm aloft, amethyst cuff links flashing as he gestured to her. “My thanks to the committee's research assistant, Miss . . .”

As his sentence dangled, anxiety flooded her. She'd rather face a public stoning than speak in front of strangers. But he was still waiting, and every congressman and journalist in the room turned their attention to her. Chairs creaked, men shifted in their seats, every eye in the room staring at her. She wanted to melt into the floor.

“Anna O'Brien,” she mumbled, the words barely clearing her scratchy throat.

“What was that?” Mr. Callahan asked.

She cleared her throat and tried again. Her second attempt still sounded like the croak of a bullfrog.

The congressional aide next to her spared her further misery. “Miss Anna O'Brien, of the Library of Congress,” he called out in a voice as loud and clear as a bell.

“Miss O'Brien,” Mr. Callahan purred in a delicious voice. “I offer apologies for my caustic and inexcusable impatience. The uncouth savages from the north have much to learn from the gentle lady from Washington. She is the epitome of grace in the face of boorishness. Her wit and efficiency are a shaft of sunlight on the dreariest of afternoons. Miss O'Brien, the Congress stands in gratitude.”