I pass by the Adie Lou floating in midair, and I suddenly feel as light as she does.

TWENTY

As if led by divine intervention, I steer my car toward the local library. It feels as if it’s on autopilot.

I haven’t been to the Saugatuck-Douglas library since I was a girl. The little library sits in the midst of downtown Douglas, Saugatuck’s neighboring town, in an adorable white clapboard building that looks like a dollhouse come to life. My mom often volunteered at the library, and I spent countless hours here as a little girl on rainy days.

I park the car on the street and head into the library. I can still feel my mother’s hand holding mine.

What was it she used to always say about Erma Bombeck and librarians? I stop and stare at the library. Oh, yes. My mom told me that Erma once said, “As a child, my number one best friend was the librarian in my grade school. I actually believed all those books belonged to her.”

“I still do,” my mom would laugh.

The library smells just the same as it did when I was a kid. And it feels the same, too: like a magical place filled with secrets I needed to unearth.

And that’s exactly why you’re here, Adie Lou, I think.

The library has certainly changed since I was a girl who used to read Nancy Drew and Judy Blume. Public computer areas have replaced the soft chairs in which I used to curl up to read. I take a seat at a computer, log in and enter my search: Sadie Collins.

Sadie Robertson from Duck Dynasty appears, followed by Phil Collins and then an endless array of selfies of modern-day Sadie Collinses on Facebook and Instagram.

My, how things have changed.

I narrow my search: Sadie Collins, Saugatuck Michigan. Ancestry.

A few searches catch my eye: there are a couple of pieces from the local paper over the last few decades about the original cottages on Lakeshore Drive, including mine. But there is no later information on Sadie, and I don’t know her married name or what became of her.

There is one common denominator, however: all the articles quote Iris Dragoon, president of the historical society.

“Excuse me,” I say to a librarian who is passing by. “I’m searching for a woman whose father built my cottage. Would the library happen to have any information like that? Or do you have any thoughts on the best way to search for that information?”

The librarian pulls on the readers dangling around her neck, peers at the computer over my shoulder and then gives me the most bemused smile. “I’d go speak with Iris Dragoon,” she says.

“You would?” I ask. The words just fly out of my mouth unexpectedly.