Can You Name This Library?

We typically have immense respect for the time dedicated to crafting a single great book, every hand that contributes to the process of completion. Can you imagine how many laborious hours it took to build the collection represented above? For me, grand libraries invoke pure wonder, I want to meet every great author, thanking them for the expansion of mind. It's is my desire to cultivate a similar experience for others, below is my attempt to do just that. Please enjoy.

All The Things That Couldn't Be a novel by M.L. Cady

Chapter 1

Anna watches the lock door inch upward at a snail's pace, dangling with swamp weeds and snakes tangled in the metal weave of this massive barricade. Usually, there is a black water snake or a moccasin wriggling about in protest, being hoisted out of the water, threatening to drop down like the mucky droplets Anna tries to avoid, currently bobbing left and right, so that neither a snake nor swamp goo land on her head. Today, there is more, much more. Covered. Dangling in a way that makes Anna’s skin creep with a slithering sensation she can not avoid.  The gate onto Lake Okeechobee can not rise quick enough for want of escape.

A deep sigh of relief passes aging lips as they make their way onto the lake, for another alligator hunt. Nuzzling deep into Peter's high shoulder, Anna seeks additional comfort. Comparatively, there is nothing dangerous about that moment, and Peter is sure to point it out.

"Oh, Anna. You're not afraid of a few silly water snakes! That is nothing compared to what is coming our way." He teases with a glimmering wink, similar to the looks he gave her when they first met.

But Anna doesn't answer this playful jest, after over two decades of huntin' with this man, Peter Winston knows well enough what is funny and what is not. Anna tries to recalibrate her spirits.

In twenty-five years, they'd never missed a season. It was a promise she'd made her husband early on, back when they were dating; he'd tease about men gettin' married and never huntin' again. "That wouldn't be the case for them," and it wasn't. Marrying a seventh-generation Floridian came with some non-negotiables, alligator huntin' was one of them.

Thankfully Anna was enthusiastic to adopt his foreign customs, the only thing the men back home got was white tail deer around Thanksgiving time. Gator hunting was much more thrilling than sitting dead still in a tree stand for hours on end. To Anna, nothing was more exhilarating than helping bring another trophy gator onto the boat.

The Winston boys didn't mess around when it came to huntin', their daddy taught them right, straight out from the beginning. So Anna knew they wouldn't be keepin' any eight footers today; heck, Peter probably wouldn't settle for a 10-foot trophy either. Anna had a feeling they were out to break that twelve-foot record Peter made with his brother a few years before their meeting, it always sat looming in the distance, taunting her husband with what he couldn't have. For too long now, this had been an unmet goal. The bitter taste of challenge had filled the air with the pungent stench of domestic competition before they even left the docks, but that wasn't what was giving the morning an off flavor. Something was different about today, very different, and Anna could almost taste things going wrong before they even started the hunt.

Anna noticed the deathly silence as they speed through the murky, swampy canals. Void of dragonflies buzzing about, dancing over the yellow lotus blossoms, the honeysuckle aroma that typically stuck to the thick late-summer air was completely absent. No coot scampering in a splishy-splash pattern at the bow of the boat, trying to avoid gettin' shoved under water with the passing of the hull, paddling their little-webbed feet fervently over the swamp surface in either direction. But not today, the lake was almost lifeless.

The air cold and still, growing darker by the minute on the southwest horizon. Anna got the eery feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong. Watching clouds swelling overhead with tear drops, building from a terror Anna still couldn't forget. The sky opened up, and the rain came pouring down in cascading sheets that stung Anna's face. Reaching in, to get a rain slicker from under the Dargel Boat Seat, Anna wanted to turn back, but she couldn't get herself to say a word, her lips awkwardly sealed, thinking back over all the reasons she ever came to Florida in the first place, to linger in happiness on sandy beaches with endless sunshine. But this day felt nothing like that; it was more like the pain of a Mid-January night walking home from the bar.

The kind of Minnesotan night where your eyelashes and nostrils freeze in the bitter chill of below zero temperatures when icicles form around any orifice that seeps the tiniest bit of moisture. Anna remembered the winter of 2010, the kind of night they warn you about when no one goes outside, not even in a town of thirteen-hundred people, when your home is six blocks away from work. The type of night everyone stays indoors and fears the coming of the morning paper, plagued with at least one story of a body found frozen at the side of the road. But Anna didn't have a choice; the van was in the shop, and she had responsibilities. If only she were the drinking type herself, maybe the sharp wind wouldn't have hurt so bad.

Soaking cherry red hands in cold water, overcome by the pricks of relentless pins and needles. Anna vowed to leave this place, and never live through another winter as long as she lived! Anna could feel all that cold pain all over again, but this time, it was the rain against the soft flesh of her aging face. The roaring sky grew dark in anger, spitting out hot bolts, like an electrical vascular system trying to deliver an imminent warning. Steady booms of thunder were shaking both the boat and her diminishing confidence for their safety.

Just when Anna was about to beg Peter to turn back, it was over. Gone. The two turned to each other in a mild laugh, giggling about the irony of Floridian downpours. More like God sloshing out a few bucket of his dirty wash water before moving on to a more important task. Typically comes around three or four in the afternoon, just like this, except currently, it was closer to 8 am, quick and hard, then it's gone like nothing ever happened.

Looking around as Peter pulled the Dargel up to a ledge of Giant Bullrush to ready his casting pole with a newly sharpened treble hook, Anna gazed out over the glass smooth water, thinking there should still be at least a mild commotion rippling the surface from the passing storm. Catching her reflection from the edge of the boat where she stood opposite to her husband, Anna peered into the water, mystically placid, like an old silver looking-glass. Mrs. Winston was glowing with a radiance of no more than three decades maturity with, especially today.  No one would guess she ever did much more than pour a cup of tea for company, no signs of the haggard emotional wear of life's passing days.

More often than not Anna Winston was the enthusiastic one, burying any unsavory notion behind what seemed to be one big perpetual smile. A skill she acquired when hiding those tingly feelings that trembled up though her guts in front of the children. With undeniably accurate female instincts, Mrs. Winston always found it best to keep on playing the proper role, no matter how she was feeling on the inside.

But presently, she looked more like the scared young lady that frantically fled Minnesota in search of something more. All signs of fear showing on her face and cowering posture. Unsteady footing, trying to carve a stable path in an uncertain world.

A lot had changed since she headed south so long ago, stumbling across Peter Winston, running on the sandy beaches of Boca Grande, a fairytale encounter she should have written a love story about, something similar to one of those Nicholas Sparks novels. He had changed everything; her whole world had spun around. In a right way.  

But the only thing that felt similar to that warm and fuzzy day back in 2013 was the way that time kept playing funny tricks on her. Like on their first date at some random Chili's restaurant, when moments seem like hours and hours disappear like nothing. Now, time was shifting on her in ways familiar to their first dates, but not so pleasant as back then.

    Today felt strangely different like Anna wasn't sure what was about to happen next. Internally, something was undeniable wrong, trying to celebrate the hunt of her 25th alligator she packed these gloomy feelings up tightly, focusing instead on her surroundings.

Lookin out onto the wild lake, as Peter turned on the trolling motor and the prerecorded sound of baby alligators in distress, a noise that was meant to attract either a protective mama gator or a big hungry male. Seeing as the females don't get much larger than nine feet in length, Peter is probably hoping for the latter, as he begins casting out at a sea of floating red gator eyes.

Anna’s attention drifted outward as the boat spun her to lookin' in a different direction with the trolling movement. An old house on stilts jumps into view in the distance as if it had walked out on those rickety old legs outta nowhere. The kind of dismal shack you might see floating through the Louisiana bayou, heat splintered boards held mostly together by old cobwebs, old wood dangling, falling half slanted down the front facade, in ramshackle fashion.

Startled, Anna took a step back when she noticed the muscular outline of a man glaring at her from the front stoop. But before she could warn Peter that they may have come too close to someone else's turf, the man turn to go back inside before Anna could make out his face. Just cold hard eyes, warning her of something bad. A guy lookin' like he might spend most of his time greased up under an old Chevy if he had a yard or driveway.

Anna feared he might be off to grab his shotgun until her eyes caught the flicker of little shadows scampering across a far wall through the dilapidated frame that probably used to house an actual window. The air filled with giggles of children at play and Anna knew he was just turning in toward more important matters.

It reminded her of listening to the children playing back at grandma Stephanie's house in the spare room. With a motherly heart glowing with warm love, her fears began to dissipate. Floating in a sea of all the right memories Anna slipped away from the moment until Peter's voice loudly interrupted, "We got one Anna! Gator On!" Watching his back arch with the sheer weight of this archaic swamp beast, the tip of the bending pole nearly scraping the water’s surface. Peter began reeling it in.  

Based on what he's currently after, and his ability to gauge the length of the gator by the size of its barely visible head, Anna expects this could take a long while. The first big one they got, 11'2" took him two and a half hours to get off that muddy swamp bottom.

Anna starts preparing the harpoon that will eventually stab through the thick skin of its scoot covered back. Then putting a 44 mag bullet at the end of the bright orange bang stick, the one that she'll aim right behind the eyes, in the soft spot of the gator's skull, probably missing it's tiny brain, but at least knocking it unconscious with a shot or two.

Anna usually left the tying of the gator's hands and feet and spine severing to Peter. Anna had no need for the slash of an alligator claw across the soft skin of her thinning flesh, nor did she want a good chomp out of her delicate hand. Peter could secure the beast's mouth with bands of black stretchy electrical tape today!

Something told her to stay far behind the comfort of a long stick on this dreary morning. Internally wishing they had brought more help, Anna realized this is the first time they've ever done this mission alone! What were we thinking!

Terror growing in Anna's belly, feeling her throat get tight and scratchy at the thought of having to go anywhere near an alligator's mouth, even if it is unconscious.

Did she drift off daydreaming again? It couldn't have been that long! The sky has opened up in a furry once more, suddenly it is raining worse than before, and Anna can barely see her husband across the boat as he screams at her to get the bang stick! "He coming on board! Get the Bang Stick Anna! Grab it now! Get the Bang Stick!"

Shaking her head in confusion, she can barely believe, what she can hardly see, through the pounding rain. There is an order for these things, and in all her years of huntin' with Peter, they never have broke protocol!

First, they reel the gator up off the bottom, bringing his back up to the lake's surface so that you can drive that harpoon fiercely between the rugged scoots. Then everyone works hard to line the lanky animal up parallel to the Dargel Boat, giving a clean shot to the back of the head before pulling him onto the boat. You never pull him on board until he is dead, or at least very unconscious! So, what in the hell is going on? What is Peter doing?

Anna squints through all the distortion to see her husband slowly backing away as a gigantic alligator starts helping himself onto the boat. Must be at least fourteen feet, based on the massive width of that meaty skull chomping towards her husband in sheer annoyance.

But just as Anna goes to reach for the bang stick, thankful for the vibrant color peeking through so much gray, the reptile steps between her and it before she can ever put her fingers on the weapon.

Unaware of how quickly he moved backward, Peter falls flailing and screaming into the cold dark murky water, leaving Anna helplessly fending for herself. His screams were fading to silence behind the thunderous downpour.

Edging her way back to the Tower Seat, at the rear of the boat, the gator locking Anna in a tranced gaze.

The rain stops.

Consumed in the empty portals of seemingly deep secrets, that are usually called eyes. Mentally falling through, into a dark hollow place, a Pandora's box of things Anna doesn't want to face.

Escaping the hypnotic gaze in a gasp, Anna looks about trying to find rescue where there is none. Watching his thick tail sway back and forth, like a huntin' cat about to pounce on its prey. Slapping at the water with the tip of its tail, in ominous warning. Crawling closer, as if it was on some determined mission to take a chunk out of her not so wrinkly thigh with those sharply chomping teeth.

Anna’s foot slipping all too close to the alligators wanting mouth, as she failed to back her way onto the boat tower. Losing all hope of survival, Anna watched the jaws move with what she knew would be a chunk out of her body.

Instead, she heard a growling voice beckoning her attention. In the hot sticky air of a humid Floridian morning, the alligator spoke, "You can not hide forever, Anna. From the world or from yourself. Everyone will know. It's coming sooner than you think!" Leaving a wake of shock that captured every reply from Anna’s mouth before utterance. The swamp beast gleamed up at her, still grinning with a warning, then he slapped his formidable tail with one last swoop, drawing her attention back to the house on stilts, now spilling into the water with the agonizing screams of helpless children.

Watching the old shack sink into the murky abyss, Anna cried out in wailing sobs of lost protection, that only echoed into nothingness.

The ramshackle house plummeted into the water and disappeared, creating a tidal wave of capsizing strength.

Both Anna and the monstrous alligator went spilling into the dark muddy water as the Dargel flipped over. Taking in deep gulps of what should have been air, inhaling the gray water thick with death and loss. Feeling her soul shrink into nothingness along with everything else she had ever loved, Anna wished she wasn't such a stranger to the people that would stand at her grave.

Chapter 2

Waking alone, in a heated panic, gasping for air. Today's Women's Club of Winter Park meeting was the last thing from Anna Winston's mind, as she rose out of a fitful slumber.

Stirring about, in the softest white bed linens, with a thread count similar to a number only God would know. Like softly spinning together the delicate fibers of a puffy cloud with that of soft young chinchilla fur. Anna should feel enveloped in the magic of a thousand nights' slumber. With dreams of nothing but heaven, not those of gnawing teeth, ominous warning, and endless cold waters of horrible lurking death.

That is why she made the investment to purchase Sferra bedding, with a promise to offer rejuvenating rest, a near fact, all of her close friends proclaimed without an ounce of hesitation. Anna would have spent a million dollars to make her nightmares vanish, to get peaceful sleep finally. But not even Giza 45 Luxe sheets could save her from this nightly taunting.

Rousing from such terrors in the midmorning light that trickled through the second story window onto her face, in fluttering kisses that promised a bright new day. Anna shook off the unwanted daylight, still vexed, wanting to slouch back under the covers. Hoping to counteract her current anxieties with a new dream, one brimming with hopeful optimism. But that was not a luxury afforded by today’s hectic schedule.  Marguerite must go to soccer, and Anna should have been ready for the day an hour ago. It wouldn't be but forty-five minutes before the ladies were beginning to gather out on the back lawn.

Maybe Justine could take Margurite to her game today? Bouncing out of bed like she was still trying to escape that beastly alligator, Anna rushed off to the bathroom to freshen up. She was the type of lady that wore her Sunday's best every day and an evening gown out for special occasions. Anna Winston was never one to leave her home unpolished. Attention to personal appearance magnified when bringing guests inside the estate, bewildered at how she had allowed the entire morning to slip away nearly entirely, Anna rushed off to her dressing room.

In a hurried panic, she threw on her favorite Monique Lhuillier sleeveless fit-and-flare silhouette dress, the happy yellow one with the lace bodice, cut-in shoulders, and a perfectly flowing floral-print skirt.

Nothing could conceal her somber mood better than designer labels. The gals would be so busy admiring the bright, showy pattern; they'd miss a slip in her perpetual smile. Distraction was always the best card in Anna Winston's hand.

Thankfully Christine, their live-in maid, had done most of the day's meeting preparations before turning in last night, and with any luck, she was already downstairs, plating the tea cakes and sandwiches for this late summer luncheon.

As President of the Women's Club of Winter Park, Anna liked to host the ladies to her estate on Genius Drive at least quarterly. Today the main item of business was to discuss the execution of the annual rummage sale, and disbursement of funds for the 2038-2039 scholarship recipients, chosen back in May.

Business matters were always more of a back burner affair, an opportunity for well-heeled ladies to cackle together in seeming productivity, on social outings that left their husbands free to attend to more pressing issues, like a round of 18 holes at Interlachen Country Club or reviewing annual reports from the last shareholder's meetings. Ladies comparing their latest vacation notes, and the progress of their daughter's wedding preparations or lack thereof. At the last session, Anna somehow found herself caught up in a conversation about the race for grandchildren, whether she liked it or not. Cringing in spite, Anna Winston still had mothering to do, and none of these women could force her to let go just yet, even for the sake of outdoing peers. Anna had better ideas for engaging her competitive nature for advancement.

Today she intended on launching a new campaign to swarm these catty vultures onto a new topic to pick on. She had unilaterally orchestrated a mentoring campaign partnered with the University of Central Florida.

A promise to guide future women into a position of community leadership, helping them to fulfill lifelong ambitions. Anna intended to segway straight from talk of scholarship disbursements, on to appointing candidates for this new one-on-one consultantship, in a way that left no-one questioning her course of action. It only seemed fitting really, for everyone.

Anna placed a significant amount of time and attention into making impactful pairings, researching the intricacies of particular students to match with the attributes of that each member. For both social elevation and career advancement, her intention was to propel a select few, into Orlando’s local elite high society. Ideal young women with the potential for future success. It was Mrs. Winston’s goal to interweave wisdom and old money with the visionary advancement of local youth, for overall community improvement.

For example, Anna arranged for Ms. Spiegel, former Chief editor at Simon and Schuster, master gardener, and avid tennis competitor to assist Grace Cady, a ballet enthusiast, concurrently pursuing a B.A. in English Literature and a B.S. in Biomedical Sciences.   It is Anna's desire that Ms. Spiegel will contribute the publication of Grace's debut novel, a homeopathic plant medicine guide,  under the guise of mystical fiction.

Anna put lots of consideration into how this venture would advance mutual prosperity. Integration and advancement were always her strong suits, seeing the best in people and bringing out their talents, pairing willful drive with endless financial backing.

Together, they could make a difference. It was probably the primary reason she kept getting voted into positions of power; she knew how to orchestrate productivity in naturally catalytic ways.

Zipping down the staircase moments from waking, Anna looked fresh as a floral bouquet, not a soul would guess she hadn’t been up since 4:00 am, like most of her affluent counterparts. “Good morning Christine! Everything is looking lovely today! Thank you so much for taking the initiative to starting in my absence, I will place a bonus on your next check in appreciation.”

For what appeared to be old southern wealth to most people, Anna Winston was unusually generous. Not at all stingy like most of the ladies that would be filling the back lawn shortly.

“Thank you kindly, Ma’am! Should I take the pups out for a walk before our company arrives?” Christine asked, wanting to make sure they had all their ducks in a row before entertaining.

“No need Christine. Mr. Winston took Tucker and Duke down to Lake Okeechobee hunting this weekend. I don’t know what help a couple of labs are in catching gators, but I'm sure there enjoying chasing each other around in that wild swamp.” Catching a glimpse of Justine hiding in the corner, Anna averted her attention in a different direction.

“Justine, dear. Good morning!” Anna sang toward the kitchen nook where her daughter sat reading the Saturday paper, feeling blindly for her cup of Kopi Luwak, unwilling to drop the newsprint from view, neither to greet her mother or find her now cooling coffee. Anna couldn’t be certain, but Justine was ignoring her, not consumed by an excellent article. She got no reply.

“Ahhkkhhumm…”  Anna cleared her throat loudly demanding her daughter’s attention.

“Yes, mother.” Justine’s tone slow and snotty, as she let the paper fall to the table in exaggerated annoyance.

“Well hello there, so lovely to see you this bright and beautiful morning,” Anna said with matching sarcasm, annoyed at the girls disrespect. After twenty-one years of investing in her life, Anna wished she could extract a bit more respect. “I need you to drive your sister to her soccer game. I would let you take the Rolls Royce, but it is at the dealership for a routine service check. If you wouldn’t mind taking her in your Mercedes, I will take you antiquing in St. Augustine tomorrow, and you can pick out something nice for Grandma Stephanie before you head back north to Minnesota.

“Okay. Deal.” Justine replied with almost no enthusiasm. “What time is her game?”

“11:15. You should probably check you sister's room to see if she’s ready, you girls need to be on your way out the door shortly.

“Marguerite!” Justine called out from the kitchen in a loud, demanding holler, making her mother cringe with the blatant disrespect.

It had been a long summer for the two, and Anna was happy she would be heading back to college soon.

Bustling about, carrying trays of appetizers to the patio table, nestled neatly under what most would consider an event tent for some wedding. The topiaries lining the walkway to and from the massive glass doors, with old hand finished wooden frames, like something out of a castle fairytale.

The Winston daughters used to have soirees with their giggling childhood friends, dancing over the hand laid brick patio, that stretched the length of a basketball court, only covering a fraction of the lawn which tapered lushly down around Lake Virginia. Dressed in the most exquisite princess costumes, like a gathering of Disney characters from far off lands, the mothers always coordinated to make sure no two children dressed alike.    

Anna slipped a Carr’s water crackers topped with creamy goat cheese, a dollop of homemade loquat jalapeno jam, and a sprig of fresh, vibrant parsley, into her mouth calling it breakfast, thinking only of the present moment and the nearing arrival of her guests.

Once again Christine had done an exquisite job setting everything up! The entire patio looked like a centerfold spread for Garden & Gun magazine. The ladies were sure to have another splendid meeting at The Winston’s home.

The front door slammed, and Anna could hear both the garage door and the front gate opening before she had a chance to run off and wish Marguerite luck. But no need really, they hadn’t lost a game last season, undefeated, and this was just a pre-season practice match up; otherwise Anna would undoubtedly be there cheering her on.

Placing a hostess gift on every plate about the round linen covered tables, Anna Winston was ready for her company to arrive. Just in time, as the doorbell began to sound and Christine started ushering the ladies out to greet her.

(Continued)

Miranda Cady | American Abstract Artist & Author | 407.340.7016