Ella looks at her father with wide blue eyes that match her dress, begging him with her gaze. “No one’s in it right now, Dad.”
“Oh, go ahead,” he says, shooing her away.
I laugh as she disappears through the front gate. “She’s a lovely girl.”
“Precocious.”
“Precocious gets a bad rap.”
He swings a worn courier bag from behind his back and opens it. “I have your book.”
“Thank you,” I say, anxious to hear what he has to report.
“Were you able to find out where it came from?”
I shake my head. “I’m still waiting to hear back from the bookseller.”
He lifts the book out of his bag, clinging to it even as he scans the hectic room. “Could we talk in a quieter space?”
“Of course,” I say. “Do you mind waiting about fifteen minutes? Most of the families will head to the farmers’ market soon.”
“I’ll catch up on my reading,” he quips before addingBambito the stack of books in my arms. Then he liftsHatschi Bratschis Luftballonfrom the German section of used books, and I glance down at the man on the familiar cover. Hatschi Bratschi looks a bit like Genie in theAladdinmovie except he is clothed in a long robe, riding in a hot air balloon. In his hands is a telescope fixedon some exotic location below the basket, searching for children.
As Dr. Nemeth flips through the colorful pages, I stow my books in the office and help out several parents, stealthily avoiding Mr. Baker, who seems to be following me around the shop. When I return to Dr. Nemeth, he holds out the magic balloon book. “This is a terrible story for kids.”
My arms bristle, as if he’s offending me personally. I almost start lecturing him on the three kinds of children’s books, along with the importance of developing a child’s critical thinking skills as they enter a story world very different from their own. But no parent likes advice from someone who doesn’t actually have children. “It’s not ter—”
“And violent,” he continues.
“Only if you’re an evil wizard or a witch.”
“The witch burns up in a fire!”
“This was published to an audience used to reading the works of the Brothers Grimm.”
“It’s certainly grim.”
“The greater the struggle, the more triumphant the ending.” He looks at me curiously, and I squirm under his gaze before continuing. “Besides, Fritz has the adventure of a lifetime before he rescues the other kids.”
“Still, it makes you wonder what kind of person writes a book like this, railing against people from another culture.”
I glance around the room, at the shelves of books filled with stories about antagonists who threaten the hero or heroine. “Aman who’s trying to confront his own fears.”
Dr. Nemeth’s gaze wanders back to the castle. I think about the bear in the book we just read, afraid of the wind, and I wonder—what is this man afraid of?
Ella peeks out between the white columns on the second-story window, in the room that Brie painted lavender, silver, and pink for the many princesses who visit our store. The other room has a mural with a suit of armor and a black horse for the knights.
“Franz Ginzkey was from Vienna,” I say. “He published this about a decade before World War I.”
“I wonder what he was doing during World War II.”
“Unfortunately, he ended up joining the Nazi Party. Many people did, I guess, for survival.”
Dr. Nemeth glances down at the wizard and his balloon on the cover. “I suppose it’s impossible to assign motive almost a century after the fact.”
I pull my stack closer to me. “Unless someone left their story behind for us to read.”
“But even on paper,” he says, “people can clean up their motives. Often you have to hear from a loved one to learn what someone was truly like.”
