Chapter Text
Esme’s trial was a very short affair. Quiet for the sake of the organization and other volunteers. It wasn’t even truly a trial – she’d pled against the charges and there had been talks and negotiations and eventually, she’d been sent to a prison outside the city limits to serve a rather lengthy stay that would ensure she could never touch the Baudelaires or Quagmires again. Jerome Squalor hadn’t made any comments on his wife’s actions, instead clearing out their city home and retreating to their estate in the country without warning. Olivia thought it better for him, poor man.
Summer had come without preamble, a rare bit of warmth for the city itself. A wonderous change from the grey, dismal clouds that frequently clung to the skies with quite the force of determination. Olivia basked in it; so did the children. Often their lessons were outside in the back garden or at the park, though she had tried to make those less and less frequent so they could truly enjoy the weather. Jacques was even talking returning to the country estate for several weeks sometime in the near future.
The Snicket-Quagmire-Baudelaire home had lightened considerably and not just from the change of weather. The uncertain darkness that had haunted the lot of them had disappeared – though Olivia knew the children would never quite be over it. They were doing better of course, but on more than one instance she’d had to awaken them from the midst of a nightmare. On one particularly terrible evening they’d all ended up together in the floor of Violet’s room in a practical nest of blankets while it stormed outside. Whatever made them feel safe, Olivia complied. Anything for their happiness.
Around all of this, she’d tried to find time to return to her bookshop. The children came first, obviously, but she’d not been to the place since that fateful visit when she’d nearly been destroyed by how ruined everything had been. She told herself to be brave, to face it head on, but whenever she started to walk down that particular street she found herself avoiding it. Like a sickness. She couldn’t bring herself to face it. All those ruined books. Not yet.
“Olivia, we’re going to be late!”
Violet and Quigley stood at the bottom of the stairs as Olivia hurried down them, cautious not to trip. They looked equally pleased.
“You still haven’t told me what we’re going to be late for.” She reminded. “We haven’t anything planned.”
The only response she received was their matching smiles as they stepped out into the early afternoon sun. Quigley offered his arm to Violet and they set off together just steps ahead of Olivia, who followed with some confusion. The lot of them had been rather strange for weeks, though any investigation into why had proven futile. Even Jacques hadn’t the faintest idea what they were up to, which worried her immensely. Together they were a force to be reckoned with. There was no telling.
She followed Violet and Quigley down the street and across another. The sounds of the city thrummed all around. How much life had been returned to the place. As if Olaf and Esme had held some overall power over the entire city. She wouldn’t have doubted it.
The pair before her stopped suddenly, and turned.
“Do you trust us?” Violet asked suddenly, and Olivia narrowed her eyes briefly.
“Yes, of course. Are you going to tell me what this is about?”
Quigley instead produced a handkerchief.
“A surprise.” Violet answered. “But we have to blindfold you.”
Olivia felt her stomach twist uncomfortably, but made no immediate move to dissuade Quigley from tying the fabric around her eyes. She could feel the sun against her face but her vision had gone entirely dark. Instinctively a hand reached out to try and find some sort of landmark, and was caught by a smaller hand.
“This way.” Quigley said, and tugged her hand gently to encourage her forward. She followed with clipped, slow, and careful steps. She trusted them not to lead her astray – even if she was certain at one point on their walk she’d been led in a complete circle. She couldn’t imagine how it looked to outsiders, how ridiculous it would have seemed. She tried not to think about it.
Violet’s hand on her arm stopped her and there was a shuffle, before Olivia felt herself nudged forward into what she could assume was a building. The air was cooler and her face no longer felt fried by the sunlight. There was no noise here, nothing but the intoxicating aroma of –
“Surprise!”
A chorus of voices sounded as the blindfold was removed and Olivia found herself standing in the midst of a small crowd who had gathered around and pressed themselves between shelves upon shelves of books both old and new. Every wall was lined with them except the windows, which had been cleaned of grime and the lettering on the outside had been repainted in a vibrant gold. The counter had been repaired and refinished, the shelves fixed or replaced, and the books – Olivia felt her breath catch in the back of her throat as she turned her attention from the environment to the people.
The other children were there grinning like madly, next to Jacques. The now visibly pregnant Kit stood on his other side with her arm around Dewey Denouement. Larry and Gustav were wedged between two shelves. Another Denouement triplet (she assumed Frank) and a small gathering of faces she didn’t recognize, but could assume were other members of the organization.
Her bookshop. Come to life. Beautiful and brilliant and filled with the people she loved most in the world. How could she hope to keep from crying?
Jacques was there instantly to offer her his own handkerchief.
“You – I can’t – how? The cost alone to repair everything . . . “ She looked at him. He shook his head, instead nodding to the six children gathered near her.
“We contacted the bank and were granted use of our respective fortunes for what we called an emergency situation.” Klaus smiled. “We wanted to do it for you. A surprise. Jacques just helped us find who we needed. And Dewey supplied copies of the books we couldn’t repair completely.”
“As did a lot of the others.” Isadora added. “It’s a lot of normal books, but we thought it couldn’t hurt to have some for the organization scattered throughout. They could be helpful.”
Olivia offered out her arms, and gathered them up before they could continue.
“It’s beautiful. I love it. I love you, my clever, kind, and well read children.” She gave a watery smile.
“You helped us when we were lost.” Duncan said. “We wanted to return the favor. Jacques suggested it.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.” She glanced up at the others gathered. “Any of you.”
“No need.” Dewey smiled. “I was happy to help a fellow volunteer and librarian.”
“And I was happy to supervise.” Kit chimed, and Olivia laughed.
They dissolved into conversations across the store. Someone passed wine around in mis-matching glasses and finger foods had been set up along the counter for enjoyment. Olivia found herself browsing the shelves as she sipped a glass of wine, trailing her fingers across the spines of the books – her books, now. Both old and new sat ordered, waiting to be read. To be bought. To be enjoyed.
Further exploration found that they’d even restored the small room in the back where she could repair damaged books and keep an extra supply. Glass cases beneath the counter protected more valuable books. The till was new. Her tools her new. There was a file system already set up, but with a note from Dewey that it could be easily changed if she liked.
“This is amazing.” She whispered to herself. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this. Any of this.”
“By being you.” Jacques rumbled, having stepped up beside her. Olivia turned and the warmth in her chest only grew. “We hope you like it.”
“More than anything. I hardly want to leave.”
“---you don’t have to, if you don’t want.” He nodded toward the door that led to the narrow stairs that led up to the flat above. She looked at him in question and he nodded again. “Go on.”
She didn’t need told twice. While the others were involved in other discussions, Olivia climbed the steps hesitantly and paused at the sight that met her at the top.
The flat had been restored as well. A spotless little kitchen, a sitting room with a new sofa and an armchair that looks as if it was just ready to someone to curl within it’s stuffing with a cup of tea and good book. Warm light filtered through the curtains from the window. Everything was in it’s place – repaired or replaced completely. Just as she’d left it. The tears came again.
“It’s livable again.” She murmured. “I love it.”
“Shall we send for your things?” Jacques offered quietly from behind her and her brows knitted together. Her stomach dropped out from beneath her.
“Oh.” She replied softly. “I wasn’t – I didn’t . . . I can do both. The children need their lessons and I can hire a second hand to help out here when I’m away . . . “ She trailed off and turned to look at him.
“Or,” Jacques began, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe the children could help you out here and you can hold their lessons here while they help you with the books?”
“Oh.” She repeated. There was a strange tension. “But what about you?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“But I do. Of course I do. We’re partners.”
“Olivia, this is your dream.”
“My dreams have changed. They’re mostly of you. Your company. You – you make me happy, Jacques. You and those children downstairs. I can’t give any of it up. But I love this place too.”
Jacques mulled this information over, and gave her a curt nod.
“Right. Only one option left then.”
“And what would that be?”
“Marry me.”
Olivia felt the floor drop beneath her, the weightless feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“How is that a solution?” She blurted out. To his credit, Jacques laughed.
“It isn’t. It’s a question. To what I’m you have an answer to.”
“You’d really have me as your wife?”
“Wife. Partner. Co-parent. You’re everything, Olivia. To the children. To me. I’m selfish enough to admit that I don’t want to lose you.”
Olivia wiped her face furiously on the back of her hand. It seemed impossible. To know she had started over with nothing to her, clutching an advertisement put into the newspaper by six clever children advertising for a governess. To know that a man as fierce and brave and handsome as Jacques Snicket had fallen in love with her. To have her bookshop back.
She imagined this was true happiness.
Downstairs, more wine had made it’s way around the room. Olivia took a glass as it passed and Jacques raised his newly acquired one in the air.
“I’d like to announce something.” He said over the din of voices, which immediately silenced. “I’m happy to say that Olivia Caliban has agreed to do me the great honor of being my wife.”
There was an eruption of noise. More hugs. Laughter. Talking. New friends introduced themselves and offered congratulations. The children radiated sheer joy. Everything had settled into place. Olivia brought the glass of wine to her lips and regarded the room as a whole as she took a sip, before her gaze went to the golden lettering on the window.
Writ & Wisdom
Things would be hard to adjust to at first, splitting her time. Not to mention the organization – even with Olaf and Esme out of the way there were still other enemies to be had. Olivia needed more training. Everything would fall into place, she believed. She felt confident in that. Her arm wrapped in Jacques, Olivia felt herself to be content for the first time in a very long time. She would face every challenge presented to her. It was her duty as a volunteer - and with her partner at her side, how could they fail? Smiling and riding her emotional high, she let herself be enveloped in the various conversations and well-wishes and the general cacophony of noise that had invaded and taken over her precious bookshop.
She'd worry about everything later. There was plenty of time and the night was young.
Dewey approached her quietly later into the afternoon, offering out a worn book that looked aged with use.
“I found this when I was looking for books to add to your collection here.” He said, and Olivia noted the odd tone to his voice. “I wanted to give it to you in hopes you might find it inspiring. Or might share it with a particular someone who would be eager to see her writing again.”
Olivia gave him a quizzical look, but Dewey was already drifting back over to Kit. Curious, Olivia admired the outside of the book before she carefully opened the front cover.
This journal belongs to Beatrice Baudelaire.