The Little Bookstore On Cape San Blas

(A Journey With You Book 5) Grace

Meyers
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THE LITTLE BOOKSTORE ON CAPE SAN BLAS
A JOURNEY WITH YOU BOOK 5
GRACE MEYERS
 CONTENTS

Copyright
Free Book

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8

Continue The Story!

Also by Grace Meyers
Free Book
 Copyright © 2024 by Grace Meyers
All rights reserved.

Copyright This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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 CHAPTER 1

N
icole's eyes snapped open, her heart beating with the sudden urgency of her body's message. She couldn't ignore the
queasiness any longer. Without a second thought, she threw the covers aside and rushed to the bathroom.
Her stomach churned violently, and she barely had enough time to make it to the toilet before her body expelled its
contents. Cold sweat dotted her forehead as wave after wave of nausea coursed through her. She closed her eyes, trying to
steady herself, but the discomfort lingered.
When the retching finally subsided, Nicole flushed the toilet and rose shakily to her feet. She splashed some cool water on
her face, hoping it would help alleviate the lingering queasiness.
Nicole rinsed her mouth and splashed more water on her face, feeling slightly better but still shaky. She was about to reach
for a towel when she heard Gabriel's footsteps outside the bathroom door. He entered with a concerned expression, a glass of
water in one hand and a wet cloth in the other.
“Hey there,” he said softly, his voice filled with worry. “Are you okay?”
She took the glass of water and sipped it slowly, grateful for his presence. “I think so,” she replied weakly. “I just woke up
feeling really sick, and I couldn't help it.”
Gabriel stood beside her, gently placing the damp cloth on her forehead. “It happens, Nicole,” he said, his thumb brushing
her cheek. “Morning sickness can be unpredictable. Sometimes it comes and goes.”
Nicole sighed, leaning into his touch. “I just thought it was supposed to stop after the first trimester.”
He smiled tenderly. “Well, our baby must have other plans. Maybe it's just doubling down now, at six months, to really end
things with a bang.”
She managed a small smile, appreciating his optimism. “You always know how to make me feel better.”
Gabriel chuckled. “It's my job to take care of you, especially now that we have a little one on the way.”
Nicole wrapped her arms around him, grateful for his presence and support.

The bell above the bookstore's entrance tinkled as Ms. Jenkins strolled in, her arms laden with a colorful assortment of baby
toys and supplies. Nicole and Gabriel were already in the store, rearranging shelves and setting up a small display of
children's books.
“Good morning, Ms. Jenkins,” Nicole greeted with a warm smile. “What brings you here today?”
Ms. Jenkins beamed at the young couple. “Well, I couldn't resist doing a bit of shopping for the little one on the way.”
Gabriel chuckled, setting a stack of picture books on a nearby table. “That's awfully kind of you, Ms. Jenkins.”
She walked over and handed Nicole a soft, pastel-colored onesie. “I thought this would be perfect for your little bundle of
joy. And I bought all neutral colors.” She sighed. “Are you both sure you don't want the doctor to tell you the gender?”
Nicole accepted the gift with gratitude, her eyes sparkling with appreciation. “Thank you so much, Ms. Jenkins. We really
appreciate it. And no, we want to be surprised.” Gabriel winked at Nicole.
Gabriel leaned against the counter, a playful glint in his eye. “But, Ms. Jenkins, Nicole and I have a little bet going on.”
Ms. Jenkins raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Oh, do tell.”
Nicole grinned and joined in. “Gabriel thinks we're having a boy, but I'm convinced it's a girl. We agreed that the loser has
to cook dinner for the winner.”
Ms. Jenkins chuckled at the friendly competition. “Well, that sounds like a fun way to make the birth even more exciting.
May the best guesser win!”
 Nicole nodded. “I've already started thinking of baby girl names. I can't wait to find out.”
“Too bad she's wasting her time,” Gabriel teased.
Nicole gently hit him with a paperback book she was holding. He drastically held his arm. Ms. Jenkins chuckled.
“Well, I'll see you two at the meeting tonight, right?”
Nicole nodded. “7:00 p.m. sharp.”
Ms. Jenkins smiled and turned to walk out. “I'm having dinner with Tony. See you all tonight!”

In the dimly lit meeting room of the Liberty Society, members gathered around an antique wooden table, their faces illuminated
by the soft glow of an ornate chandelier hanging above. The focal point of the meeting was a beautifully aged journal, its
leather cover showing signs of wear, but the pages inside were carefully preserved.
Mr. Monroe, the dignified leader of the society, stood at the head of the table. His silver hair and glasses added an air of
wisdom as he prepared to guide the discussion. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice carrying the weight of years of
dedication to the Society, “today, we have the privilege of delving into a piece of literary history.”
As he spoke, Mr. Monroe gently turned the pages of the journal to reveal handwritten notes, sketches, and reflections on
early European literature from the 1800s.
“Let us remember,” Mr. Monroe continued, “that literature is a gateway to the past, a portal to the minds of those who came
before us. It is through these journals and the knowledge they hold that we maintain a connection with our shared heritage.”
Various members took turns reading excerpts from the journal and sharing their thoughts and insights. The atmosphere was
one of fellowship and intellectual curiosity, with each member contributing to the understanding of the historical context and
literary significance of the journal's contents.
Nicole, Gabriel, and Ms. Jenkins, who had become integral members of the society also participated actively in the
discussion. Nicole offered her interpretation of a particularly eloquent passage, while Gabriel made astute observations about
the influence of the era on literary style. Ms. Jenkins shared her knowledge of the societal norms of the time, adding a valuable
historical context to the conversation.
The meeting unfolded with an air of reverence for the written word and a shared appreciation for the rich literary history
they were exploring. Mr. Monroe guided the discussion masterfully, ensuring that every member had a chance to contribute
their thoughts.
As the meeting concluded, Mr. Monroe closed the journal with utmost care, a sense of satisfaction radiating from his
expression. The members of the Liberty Society slowly rose from their seats, stretching and exchanging pleasant smiles.
Nicole, Gabriel, Ms. Jenkins, and Mr. Monroe gathered near the table, forming a small circle, each wearing a look of
contentment. Nicole spoke first, breaking the comfortable silence. “That was a remarkable meeting, Mr. Monroe. This journal
truly offers a glimpse into the past.”
Gabriel nodded in agreement. “It's incredible to think about how much knowledge and history are stored within these
pages. I feel privileged to be a part of this society.”
Ms. Jenkins chimed in, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “And it's wonderful to see members like Nicole and Gabriel
embracing our shared passion. It brings a renewed energy to our meetings.”
Mr. Monroe smiled kindly, a twinkle of anticipation in his eyes. “Indeed, it does. And speaking of renewals, I have a
surprise for the society. Something that I believe will invigorate our future meetings. But I won't reveal it just yet. You'll have
to join us at our next gathering to find out.”
Nicole, Gabriel, and Ms. Jenkins exchanged curious glances, their interest piqued. “A surprise?” Nicole asked.
Mr. Monroe chuckled softly. “Yes, my dear, a surprise that I believe will bring us even closer together as a society.”
With their curiosity high and excitement in the air, the group exchanged their farewells. “We'll see you next week, Mr.
Monroe,” Nicole said.
Gabriel nodded, a smile on his face. “Looking forward to it.”
Ms. Jenkins added, “It's always a pleasure.”
They parted ways, the anticipation of the upcoming surprise lingered in their minds, and they went their separate paths.

Nicole and Gabriel were jolted awake by the insistent ring of their phone in the middle of the night. Groggy and disoriented,
Nicole fumbled to answer it, her heart pounding as she saw Ms. Jenkins' name on the caller ID.
“Ms. Jenkins, what's wrong?” Nicole asked, her voice trembling with worry.
“Nicole, Gabriel,” Ms. Jenkins's voice sounded urgent, “you need to come to the library immediately. It's a matter of utmost
importance.”
The urgency in her tone startled Nicole, and she instantly became alert. She glanced at Gabriel, who was already sitting up,
his face etched with concern. “We're on our way,” Nicole replied firmly.
Within minutes, they hastily dressed and rushed out the door, their hearts heavy with anticipation. The moon hung low in the
night sky as they drove through the empty streets, the library looming in the distance.
When they arrived, they found Ms. Jenkins waiting at the entrance, her face pale with worry. She ushered them inside with
a sense of urgency.
“What happened, Ms. Jenkins?” Gabriel asked, his voice tense.
The library's grand entrance was cordoned off with yellow tape, and uniformed officers were stationed at the perimeter.
Nicole's heart pounded in her chest and she exchanged a worried glance with Gabriel as they approached the crime scene.
The detective in charge, Detective Ramirez, stood near the entrance. His expression was grim as he took off his hat and
approached them.
“I'm sorry you had to be called here like this,” he said, his voice hushed and filled with sympathy. “We're still piecing
things together, but it appears that Mr. Monroe... well, I'm afraid he's gone.”
Nicole gasped, her hand instinctively clutching Gabriel's arm for support. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she shook her
head in disbelief. “How... how could this happen?”
Detective Ramirez sighed heavily. “We're not entirely sure yet, but it seems that he passed in the library. The librarian
found him on the floor as she was locking up. We're collecting evidence and talking to anyone who might have seen or heard
anything unusual.”
Gabriel put a reassuring arm around Nicole. “Do you have any leads, Detective? Anything that might tell us what
happened?”
The detective shook his head. “It's too early to say, but we'll do our best to find out. If either of you remember anything or if
you hear any rumors that might help, please let us know.”
They nodded in agreement. Nicole's thoughts raced as she gazed at the library, her sanctuary, and the heart of the Liberty
Society. The tragic loss of Mr. Monroe left an unbearable void, and the uncertainty surrounding his death was chilling.
Detective Ramirez was patient, explaining what little information they had gathered so far.
“We received a call from one of the library's neighbors who reported strange sounds coming from the building late at
night,” Detective Ramirez began. “When officers arrived, they found Mr. Monroe here, alone on the floor of the library. It looks
like a heart attack due to his age and prior medical history.”
“But you suspect foul play, Detective?”Ms. Jenkins asked.
The detective nodded. “Yes, ma'am. Upon closer examination, we found some irregularities that raised suspicion. We're
treating this as a potential crime scene.”
Nicole couldn't believe what she was hearing. Mr. Monroe, their beloved mentor and leader of the Liberty Society, the man
who had guided her on this journey of discovery, had met such a grim end. Tears welled up in her eyes.
“What kind of irregularities did you find?”Gabriel asked, his voice low and serious.
Detective Ramirez hesitated for a moment before answering. “I can't go into specifics at this time, but rest assured, we're
conducting a thorough investigation. We'll know more once the autopsy results come in.”
The trio exchanged worried glances. Nicole couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this tragedy than met the eye.
They needed to find out what had truly happened to Mr. Monroe, for his sake and for the future of the Liberty Society.
 CHAPTER 2

N
icole and Ms. Jenkins arrived at Mr. Monroe's daughter's house, a cozy suburban residence surrounded by well-tended
flower beds and a white picket fence near the ocean. They were greeted at the door by a woman who shared a striking
resemblance to her late father.
“Hello, you must be Nicole and Ms. Jenkins,” she said with a warm but sorrowful smile. “I'm Laura. Thank you for
coming.”
“We're so sorry for your loss,” Ms. Jenkins replied, her voice filled with genuine sympathy.
“Thank you,” Laura said, her eyes misting over. “Please, come in.”
They entered the living room, where the somber task of planning a funeral lay ahead. Pictures of Mr. Monroe adorned the
walls, capturing moments from his rich and well-traveled life.
As they began discussing arrangements, a man with a friendly face and graying hair entered the room. Laura introduced him.
“This is George, my boyfriend. He's been a tremendous support through all of this.”
Nicole and Ms. Jenkins exchanged polite greetings with George, who expressed his condolences as well. Laura leaned on
him for comfort, and it was clear he cared deeply for her and her father.
Together, they began to plan a fitting memorial for Mr. Monroe, a man who had dedicated his life to preserving knowledge
and fostering a love of literature. Despite the sadness that hung in the air, the presence of friends and loved ones provided a
glimmer of solace, reminding them all of the importance of connection and community in times of grief.
With George and Laura's help, Nicole, and Ms. Jenkins finalized the arrangements for Mr. Monroe's funeral. They chose
soothing classical music, Mr. Monroe's favorite, and decided on an array of vibrant flowers to celebrate his life.
Once everything was settled, a sense of closure washed over the room. Despite the sadness, there was also a feeling of
unity and shared respect for the man they had all loved and admired.
“Thank you both so much,” Laura said, her eyes glistening with gratitude. “Your support means the world to us.”
George nodded, his hand gently resting on Laura's shoulder. “We're here for you, Laura. Your father was a wonderful man,
and we're honored to have known him.”
As the afternoon light began to fade, they parted ways with a shared sense of purpose. The memory of Mr. Monroe would
live on.

Gabriel and Nicole's anticipation bubbled as they entered the doctor's office, their shared excitement about the upcoming
appointment written all over their faces. While they had chosen to keep the gender of their unborn baby a surprise, they
recognized the importance of today's examination to ensure the child's health.
Inside the softly lit examination room, the doctor prepared for the ultrasound. As the screen came to life with the image of
their unborn child, Gabriel and Nicole couldn't help but exchange radiant smiles, their eyes locked onto the captivating sight.
Nicole couldn't contain her excitement. “I can't believe we're going to meet our baby soon.”
Gabriel's eyes glistened with joy. “I know, it's incredible.”
With the utmost care, the doctor began the examination, meticulously measuring the baby's size and attentively checking its
heartbeat. The room was filled with the soothing, rhythmic sound of that tiny heart, which served as a reassuring lullaby to the
expectant parents.
The doctor's words broke the silence, “The baby looks great. Everything seems to be progressing well.”
Nicole's shoulders relaxed; a weight lifted from her. “Oh, that's such a relief.”
 Gabriel nodded in agreement, his face reflecting the mix of anxiety and hope they had been carrying with them. “Yeah,
we've been a bit anxious. I've had some nausea and back pain.
The doctor offered comforting reassurance, “It's normal to feel that way. You're doing everything right. Keep up with your
regular check-ups, and I'm confident you'll have a healthy and happy baby.”Exiting the doctor's office hand in hand, Gabriel and
Nicole felt an overwhelming wave of affection.

As Nicole and Gabriel arrived back home from the doctor's appointment, Nicole felt a sense of exhaustion wash over her. The
anticipation of their baby's arrival, combined with her growing belly, had taken its toll on her energy.
Gabriel noticed the fatigue in her eyes and smiled warmly. “You look like you could use a little rest, my love,” he said
gently.
Nicole nodded, grateful for his understanding. “Yeah, just for a bit. But you don't have to worry about making dinner
tonight.”
Gabriel chuckled and led her to the living room. “You're my priority, and I enjoy taking care of you,” he replied, helping
her settle onto the couch.
With a loving kiss on her forehead, he assured her, “You rest here, and I'll whip up something delicious for us.”
Nicole closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his presence and the comfort of their home enveloping her.
In the ambiance of their home, Gabriel expertly moved about the kitchen, preparing a delightful dinner. Sitting at the dining
table, Nicole watched him with admiration in her eyes.
Nicole smiled, her thoughts wandering to their future. “You know, we should start thinking about the nursery soon.”
Gabriel paused, a spatula in one hand and a thoughtful look on his face. “You're right, we should. Any ideas on how you
want it to look?”
Nicole's eyes sparkled with excitement. “I was thinking of something neutral, you know so that it could work for a boy or a
girl.”
Gabriel nodded in agreement. “That sounds perfect. We could paint the walls a soft, calming color. And maybe we could
have a little reading nook by the window with a cozy chair.”
Nicole's face lit up at the idea. “I love that! We could fill the shelves with children's books from the store. And I've always
wanted to hang up those glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.”
Gabriel grinned, appreciating her enthusiasm. “Sounds magical. And we could add some plush animals for our little one to
snuggle with.”
As Gabriel continued to cook dinner, they spent the evening discussing more nursery ideas, each suggestion bringing them
closer to the reality of becoming parents. The thought of creating a warm and welcoming space for their future child filled their
hearts with joy and anticipation.

A few days later, Gabriel and Nicole sat comfortably amidst the shelves of books, engaged in a light-hearted conversation
about baby names.
Nicole chuckled, her eyes scanning the titles around her. “You know, I've been thinking about baby names. Do you have any
preferences?”
Gabriel smiled, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Well, my grandfather was named Rufus. Can you imagine naming our
child Rufus?”
Nicole giggled at the thought. “Rufus, huh? It's a unique choice, that's for sure. What about your grandmother's name?”
Gabriel's expression softened as he reminisced. “My grandmother was Eleanor. She was the kindest person I've ever
known.”
Nicole nodded; her voice filled with warmth. “Eleanor is a lovely name. Classic and timeless.”
They continued to brainstorm names and organize books on the shelves.
With a soft smile, Gabriel lowered himself to his knees in front of her swollen belly. His eyes sparkled with affection as he
addressed their unborn child. “Hey there, little one,” he began, his voice filled with tenderness. “Mom and I have been thinking
a lot about your name lately. We want it to be special, just like you.”
Nicole watched, her heart melting at the sight of Gabriel talking to their baby. She placed her hand on his shoulder, offering
her silent support.
“So, kiddo,” Gabriel continued, “what do you think? Do you have any suggestions for us? You've been with us on this
incredible journey, and we want your input. What should we call you?”
He pressed his ear against Nicole's belly as if awaiting a response from the tiny life growing within her.
Nicole leaned down and kissed Gabriel's forehead. “Our little one is going to be so lucky to have you as a father.”
 Gabriel looked up at her with a loving smile. “And they'll be lucky to have you as their mother. We'll figure this out
together.”He smiled, stood up, and returned to the shelves.
George entered the bookshop with a solemn expression. He held a folded piece of paper in his hand. Nicole and Gabriel
were arranging some books when they noticed him.
“Hello, George,” Nicole greeted him softly.
“Hi,” George replied, his voice tinged with sadness. He handed the folded paper to Nicole, who unfolded it to reveal the
program for Mr. Monroe's funeral.
Nicole looked it over, her eyes scanning the details.
“This is the program they're using for the funeral?”
He nodded.
“It's perfect,” Nicole said.
Gabriel stepped closer, glancing at the program. “It looks great. How's Laura holding up?”
George sighed, his shoulders slumping. “She's devastated, but we're trying to support each other through this.”
Nicole placed a comforting hand on George's arm. “Please let Laura know that we're here for her, whatever she needs.”
George managed a weak smile. “Thank you both. It means a lot.”Then he leaned forward, his tone persistent. “Hey, have
the cops found anything about the case? I know you guys are pretty involved with the Society.”
Nicole exchanged a look with Gabriel before responding, “Not much, George. It's still under investigation, and they haven't
shared many details.”
George's face tightened with concern. “Listen, if you hear anything, anything at all, you have to let me know, okay? He was
like a father to me, and I want to make sure justice is served.”
Gabriel nodded, his voice reassuring. “We understand, George. We want the same thing. We'll keep our ears open and let
you know if we come across any information.”
George, appreciating their promise, sighed heavily. The uncertainty surrounding Mr. Monroe's death had left everyone
anxious and eager for answers.

The sun hung low, casting a warm, honeyed glow over the mourners at the tranquil coastal cemetery. Gently swaying seagrass
and the distant murmur of ocean waves provided an ethereal backdrop to the poignant scene.
Gabriel stood steadfastly by Nicole's side, his arm a protective cocoon around her shoulders. She clutched a bouquet of
delicate wildflowers, a rainbow of colors against the somber backdrop of the occasion. Nearby, Ms. Jenkins and Tony offered
unwavering support, their silent presence a comforting assurance.
Laura and George, their hands intertwined, shared a wordless moment of solace amidst the gentle sway of the tall grasses.
Allan and Marshall, fellow members of the Liberty Society, stood as beacons of strength, their faces etched with respect and
sorrow.
The eulogy, delivered with heartfelt sincerity, wove a tapestry of Mr. Monroe's profound love for literature and his
unwavering commitment to preserving knowledge. In the hearts of those who knew him, his absence from the Society meetings
would be a palpable void.
As the eulogy concluded, people began to take turns tossing handfuls of earth onto the casket. Nicole's hand trembled
slightly as she released the soil, tears glistening in her eyes. Gabriel squeezed her shoulder, his silent support a testament to
their enduring bond.
Amidst the hushed whispers of shared memories and condolences, the sun began its descent, painting the sky with hues of
orange and pink. The waves continued their timeless lullaby.
In the midst of their collective grief, words of solace and remembrance flowed like a gentle stream. Tony, his voice a
soothing balm, shared a cherished memory of Mr. Monroe, drawing a shared smile from the group.
“I remember the first time I met him. I was so nervous, but he welcomed me with that warm smile of his. It was like
stepping into a world of endless knowledge.” Tony smiled.
“He had a unique way of making everyone feel valued, didn't he? The Society won't be the same without him.” Ms. Jenkins
dabbed her eye with a tissue.
Laura, her voice steady but filled with emotion, spoke of Mr. Monroe's passion for books and the impact he had on her and
George.
“He was the best father anyone could ask for. At least now he's hanging out with Mom.” Laura began to cry.
George nodded in agreement, his eyes brimming with tears. As the final rays of sunlight dipped below the horizon, Gabriel,
Nicole, and the others stood in unity, their shared experiences and shared love for the written word forging bonds that
transcended even the boundaries of life and death.
“He believed in the enduring power of words. Let's keep that flame alive in his memory.” George lit a candle near the
tombstone.
 As Nicole and Ms. Jenkins stood together, mourning the loss of Mr. Monroe, Marshall approached them with a palpable
sense of urgency. He was clearly troubled and seemed a bit overbearing as he probed for information about the ongoing
investigation.
“Nicole, Ms. Jenkins,” Marshall began, his tone strained, “I couldn't help but overhear some unsettling things about Mr.
Monroe's passing. Do you know anything more about it? I mean, what if this isn't just some tragic accident?”
Nicole could sense the fear and desperation in Marshall's voice. “Marshall,” Nicole began softly, “the authorities are
looking into it. We're all upset about Mr. Monroe's passing, and I understand your concerns, but we should trust that they'll do a
thorough investigation.”
Marshall let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping. “I know, I know,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly. “I'm just... I'm
scared, Nicole. Scared that something sinister is happening within the Society. What if there's a traitor among us?”
Ms. Jenkins placed a reassuring hand on Marshall's shoulder. “We share your concerns, Marshall,” she said, her voice
gentle. “But jumping to conclusions won't help anyone. We should let the authorities do their work. In the meantime, we'll all
support each other through this difficult time.”
Marshall nodded a hint of gratitude in his eyes. “You're right, of course. It's just hard to believe that such a terrible thing
could happen to Mr. Monroe. You must tell me if you find anything.”He looked at them with wide eyes.
“Yes, of course. We will,” Ms. Jenkins reassured. He smiled and walked away, leaving a tense atmosphere.
Together, they left, saying their goodbyes and hugging each other, reminding them they were all there for each other for
support.
 CHAPTER 3

N
icole was busy doing paperwork when Max walked into Nicole's bookstore, a familiar smile on his face. He strolled
through the aisles, occasionally pulling a book from a shelf to inspect it. Nicole watched him.
Finally, Max approached the counter with a small stack of books in his arms. He greeted Nicole with a friendly
nod. “Hey there, Nicole. How's everything going?”
Nicole rang up his books with a polite smile. “Not bad, Max. How about you?”
Max shrugged casually. “Can't complain. It's so heartbreaking about Mr. Monroe.” He shook his head. “I wonder who will
take over the Society now. I hope they're as good as him.
Nicole paused for a moment, considering Max's inquiry. She handed him his books with a questioning look. “Everything
will be fine. He would be annoyed that we're all so upset and grieving.” Nicole forced a smile.
“You're right!”He smiled. “Actually, I'm cooking a big dinner this weekend. I just bought a house! I'd love for you guys to
come celebrate. I came over to invite you, Gabriel, and Ms. Jenkins. I'm inviting people from the Society, as well.
Nicole smiled. “Yeah, that would be really fun!”She scribbled down the information on a spare sheet of paper near the cash
register.
“We will see you then!”
Nicole continued her daily routine at the quaint bookstore, meticulously arranging shelves and checking the inventory, when
her phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number, but curiosity got the better of her, and she answered.
“Hello?”
“Hello, dear,” came the voice on the other end, warm and slightly shaky. “I hope I'm not disturbing you.”
Nicole furrowed her brow, trying to place the voice. “Not at all, but may I ask who's calling?”
It was Chrissy, a librarian from the local library. Nicole's memory clicked, recognizing the name. Chrissy had visited her
bookstore on several occasions, always in search of rare and old books. They'd struck up a friendly rapport over their shared
passion for literature.
“Oh, Chrissy, it's lovely to hear from you. How can I help you today?”
She sighed, her voice tinged with a touch of urgency. “Well, dear, it's not a matter I can discuss over the phone, but it's
important. My grandson went to college with a friend who now has a degree in computer science. He's managed to retrieve
some security footage for us, and I believe you should see it.”
Nicole immediately got excited at the thought of a lead for Mr. Monroe's murder.
“I'd be happy to come by and take a look,” Nicole replied, her tone eager. “When would you like me to come to the
library?”
Chrissy sounded relieved. “I went out of town to visit my grandson, so I’ll be back in a few days. You can invite Ms.
Jenkins and Gabriell, of course, but let’s keep this between us.”
“Absolutely.” Nicole agreed to the plan and thanked her for reaching out. She was nervous but excited for the next night.

Max, the cheerful and outgoing friend, just purchased a charming house in the gated community in town, a place that was both
fun and perfect for relaxation. Eager to celebrate this achievement, Max decided to throw an extravagant party with a Hawaiian
luau theme, a nod to his love for tropical vibes.
The day of the party arrived, and Max had transformed his backyard into a tropical paradise. Tiki torches lined the
pathways. Strings of colorful paper lanterns hung overhead, swaying gently in the breeze. A long wooden table was adorned
with a vibrant floral centerpiece, and bamboo place settings added to the authentic island ambiance.
Guests, including Nicole, Gabriel, Ms. Jenkins, Tony, Laura, George, and even Marshall, a fellow, quiet friend from the
society, gathered around the pool area. The pool was adorned with floating hibiscus flowers, and a small waterfall trickled
into it, creating a soothing background melody. A makeshift tiki bar, tended by Max himself, served tropical drinks in coconut
shells and colorful paper umbrellas.
“Max, this place looks incredible!” Nicole exclaimed as she and Gabriel strolled over to the buffet table, laden with exotic
dishes. The menu featured roasted meat, pineapple skewers, coconut shrimp, and a variety of tropical fruits and salads.
Max, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and a lei, beamed with pride. “Thanks, Nicole! I wanted to make this a memorable night.
It's not every day you become a homeowner!”
George and Laura, always the life of the party, showed off their hula dancing skills, drawing cheers and applause from the
crowd. Tony and Ms. Jenkins joined in the festivities, swaying to the music with tropical drinks in hand.
As the evening progressed, the partygoers indulged in the delicious spread, sipped on fruity cocktails, and danced to lively
Hawaiian music. Laughter filled the air as they shared stories and celebrated Max's accomplishment.
Nicole returned to the buffet table for more pineapple when she suddenly noticed something amiss. As she strolled past the
side of the house, she caught sight of Gabriel huddled away from the crowd, engrossed in a heated phone call.
Gabriel looked angry and scared. Nicole, now feeling slightly puzzled and concerned, couldn't make out the words
exchanged during the call, and Gabriel wasn't offering any clues. He, clearly agitated by the call, caught sight of Nicole's
inquisitive expression. He swiftly ended the call, his face etched with frustration. With a glance that could only be described as
a mixture of annoyance and secrecy, he locked eyes with her, offering no immediate explanation.
He gave her a curt, almost dismissive look before turning away and heading back into the heart of the party.
She decided to give him some space for now, trusting that he would share the details if he was ready. She returned to the
party, munching on her pineapple.
A faint fluttering sensation stirred within Nicole. Startled at first, she froze, then smiled as she recognized the unmistakable
feeling. It was the baby inside her, letting her know of its presence. Nicole's heart swelled with love and wonder.
“Gabriel,” she called out, her voice filled with excitement. “Come quick!”
Gabriel rushed over. His eyes widened when he saw the expression on Nicole's face.
“What's wrong?” he asked, concerned.
Nicole grinned and placed her hand on her belly once more. “Nothing's wrong. Everything's perfect. Put your hand here.”
Gabriel's eyes sparkled with anticipation as he knelt beside her and carefully placed his large hand over Nicole's belly.
For a moment, there was silence in the room as they waited, both holding their breaths.
Then, it happened—a tiny, delicate kick under Gabriel's palm. His eyes widened in awe as he felt the subtle movement.
“Did you feel that?” Nicole asked, her voice filled with joy.
Gabriel nodded, a bright smile breaking across his face. “I did! Our little one is saying hello.”
They both shared a moment of pure wonder, their hands resting on Nicole's belly, feeling the life growing inside her. It was
a magical experience, one that deepened their connection as a couple and as expectant parents.
“I can't wait to meet you,” Gabriel whispered to their unborn child.
Nicole leaned in and planted a tender kiss on his cheek. “We're going to be the luckiest parents in the world.”

Gabriel and Nicole were driving back home after the party. As they rounded a bend in the road, they spotted an old, frail dog
sitting forlornly on the roadside. His matted fur and tired eyes told a story of hardship and neglect.
Without hesitation, Gabriel pulled over to the side of the road, and Nicole joined him in getting out of the car. They
approached the dog slowly, offering soft words and gentle pats to gain his trust. The dog's tail thumped weakly on the ground,
signaling his acceptance.
“He looks so lost and frail,” Nicole murmured, her heart aching at the sight of the lonely creature.
Gabriel nodded in agreement. “We can't just leave him here. Let's take him to the vet.”
They carefully lifted the old dog into their car and drove to the nearest veterinary clinic. The waiting room was bustling
with other pet owners and their furry companions, but their attention was solely on the dog they had rescued.
The vet, a kind and compassionate man, examined the dog thoroughly. After a series of tests, he sat down with Gabriel and
Nicole in a small consultation room.
“It appears that this old fellow has been through quite a lot,” the vet began, his expression sympathetic. “He's
malnourished, dehydrated, and suffering from several health issues. He'll need some intensive care, and it might be best if he
stays with us overnight.”
Nicole exchanged a worried glance with Gabriel. They knew that leaving the dog behind was the right thing to do, but it
was hard to say goodbye to their new friend so soon.
“We'll do whatever it takes to help him,” Gabriel said firmly, determination in his eyes.
 The vet nodded, appreciating their commitment. “I'll make sure he gets the best care possible. We'll keep you updated on
his progress.”
Reluctantly, Gabriel and Nicole said their goodbyes to the old dog, promising to return to check on him the next day. As
they left the vet's office, they couldn't help but feel that they had done the right thing, giving this neglected soul a chance at a
better life.

Gabriel had a big smile on his face as he zipped up his suitcase, but his eyes betrayed a touch of sadness. He was about to head
out for a few days for a book signing, and while he was excited about the opportunity, leaving Nicole was a bittersweet
moment.
Nicole watched him from their bedroom doorway, her expression a mix of understanding and affection. She knew how
important this tour was for his career, and she couldn't be prouder of his success. Still, the idea of being apart weighed on her.
“I’m sorry I can’t see the footage with you. Let me know what you guys find.”
“We will.” Nicole smiled.
As Gabriel finished packing, he turned to Nicole, his eyes filled with love. He knelt beside her, gently placing a hand on
her pregnant belly. “Hey there, little one,” he whispered, his voice soft and tender. “Daddy's going on a little adventure, but I
promise I'll be back before you know it.”
Nicole smiled, her hand reaching out to caress his cheek. “We're going to miss you,” she admitted, her voice filled with
warmth and a hint of sadness.
Gabriel pressed a loving kiss to her belly, then stood up to pull her into a tight embrace. “I'm going to miss you both so
much,” he admitted, his voice betraying his emotions.
They held each other for a moment, cherishing the closeness, before Gabriel reluctantly let her go. “Ms. Jenkins will be
checking on you while I'm away,” he assured Nicole. “And I'll call every day to hear how my two favorite people are doing.”
Nicole nodded, her heart warmed by his thoughtfulness. “We'll be here, eagerly waiting for your return,” she promised,
giving him a soft kiss.
With one last, lingering embrace, Gabriel gathered his things and headed toward the front door. Nicole watched him go,
feeling a mixture of pride and longing. As he disappeared down the driveway, she knew that this was just another chapter in
their journey, one filled with love, anticipation, and the promise of a bright future together.
 CHAPTER 4

T
he night had cast a tranquil shroud over Nicole's small house, and she had settled into a quiet evening at home. The
rhythmic tick of the clock on the wall was the only sound that filled the room. As she nestled deeper into her armchair,
the knock on the door shattered the silence like a jarring note in a peaceful symphony.
Nicole peered at the clock. Who could be visiting at such an hour? With cautious curiosity, she approached the door and
cautiously peered through the peephole. To her surprise, she saw Marshall's face on the other side.
Startled and slightly apprehensive, Nicole reluctantly unlocked the door and swung it open, revealing Marshall standing
there, a hesitant expression on his face.
“Marshall?”Nicole inquired, both surprised and intrigued. “What brings you here so late?”
Marshall cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably on the doorstep. “I, uh, hope I'm not intruding. I got your address from
the library, and I... I just wanted to check on you.”
Nicole regarded him with a mix of surprise and suspicion. Marshall had remained a mysterious figure in her mind,
connected to the events surrounding Mr. Monroe's death. She had never expected him to show up at her door, especially at this
hour.
Torn between politeness and caution, she stepped back, allowing him to enter her home. “Well, thank you, Marshall.
That's... thoughtful of you.”
Marshall entered Nicole's home, walking past her, his eyes darting around the room, taking in the furnishings and
atmosphere. It was clear he was unfamiliar with the place, and his unease only deepened Nicole's suspicions.
“Where's Gabriel?”Marshall asked, his gaze shifting from corner to corner.
Nicole's heartbeat quickened, and she hesitated for a moment before replying, “Gabriel's not here right now. He's out of
town.”
Marshall furrowed his brow, his curiosity now tinged with a hint of frustration. “Out of town? That's interesting. I was
hoping to talk to him about Mr. Monroe.”
Nicole bit her lip, feeling the weight of Marshall's presence pressing down on her.
“He'll be back first thing in the morning,” Nicole finally managed to say, her voice tinged with nervousness. She lied.
Marshall seemed reluctant to accept her answer, but after a pause, he nodded, his expression still conflicted. “Okay
remember, if you ever need anything, if you find out anything about Mr. Monroe, don't hesitate to reach out to me.”
With those parting words, Marshall turned and made his way to the door. Nicole followed him, feeling a mix of relief and
lingering unease. As he stepped outside, she locked the door behind him and took a deep breath to calm her racing heart.

In the comforting ambiance of her bookstore, Nicole and Ms. Jenkins sat across from a detective, their faces etched with
concern. The detective had just delivered a surprising revelation that had turned their assumptions about Mr. Monroe's death
upside down.
Nicole's eyes were wide with shock. “A brain injury? Are you sure?”
The detective nodded gravely, adjusting his glasses as he explained, “Yes, ma'am. Our initial examination revealed that Mr.
Monroe did not die from a heart attack, as it appeared at first. It was actually a severe brain injury that led to his unfortunate
passing.”
Ms. Jenkins exchanged a concerned glance with Nicole before asking, “But how did he sustain such an injury?”
The detective hesitated as if choosing his words carefully. “There's a dent on the edge of a nearby table. We think he fell
and hit his head.”
Nicole frowned, her mind racing with questions. “Could it have been an accident? Maybe he fell?”
The detective nodded again. “Maybe. But the table was pushed away with such force, we didn't pay much attention to it
during the initial investigation. He would have to have been pushed.”
Ms. Jenkins leaned in, her expression a mix of worry and curiosity. “Oh, that's heartbreaking.”
The detective nodded, his tone empathetic. “It's possible. We're hoping that reviewing the scene will shed some light on the
matter.”
Nicole and Ms. Jenkins both had a growing sense of unease. The mystery surrounding Mr. Monroe's death was deepening,
and the revelation of a brain injury had only raised more questions.

After a long drive to Laura’s house, the meeting with George and Laura was anything but easy. The weight of Mr. Monroe's
mysterious death hung heavily in the air, and emotions were running high.
Laura, her eyes swollen from crying, sat hunched over a cup of tea, her hands trembling. Ms. Jenkins offered a sympathetic
pat on her shoulder before taking a seat beside her.
George, on the other hand, looked resolute, his jaw set with anger. He spoke his mind without hesitation, his words laced
with frustration. “I can't believe they're dragging this out as a homicide. It's unnecessary. He wouldn't want this.”
Nicole and Ms. Jenkins exchanged glances, acknowledging the complexity of the situation. Nicole spoke gently, trying to
soothe George's anger. “We understand your concerns, George, but the detective said they need to investigate thoroughly to find
out what really happened.”
Laura, her voice trembling, added, “We just want to know the truth, George. Closure is important.”
George sighed, his frustration evident. “I know, I know, Laura, but this whole process, it's just... agonizing.”
Ms. Jenkins leaned forward, her expression compassionate. “We all loved Mr. Monroe, and this is incredibly hard for us.
But let's cooperate with the investigation. Maybe, in the end, it'll provide the answers we need.”
Laura nodded, her tears still flowing. “You're right, Ms. Jenkins. We need to do this for Mr. Monroe.”
George, though begrudgingly, agreed, “Fine, but I won't be happy about it.”
He sighed and left Laura's living room.

Nicole was at home, thinking about the old, sick dog they had rescued earlier. She had just settled down with a cup of tea and a
book when her phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, she saw it was the vet's office.
“Hello?”Nicole answered, her voice filled with anticipation.
“Hi, Nicole,” the voice on the other end greeted her. It was the veterinarian. “I wanted to give you an update on the dog you
brought in yesterday. He's doing much better now, but we'd like to keep him for another night just to monitor his progress and
make sure he's fully recovered.”
Nicole couldn't help but smile. “That's great to hear! Of course, if he needs another night, I want to make sure he's
completely healthy. Thank you for taking such good care of him.”
The vet reassured her, “It's our pleasure, Nicole. He's a sweet old dog, and we're doing our best to get him back to full
health. You can come visit him tomorrow and see how he's doing.”
Nicole felt a sense of relief and gratitude. “Thank you so much for everything you're doing for him. I'll come by tomorrow
to check on him.”
With the assurance that the dog was on the mend and in capable hands, Nicole hung up the phone, feeling a warm sense of
contentment. Nicole couldn't wait to share the good news about the dog's improving condition with Gabriel. She picked up her
phone and dialed his number, her heart brimming with happiness.
“Hey, Gabriel,” she said as he answered, “I just got a call from the vet. The dog we found is doing much better. They want
to keep him for one more night, but he's on the road to recovery.”
Gabriel's voice reflected the relief in his heart. “That's fantastic news, Nicole! I'm really glad to hear that.”
“Yeah,” Nicole agreed, a smile in her voice. “And you know what? I was thinking... maybe we should keep him. He's been
through so much, and he deserves a loving home. What do you think?”
There was a brief pause on the other end, and then Gabriel replied, “I think that's a wonderful idea, Nicole. Let's give him a
home and a second chance. What should we name him?”
Nicole thought for a moment, her mind racing through possible names. Then it came to her. “How about Teddy? It suits him,
don't you think? He is the exact color of a brown teddy bear.”
Gabriel chuckled softly. “Teddy it is. I can't wait to bring our new friend...and the baby home.”
As Nicole lay in bed, the tranquility of the night was shattered by an abrupt, unsettling noise emanating from outside. Her
senses went on high alert as she strained to listen, heart pounding in her chest. The ominous sound seemed to be just beyond her
window, like an unsettling whisper in the darkness.
With a quivering hand, she slowly drew back the curtain and peered into the inky abyss outside. Her breath caught in her
throat as she saw nothing but the swaying trees and the restless shadows they cast.
The unease gnawed at her, but she couldn't pinpoint the source of the disturbance. Was it just the wind playing tricks on her
imagination?
Then, as if the heavens themselves were joining in her disquiet, the sky above unleashed a torrential downpour. Raindrops
hammered against the windowpane like an ominous drumbeat. A distant roll of thunder underscored the growing tempest.
Fear surged through her veins, and she scrambled back to her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. She had a feeling that
something was lurking in the darkness, just beyond her vision, hidden in the storm's fury.
As the thunder rumbled louder and lightning pierced the night, she clung to her covers, seeking refuge from both the raging
storm and the lingering fear that refused to release its grip on her. She closed her eyes tight until she faded into sleep.

The next evening, in the quiet confines of the library, Nicole, Ms. Jenkins, and Chrissy gathered around the computer screen,
anticipation thick in the air. Chrissy had managed to get someone to recover the deleted footage from the night of Mr. Monroe's
death, and they were about to witness something that might hold a crucial clue.
The footage began with Mr. Monroe entering the library around 6 pm, as expected. He appeared relaxed, his usual friendly
smile on display as he went about his duties. But as the minutes ticked by, a figure appeared on the screen that caught them all
off guard.
It was Marshall, a fellow member of the Liberty Society. He strolled into the library a little after 8:00 p.m., his demeanor
calm and unassuming. Then, to their surprise, Marshall left fifteen minutes later, leaving them bewildered.
Nicole's thoughts raced. This was a revelation they hadn't expected. Why had Marshall been in the library around the time
of Mr. Monroe's murder? What could have brought him there?
Chrissy, the librarian, broke the silence. “This is… unexpected,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the screen. “I've known
Marshall for years, and I can't fathom why he would be here at that hour.”
Ms. Jenkins nodded in agreement, her expression thoughtful. “We need to speak with Marshall,” she stated firmly. “We can't
jump to conclusions, but this certainly warrants further investigation. Perhaps he has a valid explanation.”
Nicole's curiosity burned brightly. “I agree. We should talk to him discreetly, and find out why he was in the library that
night. It might lead us closer to uncovering the truth about Mr. Monroe's death.”
They left the library, the mystery deepened, and the shadows of suspicion fell upon Marshall. They knew they were
stepping into dangerous territory, but their determination to unveil the secrets hidden within their society was unwavering.

In the glow of her home, Nicole settled down with her phone and dialed Gabriel's number. Her heart was heavy with the day's
revelations, and she needed the comfort and reassurance that only he could provide.
When Gabriel's face appeared on the screen, his warm eyes met hers, and she couldn't hold back the tears that welled up in
her own. She recounted everything that had transpired at the library, the recovered footage, and the presence of Marshall during
the hours surrounding Mr. Monroe's death.
As she spoke, her voice trembled with anxiety and fear for the safety of their unborn child. “Gabriel,” she whispered, “I
just want our baby to be safe, to grow up in a world free from these secrets and mysteries.”
Gabriel's expression softened, and he reached out through the screen as if to wipe away her tears. “Nicole,” he said gently,
“you and our baby mean everything to me. I promise you, no matter what happens, I will always be there to protect you both.
We'll get through this together.”
Moved by his words, Nicole felt a sense of security wash over her. She knew that with Gabriel by her side, she could face
anything that lay ahead. Their love was a fortress, strong and unwavering.
As the conversation continued, they shared stories and laughter, gradually letting go of the weight of the day. Eventually,
their words grew softer, and they found solace in each other's presence. With their phones still connected, they settled into a
peaceful silence, feeling the comforting embrace of love and connection.
The night deepened, their voices faded into a hushed murmur, and the screen displayed their peaceful sleeping faces, still
connected by the unbreakable bond of their love.
 CHAPTER 5

A
few days after their heartfelt FaceTime conversation, Gabriel returned home from his book tour, his eyes filled with
excitement and exhaustion from the road. He had missed Nicole terribly and couldn't wait to see her again.
“Nicole,” he called out as he stepped through the door, his voice filled with warmth and anticipation. “I'm home!”
Nicole, who had been organizing some baby items in the living room, looked up with a bright smile. “Gabriel! You're
back!”She rushed into his arms, and they shared a lingering kiss, savoring the feeling of being reunited.
With a twinkle in his eye, Gabriel said, “I missed you so much. How about we have a special dinner tonight? Just you and
me.”
Nicole's heart swelled with happiness. She loved the idea of a quiet, intimate dinner with Gabriel. “That sounds
wonderful,” she replied, her eyes shining with affection. “Let's go somewhere special.”
Gabriel gently held her hands and looked into her eyes. “I have just the place in mind.” He smiled.
Nicole chuckled, loving Gabriel's adventurous spirit. “Alright, let's do it.”
Nicole and Gabriel spent the afternoon getting dressed up for their special dinner. Nicole wore a lovely maternity dress
that accentuated her growing baby bump, and Gabriel looked dashing in a well-tailored suit. With a touch of elegance and
anticipation, they set out for the restaurant, which was nestled about an hour away in the picturesque countryside.
As they drove through winding roads framed by lush greenery, they chatted about the scenic beauty around them,
occasionally stopping to take pictures of charming landscapes. Their laughter and affectionate banter filled the car, making the
journey as delightful as the destination.
When they finally arrived at the restaurant, they were greeted by a warm and inviting ambiance. Soft candlelight cast a
romantic glow, and the tables were adorned with fresh flowers. The gentle melody of a piano playing in the background added
to the enchanting atmosphere.
Gabriel pulled out Nicole's chair and helped her sit down, his eyes filled with adoration. “You look absolutely radiant
tonight,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
Blushing, Nicole replied, “And you look incredibly handsome, as always.”
They savored a delicious meal together, sipping on fine drinks and sharing delectable dishes. The flavors were exquisite,
but it was the company that truly made the evening unforgettable. They laughed, they reminisced, and they dreamed about their
future as a family.
As dessert arrived, Gabriel reached across the table to take Nicole's hand. “Nicole,” he began, his voice soft and earnest,
“I can't wait for our little one to arrive. But I also can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you, building a beautiful family
together.”
Nicole's eyes welled up with tears of happiness, and she smiled radiantly. “Gabriel, you've already brought so much joy
into my life. I can't wait to see what the future holds for us.”
Amidst the soft glow of candlelight and the romantic ambiance of the restaurant, Gabriel reached into his pocket and pulled
out a small, velvet box. His heart raced as he looked into Nicole's eyes, filled with love and anticipation.
“Nicole,” he began, his voice filled with emotion, “from the moment I met you, my life has been so much brighter, and my
heart has been filled with indescribable happiness.”
He opened the velvet box to reveal a stunning diamond ring that glistened in the candlelight—a very large diamond. “Will
you do me the incredible honor of becoming my wife?”
Overwhelmed with emotion and tears of joy in her eyes, Nicole nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!”
Gabriel's face lit up with a smile as he slipped the ring onto her finger. The entire restaurant seemed to hold its breath,
celebrating this beautiful moment of love and commitment. The other diners erupted in applause as Gabriel leaned over and
gently kissed his now-fiancée.
Their hearts intertwined with the promise of a future together, and as they held each other close, they knew that this evening
had become a chapter in their love story they would cherish forever.
As Nicole and Gabriel were savoring their moment dinner together after the heartwarming proposal, a surprise awaited
them. From the back of the restaurant, Ms. Jenkins and Tony emerged, both wearing warm smiles on their faces. Gabriel had
secretly invited them to join the celebration.
With cheerful congratulations, they raised their glasses in a toast to the newly engaged couple, and the evening continued to
be filled with laughter, company, and a sense of shared happiness. It was a night they would all remember fondly, celebrating
the love between Nicole and Gabriel and the bonds of friendship that had grown strong over time.

Nicole and Gabriel had been anxiously waiting for the call from the vet, and when it finally came, they couldn't contain their
excitement. Teddy, the once-ailing dog rescued from the side of the road, was ready to come home and begin his new life. They
practically skipped to their car, giddy with anticipation.
The first stop was the pet store, where they picked out an array of supplies fit for their new family member. They chose a
plush bed with a soft, faux-fur lining, a selection of high-quality dog food, a squeaky toy that was sure to keep Teddy
entertained, and a stylish leash and collar, complete with a little tag that read “Teddy.”
With their shopping bags brimming with doggie delights, they made their way to the vet's office. As they walked through the
door, they were met with a warm smile from the receptionist, who had been following Teddy's progress closely.
“Your little buddy is ready to head home,” she said cheerfully.
Eagerly, they followed her to the examination room, where Teddy was waiting. The transformation in Teddy was nothing
short of remarkable. His once-dull eyes now sparkled with vitality, and his tail wagged vigorously as he spotted his rescuers. It
was as if he knew that his life had taken a turn for the better.
The vet provided them with a thorough briefing on Teddy's medications and care regimen. She emphasized that rest was of
the utmost importance for his full recovery, and she couldn't have been happier with his progress.
With Teddy comfortably settled in the back seat, they embarked on the journey back home. Nicole sat in the back with
Teddy, her hand gently stroking his fur as she whispered soothing words to him. Gabriel occasionally glanced back, a smile on
his face as he drove them toward their shared future.
Upon their arrival home, they transformed a corner of their living room into a cozy haven for Teddy. His new bed was
positioned near the window, allowing him to watch the world outside. The squeaky toy sat nearby, ready for playtime.
Nicole and Gabriel exchanged smiles as they watched Teddy curl up in his new bed. They knew that their home was now
complete, and the joy they felt at that moment was immeasurable.
“He's going to be such a great addition to our family,” Nicole said, her voice filled with warmth.
Gabriel nodded in agreement. “Teddy, welcome to your forever home,” he said, bending down to give the dog a gentle pat
on the head.

In the dimly lit library, with the meeting of the Liberty Society about to begin, a palpable tension hung in the air. Nicole, Ms.
Jenkins, and Gabriel had decided to confront Marshall about his mysterious visit to the library on the night of Mr. Monroe's
death.
As the meeting closed and people slipped out, Gabriel cleared his throat, garnering the attention of Nicole and Ms. Jenkins.
“Marshall,” he began, his voice steady, “we've been wanting to ask you about something. On the night Mr. Monroe passed
away, we have security footage of you entering the library late in the evening. Could you explain what you were doing there at
that hour?”
Marshall, who had been seated calmly, shifted in his chair, his expression one of surprise. He glanced at Nicole, Ms.
Jenkins, and Gabriel, his eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and concern. After a moment's pause, he explained, his voice
unwavering.
“I was returning an important journal to the library,” Marshall stated. “My son needed it urgently for a school assignment,
and I had borrowed it earlier. I didn't want him to miss out on his project, so I decided to return it that night.”
“Did you see Mr. Monroe?” Nicole asked.
He nodded.
Marshall's revelation that he had seen Mr. Monroe that night in the society library sent a collective shiver through the
group. Nicole, Ms. Jenkins, and Gabriel exchanged concerned glances before Nicole spoke up.
“What was he doing?” she asked, her voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and anxiety.
 He shrugged. “He was just sitting at a desk in the back of the library.”
Ms. Jenkins nodded. “Why didn't you tell anyone?”
“My son took the book...to school. I know, I know. We aren't supposed to let children have them, but he was so proud of it
and wanted to show all his friends. When I saw him, I was afraid I'd get in trouble. So, I didn't speak to him. I slipped the
journal back and rushed out.”
Ms. Jenkins sighed, pondering the significance of Marshall's observation. “Did you notice anything unusual about his
behavior or surroundings?” she inquired.
Marshall paused, clearly recalling that evening. “Not that I can recall,” he replied. “Everything seemed fairly routine. Mr.
Monroe often spent late hours at the library, as many of us do, so I didn't think much of it at the time.”
Gabriel chimed in, his tone thoughtful. “And you didn't see anyone else in the library that night? No one who might have
come and gone during your visit?”
Marshall shook his head. “I'm afraid not. It was rather quiet when I was there. But, again, I was rushing out.”
The trio fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. The information shed some light on Mr. Monroe's activities that evening,
but it also deepened the mystery surrounding his death. They couldn't help but wonder if there was more to the story, more
pieces of the puzzle waiting to be discovered.
Nicole finally spoke, her voice a mix of determination and concern. “Thank you for sharing that with us, Marshall. We're
all trying to piece together what happened that night. If you remember anything else, no matter how small, please don't hesitate
to let us know. It might be crucial in finding out the truth.”
Ms. Jenkins, Nicole, and Gabriel exchanged glances; their skepticism evident. Still, there was no concrete evidence to
contradict Marshall's explanation. They knew they needed to tread carefully, especially within the confines of the Society.
 CHAPTER 6

G
abriel stirred from his slumber, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft morning light. He shifted slightly in bed,
instinctively reaching out to Nicole who lay beside him. It didn't take long for him to notice the discomfort that spoiled
her usually peaceful expression.
“Are you okay?”He looked at her.
“Yeah,” she moved around a little and gave him a small smile. “My back just hurts pretty bad today.”
Concerned, he gently encouraged her to roll over a little, allowing him better access to her back. Nicole, half-asleep,
complied, trusting his caring touch.
With a tenderness that spoke of love and devotion, Gabriel began to rub her lower back. His fingers moved in slow,
soothing circles, aimed at relieving the tension that had settled there. There was no hint of anything other than pure affection in
his touch, a desire to ease her discomfort and bring her comfort.
Nicole, her eyes heavy with sleep, let out a contented sigh as the warmth of Gabriel's hand seeped into her muscles. It was
a sweet and intimate moment, a gesture that needed no words to convey the depth of their connection.
Gabriel pressed a soft kiss to the nape of Nicole's neck. It was a gesture of love and reassurance, a silent promise that he
would always be there to take care of her, no matter what challenges life brought their way. He continued to massage Nicole's
back, the room filled with a quiet intimacy that spoke of their unbreakable bond.
“Would you mind covering the store today? I would just love to⁠—“
“Stay in bed.” Gabriel finished.
She smiled. “Are you sure? Maybe I can come later.”
“No, you stay here. I’ll cover the store.” He smiled. He continued rubbing her back until she fell into a deep sleep.

Nicole rested at home, and her curiosity about Marshall continued to gnaw at her. With her back pain receding, she decided to
delve deeper into his background, hoping to uncover any clues that might help solve the mystery surrounding Mr. Monroe's
death.
With her laptop perched on her lap, Nicole began her research. She soon discovered that Marshall was a single father with
a son, a detail that humanized him beyond his enigmatic presence in the Society. He had been inducted into the society only a
few months back, which explained why she hadn't seen him frequently at meetings.
Digging further, she learned that Marshall had been a resident of the area for a little over five years. He owned a small
pawn shop located on the outskirts of town. It appeared that his involvement in the Society stemmed from his ability to find
priceless literature during his work and his desire to ensure these treasures found a deserving home. He frequently donated
these literary gems to the Liberty Society, aligning with their mission to preserve and protect valuable written works.
Nicole jotted down the address of Marshall's pawn shop, feeling a newfound determination to learn more about him and his
connection to the Society. Tomorrow, she decided, she would pay a visit to the shop. Perhaps there, she would find additional
clues that could shed light on the events surrounding Mr. Monroe's death.
She closed her laptop and settled back into her resting place.
Gabriel's arrival at home for lunch brought a comforting sense of relief to Nicole. As she reclined on the couch, nursing her
aching back, he walked in with a warm smile, a delicious-looking lunch in hand.
“Hey there,” Gabriel greeted her, his eyes filled with concern as he set the meal on the coffee table. “Ms. Jenkins covered
for me today so I could come check on you. It's been a busy day, but I couldn't bear the thought of leaving you alone in pain.”
 Nicole's heart swelled with gratitude. She appreciated his thoughtfulness and the way he always prioritized her well-being.
“That's so sweet of you,” she replied, her voice laced with affection. “You didn't have to, but I'm glad you're here.”
Gabriel took a seat beside her, his hand gently caressing her cheek. “I'll always be here for you, Nicole. Whether it's for
aching backs or just because I want to spend time with you.”
Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to fade away.
They enjoyed their meal together until Gabriel had to go back to the store.
“I'll see you soon.” He smiled. “Rest up! Don't forget we have the doctor's appointment in the morning!”
Nicole smiled. “I'd never forget a chance to see our baby.”He kissed her on the forehead and left for the bookstore again.

As Gabriel entered their living room, he found her hunched over on the couch, clutching her lower back, a look of agony etched
on her face.
“Nicole, what's happening?”Gabriel asked, his voice laced with concern.
Nicole winced, her breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps. “Gabriel, it's the back pain. It's excruciating, worse than ever
before. I'm scared.”
His heart pounded in his chest as he helped her to her feet. “We need to get you to the hospital, now,” he declared, his voice
resolute.
Nicole nodded, her face pale. Tears welled in her eyes as she muttered, “I'm worried about the baby, Gabriel.”
In an instant, Gabriel grabbed her bag, his thoughts racing. “Don't worry, Nicole. We're going to make sure you and the
baby are okay.”
As they sped toward the hospital, the tension in the car was palpable. Nicole gripped Gabriel's hand with an intensity that
mirrored their growing apprehension. The silence was broken only by the sound of the engine and Nicole's labored breathing.
Gabriel's mind raced with worry and questions, but he kept them to himself, knowing that this moment required his full
support. Deep down, they both feared the unknown, but they clung to the hope that their love and determination would guide
them through whatever lay ahead.
They sat together in the waiting room, they held hands, worried about what was going to come.
Finally, the doctor came in and stepped into the examination room. The doctor's warm demeanor immediately put them at
ease. He performed the necessary check-ups and monitored the baby's progress carefully.
After a thorough examination, the doctor beamed at them and delivered the heartwarming news, “Your baby is doing
absolutely wonderful. Everything looks perfect, and you're both doing a fantastic job taking care of yourselves. I think you’re
just experiencing some back spasms from your hips stretching and pressure. You’re doing just fine.”
Nicole's eyes welled up with tears of joy, and Gabriel squeezed her hand affectionately. This confirmation that their little
one was healthy and thriving filled their hearts with immense happiness and relief. Being over 40 and pregnant brought a
specific set of challenges, but Nicole was overcoming all of them.
“I’ll write you a small prescription for something. You did great by coming in.”
As they left the doctor's office, Nicole and Gabriel couldn't help but talk excitedly about their baby's future. They dreamed
of the day they would hold their child in their arms, and their love for each other and their growing family only grew stronger
with each passing day. Gabriel helped Nicole to the car and promised to tuck her in when they got home.

The unexpected call from Chrissy shattered the silence in the room. Nicole couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding as she
approached Chrissy. “What's going on?” she asked, her voice tinged with unease.
Chrissy wasted no time in explaining. “My grandson's friend, the computer whiz, managed to find more footage from that
night,” she began, her voice barely concealing her anticipation and concern. “We couldn't access it before, but he's worked
some magic. I need you guys to come. Ms. Jenkins is here.”
“We're on our way.” The call from Chrissy about the newly discovered footage filled Nicole and Gabriel with a mix of
anticipation and trepidation. They quickly made their way to the library where Chrissy and Ms. Jenkins were waiting.
They followed Chrissy to the security room. The room had an air of tension as if they were on the cusp of a significant
revelation.
As the footage began to play on the screen, the room fell silent, and everyone's eyes were glued to the monitor. They
watched as Mr. Monroe entered the library around 6:00 p.m. just as they had seen in the previous footage.
But this time, something was different.
Chrissy, her eyes wide with a sense of urgency, greeted them at the library entrance. “I can't believe what we found,” she
said, her voice tinged with excitement and concern.
Suddenly, around 10:00 p.m., George comes sulking into the library.
 “Why is he there?”Gabrielle asked.
Chrissy shrugged. They kept watching. After about ten minutes, George rushed out of the library and disappeared from
view. They fast-forwarded through the footage, but no one else came in and Mr. Monroe never left.
The screen went dark, and the room was filled with a heavy silence. Nicole, her mind racing, turned to the others. “We
need to find Marshall,” she declared with determination. “There's more to this story than we ever imagined.”
Nicole dialed Laura's number anxiously, her fingers tapping on her phone screen as she waited for her to answer. Each
passing second felt like an eternity as she pondered how to explain the situation to Laura.
The call went to voicemail, and Nicole took a deep breath before leaving a message. Her voice was urgent, conveying the
gravity of the matter.
“Hey, Laura, it's Nicole. I need you to call me back as soon as you get this. It's about George, something... something
important. I don't know what's going on, but we need to talk about it. Please call me back. It's really important.”
With that, Nicole ended the call and waited anxiously for Laura's response, her heart pounding with concern for her friend
and the unsettling mystery that had begun to unravel around them.
After a few minutes, Nicole's phone lit up with Laura's number, and she quickly answered, expecting to hear her friend's
voice on the other end. To her surprise, it was George who had called, and his tone was filled with urgency and concern.
“What's going on, Nicole?” George demanded; his voice laced with worry.
“Where's Laura?”
“Not here,” he said, abruptly.
Nicole hesitated for a moment, grappling with how to convey the information. “George, we need to talk about it. Can you
meet me at my bookstore? I promise I'll explain everything.”
George sighed heavily on the other end of the line, his apprehension evident. “Fine. This weekend,” he replied curtly
before hanging up.
Nicole felt a knot of anxiety tightening in her chest as she hung up the phone. It was a tense situation, and she hoped that
meeting with George would shed some light on the mysterious events surrounding Mr. Monroe's death and the role he might
have played in them.
 CHAPTER 7

N
icole sat at her small dining table, the soft glow of the evening sun casting a warm hue across the room. She picked up
her phone and began scrolling through her emails, hoping to find something that would divert her thoughts.
As she scrolled through the messages, her thumb accidentally tapped on an old, seemingly forgotten email. It was
from Mr. Monroe, dated several months ago, and the subject line read, “A Note of Gratitude.”
Nicole opened the email. Her eyes scanned the message, and a gentle smile spread across her face. It was a heartfelt note
from Mr. Monroe, thanking her for her dedication and hard work during the Society's last inauguration event.

“Dear Nicole,” the email began, “I wanted to take a moment to express my deep gratitude for your unwavering commitment
to the Society. Staying late to ensure the success of our event did not go unnoticed. Your dedication is a testament to the
values we hold dear.”

Nicole's smile widened as she continued to read Mr. Monroe's words. He went on to express how much he valued her
presence in the Society and how he looked forward to working with her in the future.
Nicole smiled and closed her email. She missed Mr. Monroe and she felt so bad for Laura. She thought about his daughter
and how much she must be hurting. Nicole briefly thought about the life inside of her being left behind. It made her heart ache.
She looked at Gabriel who was playing with Teddy.
“Let's go for a walk.”
Gabriel and Nicole strolled along the peaceful neighborhood streets, Teddy happily trotting beside them. The fresh air and
tranquility provided a welcome break from the recent turmoil in their lives.
“He's really taken to this place, hasn't he?” Gabriel remarked, glancing down at Teddy, who was wagging his tail and
taking in the new scents.
Nicole smiled and nodded. “Yes, he seems to be adjusting well. And you know, it got me thinking...”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow, curious. “Thinking about what?”
Nicole's hand gently rested on her baby bump, a serene expression on her face. “This neighborhood, Gabriel. It's so quiet
and safe. I can't help but imagine what it is going to be like to raise our child here.”
Gabriel's eyes sparkled with a mixture of excitement and anticipation. “You're right, Nicole. It does have that cozy, family-
friendly vibe. I think it's the perfect place for our little one to grow up.”
They continued their leisurely walk, hand in hand, as they discussed their dreams for the future. The quaint houses with
their well-kept gardens and friendly neighbors made them feel like they were already part of a warm, welcoming community.
As they turned the corner heading back to the house, Gabriel squeezed Nicole's hand gently and looked into her eyes. “You
know, this neighborhood will be even better with you as my wife.”
With Teddy happily wagging his tail beside them, they sealed the end of their walk with a passionate kiss before walking
back inside.

The door to Nicole's bookstore tinkled as it swung open, announcing the arrival of Ms. Jenkins and Tony. The soft ambiance of
the shop greeted them, its shelves lined with books of all genres, and the inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
“Hello, you two,” Nicole said warmly, stepping out from behind the counter to greet her visitors. Teddy, their newfound
canine companion, wagged his tail in greeting, earning a pat from Tony. Since he was feeling better, and he was so gentle and
calm, she thought he would do great at the bookstore.
Ms. Jenkins smiled warmly at Nicole. “How are you feeling, my dear?”
Nicole placed a protective hand on her growing belly and beamed. “I'm doing well, thank you. And Teddy here is settling
in nicely.”
Tony, the burly man with a kind heart and a love for fixing things, couldn't help but grin at the sight of the little dog. “Looks
like you've got yourself a new friend there, Nicole.”
Nicole nodded, her eyes twinkling with affection for Teddy. “Yes, he's been a real blessing.”
Tony reached into a bag he was carrying and pulled out a neatly wrapped package. He handed it to Nicole with a warm
smile. “We brought something for the baby, and, well, for you too.”
Nicole accepted the gift, her curiosity piqued. She carefully unwrapped it, revealing a soft, baby-blue blanket adorned with
tiny hammers, wrenches, and other tools.
“Oh, Tony, it's lovely!” Nicole exclaimed, running her fingers over the embroidered tools. “Thank you so much. This is
incredibly thoughtful.”
Ms. Jenkins, her eyes twinkling with a grandmotherly affection, chimed in, “It's perfect, Tony. A sweet touch for our future
handyman or handywoman.”
Tony blushed slightly, clearly pleased that his gift was well-received. “I thought it might come in handy. No pun intended,”
he added with a chuckle.
Nicole folded the blanket gently and placed it on a nearby table, a grateful smile on her face. “We appreciate it, Tony.
Thank you for thinking of us and our little one.”
He smiled. “Well, we are off!” He placed his hand on Ms. Jenkins’ lower back.
She blushed. “We're going away for the night.”
“Oh, how nice!”Nicole pushed her hands together. “I'm happy for you both. I hope you have a nice night.”
Tony smiled. “Come on, hot stuff, let's get going.”
“Tony,” Ms. Jenkins scolded and blushed more. He winked at Nicole before they left the bookstore.
Nicole's phone buzzed.
“Hello?” she answered, her voice filled with the cheerful anticipation of another day at the bookstore.
“Nicole, it's Chrissy,” a familiar voice crackled over the line.
“Chrissy! How have you been?”Nicole replied, delighted to hear from her.
“Oh, you know, keeping busy,” Chrissy chuckled. “Listen, I wanted to tell you something. I've been cleaning out Mr.
Monroe's old desk in the library.”
Nicole's heart skipped a beat. “Oh, Chrissy, that must have been a difficult task.”
“It was, but it needed to be done,” Chrissy replied solemnly. “Anyway, I found something that might interest you. There's an
envelope here with your name on it.”
Nicole sounded confused. “For me? Are you sure?”
“Positive. I thought you might want to come by after you close up the shop today and take a look.”
Nicole's mind raced with questions. What could Mr. Monroe have left for her? “Of course, Chrissy. I'll be there as soon as
I close up shop.”
“Good. I'll wait for you,” Chrissy said before ending the call.
Nicole hung up and stared at her phone, a mix of excitement and apprehension swirling within her. What could this
mysterious envelope contain? She quickly finished her tasks at the bookstore, locked the door behind her, and made her way to
the library.

Nicole entered the library, curiosity tingling in her veins as she approached Chrissy, who stood patiently near Mr. Monroe's
old desk. With a nod, Chrissy handed her the aged envelope, its corners slightly yellowed and the paper itself brittle with time.
Chrissy approached, an interested look in her eyes. “Nicole, I found this envelope in Mr. Monroe's desk as I was cleaning
it out,” she said, her voice hushed. “It has your name on it. I thought you should see what's inside.”
“Thank you, Chrissy,” Nicole said with a grateful smile, clutching the envelope gently. She took a deep breath before
carefully tearing it open. Inside, she found a collection of intriguing items that left her mystified.
She carefully tore it open and withdrew its contents: an old map of Cape San Blas, a faded photograph of a young couple,
and a small, weathered gold coin.
“What do you think it means?” Chrissy asked.
Nicole examined the items. “I'm not sure, Chrissy. These seem significant, but I can't quite place their meaning.”
 Chrissy nodded thoughtfully. “I was hoping you might have some insight. Mr. Monroe mentioned he had a surprise for the
chapter before he passed away. Maybe these are related to it somehow.”
Nicole agreed, though the mystery only deepened. “It's possible,” she said, tucking the items back into the envelope. “I'll
need to look into these further. They could hold clues about Cape San Blas or the society.”She smiled. “Thank you, Chrissy.”
Chrissy smiled. “Let me know if I can help you with anything.”
Nicole nodded, hugged her, and left.
 CHAPTER 8

N
icole, Gabriel, and Ms. Jenkins prepared for George's anticipated meeting at the bookstore that evening. They had
scheduled the gathering to discuss the newly uncovered footage and unravel the mysteries surrounding Mr. Monroe's
death.
However, a hint of unease lingered in the air. Nicole had tried calling Laura twice, but there had been no response. Her
worries began to gnaw at her as she watched the clock tick away the hours.
As she and Gabriel sat in the corner of the bookstore, Nicole couldn't help but voice her concerns. “I hope Laura makes it
today,” she confided to Gabriel, a touch of anxiety in her voice. “It's unusual for her not to answer my calls.”
Gabriel, ever the reassuring presence, placed a comforting hand on Nicole's shoulder. “I'm sure she'll be here,” he said, his
voice a soothing balm. “Maybe she's just caught up with something and hasn't checked her phone.”
Ms. Jenkins, chiming in from her spot nearby, nodded in agreement. “Yes, dear, sometimes life gets in the way. Let's hope
she shows up before we meet with George.”
Nicole nodded, trying to shake off her unease. “You're right,” she admitted, forcing a smile. “I'm probably just being
paranoid. Laura will come, and we'll get to the bottom of this mystery.”
As the hours passed, Nicole couldn't help but glance at the clock periodically, her hopes rising with each passing minute.
She held onto the belief that Laura would soon walk through the door, ready to join their quest for answers. The fate of their
investigation hung in the balance, and they needed all hands on deck to uncover the truth about Mr. Monroe's demise.
With lingering uncertainty about Laura's absence, Ms. Jenkins took it upon herself to set up a discreet recording device in
the bookstore. She had a knack for preparedness and a keen sense of the importance of capturing every detail, no matter how
insignificant it might seem.
She hoped it would serve as an insurance policy just in case George's meeting would provide crucial information regarding
the mysteries they sought to unravel.
Nicole, Gabriel, and Ms. Jenkins waited. They were prepared to do whatever it took to uncover the truth.

The bell above the bookstore's door tinkled as George walked in, but there was no warmth in his entrance. He looked different
from the affable man they had known, his usually friendly face now carved with anger and frustration. The tension in the room
was palpable as Nicole, Gabriel, and Ms. Jenkins exchanged uneasy glances.
“George,” Nicole began, her voice laced with concern, “Where's Laura? We've been trying to reach her all day.”
His eyes, once warm and inviting, now held a hardness that made her uneasy. He didn't answer immediately, his gaze
sweeping across the room as if sizing them up. Finally, he replied, his words dripping with an ominous tone, “She's busy. Can't
be here right now.”
Ms. Jenkins, her instincts as sharp as ever, decided to press further. “George, it's important. We need to discuss Mr.
Monroe's case. You know we're trying to uncover the truth.”
He let out a bitter laugh, devoid of any humor. “The truth, huh? You all just keep digging, don't you? Some things are better
left buried.”
Gabriel stepped forward, his protective instincts kicking in. “George, you're acting strange. We're just trying to find out
what happened to our friend.”
George's anger flared, and he took a step closer, the ominous atmosphere thickening. “Nothing happened. He fell. That's the
end of it. You all need to leave it alone. Dragging this out is too hard for Laura. You're making it worse.”
 “The table was pushed too far. It's highly unlikely that he just fell.”
George shrugged. “People fall pretty far.”
His cryptic words hung heavy in the air, leaving Nicole, Gabriel, and Ms. Jenkins with more questions than answers.
“But why were you at the library that night?”Gabriel asked.
George shot a look at Gabriel. “I wasn't. They didn't find any camera footage at the library, so I’m not sure why you’re
asking that.”
“We saw the video. You walked in around 10:00 p.m. and came out a few minutes later. Mr. Monroe never left the room
afterward. This means you were one of the last people to see Mr. Monroe alive. Don't you think that's a little weird?”
George sighs. “You guys are just making stuff up at this point.”
Nicole sighs. “Look. We saw the video. We have proof. Just tell us what happened. And give me proof that Laura is okay.”
He thought for a moment, contemplating the question. “Laura is better off without him. I want to marry her!” He exclaimed.
“Don’t worry about her! Do you know how expensive engagement rings are? Weddings? Buying a house? It’s expensive. It
costs money. And Laura deserves the world. She deserves that.”
Gabriel took a step closer to George. “Did Mr. Monroe not approve of you?”
“Yeah, until he wouldn’t pay for the wedding!”
Ms. Jenkins looked confused. “What?”
In the dimly lit room, George stood, a conflicted expression on his face. His earlier anger had dissipated, replaced by a
deep sadness that mirrored the weight of his confession.
Nicole, Gabriel, and Ms. Jenkins were unsure of what to expect next. It was George who finally broke the silence, his
voice trembling with guilt and regret.
“I need to tell you something,” George began, his eyes cast downwards. “I didn't mean for any of this to happen. It was an
accident.”
Nicole's heart pounded in her chest as she urged him to continue, her voice gentle but urgent. “George, what are you talking
about?”
He took a deep breath, steeling himself to reveal the truth that had been haunting him. “That night in the library, I was there
to steal a valuable book. I needed the money to buy an engagement ring and plan a wedding for Laura. I knew the society had
some rare editions, and I thought it was my only way to afford the ring she deserved.”
Gabriel's face turned to irritation. “So, you were stealing from us?”
George nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. “I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt anyone. But Mr. Monroe... he caught me.”
Nicole's eyes widened, and her voice quivered as she probed further. “What happened when he caught you?”
George's voice trembled as he recounted the tragic turn of events. “I panicked. I didn't want to get caught. I pushed past him
to run away, but I... I didn't mean for it to happen. He stumbled and... and hit his head on the table. He fell, and he didn't get
up.”
The room was filled with a heavy silence as the weight of George's accidental involvement in Mr. Monroe's death hung in
the air. His shoulders slumped with guilt as he continued, “I didn't check on him; I was too scared. I just ran.”
Ms. Jenkins, her eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and sympathy, spoke softly, “George, you should have come forward.”
Tears streamed down George's face as he admitted, “I know. I should have. But fear and guilt... they consumed me. I never
intended for any of this to happen. It's haunted me every day since.”
Ms. Jenkins walked over and paused the recorder. Gabriel had secretly called the police earlier when George was yelling,
so their lights and sirens were getting closer to the store each second.
George turned to look, then turned back to them. “Yeah, I guess that's my ride.”He walked over and sat in a chair near a
bookshelf.
The sirens got louder, and then a pair of uniformed police officers entered, their presence commanding attention.
Ms. Jenkins, her face etched with a mixture of relief and sadness, spoke with the officers, providing details of the
confession while George remained silent, resigned to the consequences of his actions.
Meanwhile, Nicole and Gabriel stood apart from the unfolding scene, their eyes locked in a deep, reassuring gaze. Their
hearts swelled with emotions—relief that the mystery was solved, fear for what lay ahead, and a profound love that had
carried them through the darkest of times.
“I love you,” Gabriel whispered to Nicole, his voice trembling with both emotion and worry.
Nicole, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, squeezed his hand. “I love you too, Gabriel, no matter what happens.”
Their tender moment was interrupted by a sudden, sharp pain that seized Nicole's abdomen. She gasped and doubled over,
clutching her belly.
Gabriel's concern deepened instantly. “Nicole, are you okay?”
But before she could answer, another surge of pain wracked her body and a small, unexpected gush of warm liquid soaked
through her clothes.
Her eyes widened with realization, and she stammered, “Oh, Gabriel, my water just broke!”
 Panic mingled with excitement surged through Gabriel.
The officers finished their conversation with Ms. Jenkins and turned toward Nicole and Gabriel. As they approached,
Gabriel's voice quivered with emotion as he said, “Officers, we need to get to the hospital. Our baby is coming.”
 CONTINUE THE STORY!

Continue the story! Click the book cover below to be taken to Book 6 in The Little Bookstore On Cape San Blas Series.
ALSO BY GRACE MEYERS

Christmas In Maine
The Christmas Reunion
A Christmas In Nantucket
Reunited Again
Siesta Key Retreat
The Summer Getaway
Sand, Sun & Secrets
No Looking Back
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by the way, five-year-old children were able to do in the days of
Cicero. Others soar in thoughts in the sky, and are ignorant of what
goes on upon earth. Others again are strong in artificial logic, having
an extreme absence of natural logic. In short, Leipsic proves beyond
controversy that learning does not beget common sense. I left these
pedants, and went to Frankfurt-on-the-Main. This city is celebrated
for its antiquities, and is noteworthy from the fact that the Roman
Emperor is chosen here. I was in the election room from which he
issues to the people. But its antiquity consists merely in being old: all
I saw there were four empty walls in an old building. They showed
me also the famous so-called La Bulle d’Or of Emperor Charles IV.,
which was written in the year 1356, and I was also in the Imperial
Archives. But it was hardly worth my while to climb up garrets and
down cellars, in order to see the relics of a rude age. From Frankfurt
I travelled through German principalities: every step a new
principality. I saw Hanau, Mainz, Fulda, Sachsen-Gotha, Eisenach
and a few other principalities of minor princes. I found the roads
frequently not paved, but I had nevertheless to pay dearly for the
pavement. When they pulled me out of a bog and asked pavement
money of me, I had the courage to ask them: “Where is it?” To which
they answered me that his Majesty, the reigning prince, had the
intention of having the roads paved, but that at the present he was
only collecting toll. Such justice in regard to strangers has led me to
make my own conclusions in regard to their relations with their
subjects, and I did not at all wonder when from every hut there came
out a crowd of beggars and followed my carriage....
From here I went into France, and reached the famous city of
Lyons. In this country the roads are very good; but in the cities the
streets are so narrow and are so badly kept that I cannot understand
how people with their five senses manage to live in such dirt. It is
evident that the police does not interfere with it. To prove this I shall
take the liberty of telling your Highness an occurrence. I was walking
in the finest and largest street in Lyons (which, however, cannot
compare with our by-streets), and saw in bright daylight burning
torches and a crowd of people in the middle of the street. Being
near-sighted, I naturally thought it was some elegant funeral. Upon
approaching nearer out of curiosity, I saw how great my mistake
was: Messrs. Frenchmen had simply stuck a pig and were singeing it
in the middle of the street! The stench, dirt and a crowd of leisure
people who were watching the operation compelled me to take
another street. I have not yet seen Paris, so I do not know whether
my olfactories will suffer there less; in any case, all the French cities
which I have so far seen are badly off as to their cleanliness.
Paris, March 20 (31), 1778.
... Voltaire’s arrival in Paris produced the same effect on the
people here as if a divinity had come down upon earth. The respect
shown to him in no way differs from worship. I am confident that if his
deep old age and ailments did not oppress him, and he wished to
preach now some new sect, the whole nation would at once turn to
him. Your Excellency will form your own opinion from what follows
whether one can come to any other conclusion from the reception
the public gave him.
When he arrived here, the poets who are devoted to him began to
write poems in his honour, while those who hate him sent him
anonymous satires. The first are printed, but not the other, for the
Government has by a special rescript forbidden to print anything that
might be prejudicial to Voltaire. This consideration is shown him as
much for his great talents as for his advanced age. This man of
eighty-five years has composed a new tragedy, Irene and Alexis
Comnenus, which has been performed. Although it can by no means
be compared to his former plays, yet the public received it with
rapture. The author being ill, he was not present at the first
presentation. It is only the first time yesterday that he has driven out:
he was in the Academy, then in the theatre, where they purposely
gave his new tragedy.
As he drove out from his house, the carriage was accompanied as
far as the Academy by an endless throng of people who kept up
applauding. All the academicians came out to meet him. He was
seated in the president’s chair and, waiving the customary voting,
was elected by acclamation to be president for the April quarter. As
he walked down the staircase and took his seat in the carriage, the
populace demanded vociferously to take off hats. From the Academy
to the theatre he was accompanied by the people’s cheering. When
he entered his box, the audience applauded repeatedly with
indescribable rapture, and a few minutes later the oldest actor,
Brisard, stepped into his box with a wreath which he placed on
Voltaire’s head. Voltaire immediately took the wreath off and with
tears of joy spoke aloud to Brisard: “Ah, Dieu! vous voulez donc me
faire mourir!” The tragedy was played with much greater perfection
than at any previous performance. At its conclusion there was a new
spectacle. All the actors and actresses surrounded Voltaire’s bust
and adorned it with laurel wreaths. This homage was followed by the
people’s applause, which lasted nearly fifteen minutes. Then
Madame Vestrice, who had played Irene, turned towards Voltaire
and read some laudatory verses. To show their appreciation, the
public demanded that the verses be read again, and they applauded
wildly. As soon as Voltaire seated himself in his carriage, the people
stopped the coachman and cried: “Des flambeaux, des flambeaux!”
When the torches were brought, they ordered the coachman to drive
at a slow pace, and an endless crowd accompanied him to his very
house with torches, crying all the time: “Vive Voltaire!” Voltaire has
received many an ovation in his lifetime, but yesterday was, no
doubt, the best day of his life, which, however, will soon come to an
end. Your Excellency will see how he now looks from his portrait
which I here enclose and which is a very good likeness of him.
 Ermíl Ivánovich Kostróv. (1750-1796.)
Kostróv was the son of a peasant. He studied in a seminary
and began to write verses early, first under the influence of
Lomonósov, in the pseudo-classic style,—later, under the
influence of Derzhávin, he cultivated a simpler and better
language. His chief services to Russian literature are his
translations of Apuleius, Ossian, and the Iliad. The ode which
is given here marks the turning-point in his manner of writing,
and at the same time indicates how great was the change
brought about by Derzhávin’s Felítsa (see p. 378) in Russian
poetry.

LETTER TO THE CREATOR OF THE ODE IN PRAISE OF

“FELÍTSA, THE KIRGÍZ-KAYSÁK PRINCESS”

Singer, to whom with a gentle smile the Muse has lately brought
from the Parnassian heights a wreath, I hanker for your friendship
and union with you. Moscow is my habitation, you sing the Neva
stream. But not the distant roads, nor mounts, nor hills, nor forests,
nor rivers shall impede my zeal to you, which to Petropolis shall be
borne, to issue in your breast and ears: not impossible to Muses is
what the Muses will.
Tell me, I pray, how without a lyre, nor violin, not even having
saddled the Parnassian steed, you have sung so sweetly Felítsa’s
acts, and her crown’s life-giving beams? You evidently have walked
all streets and byways on Pindus’ heights and in the grassy vale of
the pure Muses, and to glorify, console, make happy, amuse the
Princess, you have discovered a new, untrodden path. Having
discovered it, you ran it at will, and neither stump nor stone e’er
tripped you, but all appeared to you a grassy mead, and your caftan
was nowhere rent by thorns. Proclaiming the praises of the Princess,
recounting the pleasures of the bashaws, you played the bagpipe,
yet sang enticingly withal.
 Disdaining the evil conscience of the envious, you onward bore,
which boldness seeing, Parnassus wound a wreath for you. Their
flowing hair descending on their arms, disporting on their pink-white
breasts and cheeks, the forms of fairy nymphs from the Neva rose;
gently waving on the crests, they listened intent to you, and praised
the beautiful innovation of your verse. In token of their heartfelt
tribute, they clapped their hands in ecstasy, then disappeared into
the crystal depths.
By easy post Felítsa’s praise was borne to Moscow, to the delight
of all the hearts, and all who read have sung your praise, and
arbiters of taste have wound a wreath for you. They have read it a
hundred times, yet listen gladly, with attention, when someone in
their presence reads it again, and cannot assuage their spirits, nor
satisfy their captive ears, while listening to its sportive jests. Just so
a garden, with charming shrubs and shade of trees, planted on a hill
above a stream of limpid waters, though it be well known to us,
though known the taste of every fruit therein, though familiar to us its
every path, yet drawn by a mysterious feeling, we hasten to walk in it
once more, and turn our glances all about us, to discover something
new, though we have seen it all before.
Our ears are almost deaf from the vociferous lyric tones, and,
meseems, ’tis time to come down from the clouds, lest, forgetful of
the law of equilibrium, and flying from the heights, one break his
arms and legs: no matter what our endeavour be to rise on high,
Felítsa’s deeds will still be higher. She likes simplicity of style, so ’t
were better, treading that road in modesty, to raise our voice to her.
Dwelling on Parnassus in union with the nymphs, I have thrummed
the sonorous harp, while praising the Kirgíz-Kaysák Princess, and
have only earned cold praises. All lauded there my verses, flattered
me, though themselves were but amused; and now they have the
honour in oblivion to lie: ’tis evident high-soaring odes are out of
fashion.
Above us you have risen through your simplicity! Write, as
formerly, again a letter to your neighbour; you have well depicted his
luxurious mind, how he invites a hungry mob to dinner, games and
luxuries on the tables; or, loving Nature’s beauties, sing of the crystal
waters, as once you sang the Spring of Grébenev. This spring,
flowing through the valley, even now is pleasing to me: whenever I
slaked my thirst, a ray of joy shone to me.
But to you, who preside most wisely, leader of the Muses, their
labours’ judge, listening to their sweet thunderous music, to you this
honour and praise is due, because, burning with zeal and inventive
of new paths, you labour to advance our native tongue. It is majestic,
sweet and rich, thunderous, elate, liquid and strong, and great is
your work of its perfection. Encouraged by you, the lovers of the
sciences have with heartfelt zeal walked on the glorious path: we
see the fair Russian diction in their labours, and its progress in him
who has extolled you.
I shall say it without hesitation: you emulate Minerva, and bring
your rest as a sacrifice to the Muses, and the glory of your country is
your pleasure and consolation. Your exploits are enviable to men.
With Felítsa’s beloved, precious name, with Felítsa’s praise and the
laudation of her wise acts the beginning of these labours has been
adorned, and has brought joy and rapture to its readers. Blessed is
that beginning where her resplendent name appears, and the end is
crowned with success. To him who thus has glorified Felítsa, and
has given a new flavour to his verses, honour and glory from the
depth of our hearts!
Alexander Nikoláevich Radíshchev. (1749-1802.)
In 1765 Catherine II. sent twelve young men to Leipsic to
be educated in the University; among the number was
Radíshchev. He studied philosophy under Platner, and for his
own amusement took a full course in medicine. Upon his
return he was attached to the Kommerz-Kolleg, a kind of
Department of Finance, where he distinguished himself for his
unexampled honesty and gained the love of its President,
Count Vorontsóv, whom he had the courage to oppose in a
decision at law, in order to save some innocent men from
transportation to Siberia. When he was later put in charge of
the Customs House of St. Petersburg, he discovered that the
considerable traffic with England demanded a knowledge of
English, if he wished to dispense with a translator; accordingly
at the age of thirty he acquired the English language and
began to read its literature, which exerted a great influence
upon him.
In 1790 he wrote his Journey from St. Petersburg to
Moscow, which he distributed among his friends, though it
had not been approved by the censor. This work, written in
the style of Sterne’s Sentimental Journey, is not only
remarkable as a piece of literature, but also as a political
pamphlet. It attacks the institution of Russia in the light of the
most advanced liberalism of France and North America.
Radíshchev advocated in no unmistakable terms the
liberation of the serfs, almost half a century before Turgénev.
When Catherine II. read the book, she exclaimed: “He is a
Martinist. He is worse than Pugachév, he praises Franklin.”
Radíshchev was banished to Siberia. There he devoted
himself to literature, wrote his Ode to Liberty, which is the
forerunner of all the poems of liberty by Rylyéev, Ogarév,
Odoévski, and a few longer poems in a lighter vein. Emperor
Paul pardoned him, and Emperor Alexander advanced him to
higher honours. When an acquaintance of his accused him of
 returning to his youthful ideals and warned him of subjecting
himself to the danger of another banishment, he committed
suicide in a moment of despondency.

JOURNEY FROM ST. PETERSBURG TO MOSCOW

DEPARTURE

After having taken supper with my friends, I took my seat in the

kibítka. The driver drove the horses at full gallop, as was his wont,
and in a few minutes we were outside the city. It is hard to part, even
for a short time, from those who have become necessary to us at
every moment of our existence. It is hard to part,—but happy is he
who can part without smiling, for love or friendship is his consolation.
You weep as you say “good-bye”; but think of your return,—and let
your tears dry up at this thought, as dries up the dew before the face
of the sun. Happy is he who weeps, hoping to be consoled! Happy is
he who sometimes lives in the future! Happy is he who lives in
meditation! His existence is enriched; his joy is multiplied, and calm
assuages the gloom of his pining, generating images of happiness in
the mirrors of his contemplation.
I lay in the kibítka. The tinkling of the post bell was monotonous to
my ears, and finally brought to me beneficent Morpheus. The grief of
my parting persecuted me in my deathlike state, and painted me to
my imagination as forlorn. I saw myself in a spacious vale which had
lost all its amenity and greenness of leafage through the hot rays of
the sun. There was not a spring to offer coolness, nor tree-shade to
protect from the heat. I was a hermit, left in the midst of Nature! I
shuddered. “Miserable man!” I sighed, “where are you? What has
become of all that has enticed you? Where is all that has made your
life agreeable? Is it possible that the pleasures which you have
tasted are only an idle dream?”
Luckily there was a deep rut in the road, and my kibítka, getting
into it, jostled me and woke me up. The kibítka stopped. I raised my
head and saw three habitations in a barren spot.
 “What is that?” I asked my driver.
“A post station.”
“Where are we?”
“In Sofíya,” and he unhitched the horses.

SOFÍYA

All around me was silence. I was absorbed in contemplation and

did not notice that the kibítka had been standing quite a while without
the horses. My driver broke my meditation:
“Master, father, some money for a drink!”
This tax is illegal, but no one objects to paying it, in order that he
may be able to travel at his ease; the twenty kopeks I gave him were
a good investment. Who has travelled by post knows that a passport
is a precaution without which any purse, unless it be a general’s, will
have to suffer. I took it out of my pocket and went with it, as people
sometimes go with the cross for their defence.
I found the Post Commissary snoring. I touched his shoulder.
“Whom does the devil drive so? What a miserable habit to depart
from the city at night? There are no horses here,—it’s too early yet.
Go into the inn and drink tea, or go to sleep!”
Having said that, the Commissary turned to the wall, and went to
snoring again. What was I to do? I once more shook the
Commissary by his shoulder.
“What is the matter with you? I told you there are no horses!” and,
covering himself with the blanket, the Commissary turned away from
me.
If the horses are all engaged, I thought to myself, then it is not
right for me to disturb the Commissary’s sleep. But if there are any
horses in the stable ... I made up my mind I would find out whether
the Commissary told the truth. I went into the yard, hunted up the
stable and found some twenty horses in it. It is true, one could count
the bones on them, yet they would have taken me to the next station.
From the stable I returned to the Commissary, and shook him harder
than before, for I felt I had a right to do so, having discovered that he
had told a lie. He jumped up from his bed and without opening his
eyes asked who had arrived. “I ...” But coming to his senses, and
noticing me, he said:
“Young man, you are evidently in the habit of commanding drivers
of olden days, when they used to beat them with sticks. Well, that
won’t work now-a-days.” The Commissary lay down angrily in his
bed again. I had really a desire to treat him like one of those drivers
when they were discovered cheating; but my generosity to the city
driver caused the Sofíya drivers to hurry up and hitch the horses to
the kibítka. Just as I was getting ready to commit a crime on the
back of the Commissary, the bells were heard in the yard. I remained
a good citizen, and thus twenty kopeks saved a peaceable man from
an inquest, my children from an example of incontinence in anger,
and I discovered that reason is a slave to impatience.
The horses carried me away. The driver started a song which, as
usual, was a doleful one. He who knows the tunes of Russian
popular songs will admit that there is something in them that speaks
of sadness of spirit. Nearly all the tunes of such songs are in the
minor key. In this musical inclination of the popular ear one may find
a solution of the trend of his actions. In it one may discover the
condition of the nation’s soul. Look at a Russian! You will always find
him lost in meditation. If he wants to drive away ennui, or, as he calls
it, have a good time, he goes to the inn. In his intoxication he is
impulsive, bold, quarrelsome. If anything takes place not to his liking,
he at once starts a brawl or fight. A churl who goes into the inn with a
downcast look and returns from it covered with blood from having
had his ears boxed may throw a light on many an enigmatic point in
Russian history.
My driver was singing. It was three o’clock in the morning. As
before the bell, so now his song put me to sleep: “O Nature! Having
swathed man at his birth in the winding-sheets of sorrow, dragging
him all his life over the forbidding crags of fear, ennui and sadness,
you have given him sleep as a consolation. You fall asleep, and all is
at an end! Unbearable is the awakening to the unfortunate man. Oh,
how acceptable death is to him! And if it is the end of sorrow.... All-
kind Father! Wilt Thou turn away Thy look from him who ends his life
in a manly way? To Thee, the source of all goodness, this sacrifice is
brought. Thou alone givest strength when creation trembles and is
convulsed. It is the voice of the Father, calling His child unto Himself!
Thou hast given me life, to Thee I return it: upon earth it has become
useless.”

TOSNÁ

When I left St. Petersburg I thought I would find a very good road.
All those who have travelled upon it after the Emperor have thought
so. It had been such, indeed, but only for a short time. The dirt which
had been put upon the road in dry weather in order to make it even
had been washed by the rains, forming a swamp in the summer, and
made it impassable. Fearing bad weather, I got out of the kibítka and
went into the post station, intending to take a rest. In the room I
found a traveller who was sitting behind a long, common peasant
table in the nearer corner and was turning over some papers. He
asked the Post Commissary to give him horses as soon as possible.
To my question who he was, I learned that he was a pettifogger of
the old style, and that he was going to St. Petersburg with a stack of
torn papers which he was then examining. I immediately entered into
a conversation with him, and here is what he said:
“Dear sir,—I, your humble servant, have been a Registrar in the
Archives of the Estates, where I had an opportunity to make good
use of my position: by assiduous labour I have collected a
genealogy, based on clear documentary proof, of many Russian
families, and I can trace their princely or noble origin several
centuries back. I can reinstate many a man in his princely dignity, by
showing his origin from Vladímir Monomákh, or even from Rúrik.
Dear sir,” he continued, as he pointed to his papers, “all Great-
Russian nobles ought to purchase my work, paying for it more than
for any other wares. But with the leave of your High Birth, Noble
Birth, or High and Noble Birth, for I do not know how to honour you,
they do not know what they need. You know how the orthodox Tsar
Feódor Aleksyéevich of blessed memory has injured the Russian
nobility by doing away with the prefecture. That severe legislation
placed many honourable princely and royal families on a level with
the Nóvgorod nobility. But the orthodox Emperor Peter the Great has
entirely put them in the shade by his Table of Ranks. He opened the
way to all for obtaining the title of nobility through military and civil
service, and he, so to say, has trampled the old nobility in the dirt.
Our Most Gracious Mother, now reigning, has confirmed the former
decrees by her august Law of the Nobility, which has very much
disquieted all our higher nobles, for the old families are placed in the
Book of the Nobility lower than the rest. There is, however, a rumour
that there will soon be issued a supplementary decree by which
those families that can trace their noble origin two or three hundred
years back will be granted the title of Marquis or something like it, so
that they will have some distinguishing feature from the other
families. For this reason, dear sir, my work must be acceptable to all
the old nobility. But there are rascals everywhere. In Moscow I fell in
with a company of young gentlemen to whom I proposed my work, in
order to be repaid through their kindness at least for the paper and
ink wasted upon it. But instead of kindness they heaped raillery upon
me; so I left that capital from grief, and am on my way to St.
Petersburg, where there is more culture.”
Saying this, he made a deep bow, and straightening himself up,
stood before me with the greatest respect. I understood his thought,
took something out of my purse and, giving it to him, advised him to
sell his paper by weight to peddlers for wrapping paper, for the
prospective marquisates would only turn people’s heads, and he
would be the cause of a recrudescence of an evil, now passed in
Russia, of boasting of old genealogies.

LYUBÁNI

I suppose it is all the same to you, whether I travelled in summer

or winter, especially since it is not uncommon for travellers to travel
both summer and winter, starting out in a sleigh and returning in a
wheel carriage. The corduroy road wore out my sides. I crawled out
of the kibítka, and started on foot. While I was lying in the kibítka, my
thoughts were directed to the immeasurableness of the world, and
while my soul flitted away from the earth, it seemed easier to bear
the jostling of the carriage. But spiritual exercises do not always
distract our corporeality, and it was in order to save my sides that I
went on foot.
A few steps from the road I noticed a peasant who was ploughing
his field. It was warm; I looked at my watch: it was twenty minutes to
one. I left the city on Saturday, so it was Sunday then. The peasant
that was ploughing evidently belonged to a landowner that did not
receive any tax from him. The peasant was ploughing with great
care; evidently the field did not belong to the master. He was turning
the plough with remarkable ease.
“God aid you!” I said as I approached the ploughman, who did not
stop but finished the furrow he had begun.
“God aid you!” I repeated.
“Thank you, sir!” said the ploughman as he cleaned the
ploughshare and transferred the plough to a new furrow.
“You are, of course, a dissenter, since you work on Sunday.”
“No, sir, I make the correct sign of the cross,” he said, and showed
me his three fingers put together; “but God is merciful and does not
want a person to starve, as long as he has a family and sufficient
strength.”
“Have you not any time to work during the week, that you work on
a Sunday, and at that in a great heat?”
“In the week, sir, there are six days, and we have to work for the
manor six times a week, and in the evening we haul the hay from the
meadows, if the weather is good; and on holidays the women and
girls go to the woods to gather mushrooms and berries. God grant a
rain this evening,” he added as he made the sign of the cross. “Sir, if
you have any peasants, they are praying for the same.”
 “I have no peasants, my friend; and so nobody curses me. Have
you a large family?”
“Three sons and three daughters. My eldest is ten years old.”
“How do you manage to get enough grain, if you have only the
Sundays to yourself?”
“Not only the Sundays,—the nights are ours too. We need not
starve, if we are not lazy. You see, one horse is resting; and when
this one gets tired, I’ll take the other, and that’s the way I make my
work count.”
“Do you work the same way for your master?”
“No, sir! It would be sinful to work the same way; he has in his
fields one hundred hands for one mouth, and I have but two hands
for seven mouths, if you count it up. If you were to work yourself to
death at your master’s work, he would not thank you for it. The
master will not pay the capitation tax; he will let you have no mutton,
no hempen cloth, no chicken, no butter. Our people are fortunate in
those places where the master receives a rent from the peasant,
particularly without a superintendent! It is true, some good masters
ask more than three roubles for each soul, yet that is better than
tenant labour. They are now getting in the habit of letting farms out to
renters who, being poor, flay us alive. They do not give us our own
time, and do not let us go out in the winter to work for ourselves,
because they pay our capitation tax. It is a devilish idea to let one’s
peasants do work for somebody else! There is at least a chance of
complaining against a superintendent, but to whom is one to
complain against a tenant?”
“My friend! You are mistaken: the laws do not permit to torture
people.”
“Torture, yes! But, sir, you would not want to be in my hide!” In the
meantime the ploughman hitched another horse to his plough and,
bidding me good-bye, began a new furrow.
The conversation with this agriculturist awakened a multitude of
thoughts in me. Above all, I thought of the inequality of the peasant’s
condition. I compared the crown peasants with those of the
proprietors. Both live in villages, but while the first pay a stated tax,
the others have to be ready to pay whatever the master wishes. The
first are judged by their peers; the others are dead to the laws,
except in criminal matters. A member of society only then is taken
cognisance of by the Government that protects him when he violates
the social bond, when he becomes a criminal! That thought made all
my blood boil. Beware, cruel proprietor! On the brow of every one of
your peasants I see your condemnation!
Absorbed in these thoughts I accidentally turned my eyes to my
servant, who was sitting in front of me in the kibítka and was shaking
from side to side. I felt a sudden darkness come over me, which
passed through all my blood and drove a burning feeling upwards
and made it spread over my face. I felt so heartily ashamed of
myself, that I wanted to cry. “In your anger,” I said to myself, “you
attack the cruel master who maltreats his peasants in the field; and
are you not doing the same, or even worse? What crime did your
poor Petrúshka commit that you do not allow him to enjoy the
comfort of our misfortunes, the greatest gift of Nature to the
unfortunate man,—sleep? ‘He receives his pay, his food and dress; I
never have him whipped with a scourge or sticks.’ O you kind man!
You think that a piece of bread and a rag give you the right to treat a
being that resembles you as a top? You are merely boasting that you
do not very often whip it as it is whirling about. Do you know what is
written in the first law of each man’s heart? ‘If I strike anyone, he has
the right to strike me also.’ Remember the day when Petrúshka was
drunk and did not dress you fast enough! Remember how you boxed
his ears! Oh, if he had then, drunk as he was, come to his senses,
and had answered your question in a befitting manner! Who has
given you the right over him? The law! Law! And you dare besmirch
that sacred name! Wretch!...” Tears flowed from my eyes, and in this
condition the post horses brought me to the next station.
 Alexander Onisímovich Ablesímov. (1742-1783.)
Ablesímov was a frequent contributor to several periodical
publications; his contributions present no special interest, but
he gained a great reputation by his comic opera The Miller,
which, though it is an imitation of a foreign original, was the
first play to introduce a popular element, taken directly from
the life of the people. The public hailed this comedy as a new
departure; it was given to crowded houses twenty-seven
times in succession, and a number of imitations appeared
with the same element of sorcery and country life for their
background.

THE MILLER

ACT I

The stage represents on one side a forest, with small villages in

the distant hills, and on the other a mill, and nearby a waggon with
sacks. In front of it is a tree.

SCENE 1

Miller (alone. He is planing a board and sings, only the song is

without words and music. Then he says): What song is that?... Oh,
yes: “How our night from midnight” ... that’s it ... (he begins to sing
that tune, continuing his work).

How our night from midnight,

From midnight to white day ...

What a downpour it has been, and now it has stopped! (He sings
again, and continues his song.)
 ’Twas at the dawn, the early one,
At the fall of the shining moon....

How it did blow! I declare, it did blow; why, it almost tore my mill
down. I would have been left with nothing. It has done some
damage,—thanks to the Lord, not much damage. Did I say not much
damage? Well, I have enough to do to fix it up. (Putting the level to
the board.) It’ll come out all right, and all will go well again.
(Advancing towards the orchestra.) I have to laugh every time I think
of it; they say that a mill cannot exist without a wizard, and that a
miller isn’t just a man like anybody else: he is on speaking terms with
the house-spirit, and the house-spirits live in their mills like devils ...
ha, ha, ha, ha! What bosh! Am I not a miller through and through? I
was born, brought up, and have grown old in the mill, and yet I have
never laid my eyes on a house-spirit. Now, to tell the gospel truth, it’s
just this: if you are a shrewd fellow and a good hand at cheating, that
sorcery business is a good thing.... Let them prattle what they
please, but we earn our bread by our profession.

Who by cheating makes a living,

Him at once all call a gipsy,
And you gain through gipsy dealings
The reputation of a wizard.
Even in that way the witches
Make a living by deception.
There’s a big lot of these rascals:
Some of them bespeak the water,
Others turn the sieve for people,
And through such tricks make a living!
Just like me, sinful man!...

SCENE 2. FILIMÓN AND THE FORMER

Miller (noticing him). Ah! I am getting a guest. I’ll earn a penny this
day. (To Filimón.) Godspeed, young man!
 Filimón. My respects, old man.
Miller. Whence come you, whither tend you?
Filimón. Not farther than my business takes me.
Miller. Of your own will, or by compulsion?
Filimón. I am looking for horses: my roan and grey have gotten
away from me; they are fine horses, such fine horses. (Aside.) He is
a fortune-teller: I’ll try my fortune with him. (To the Miller.) Say, old
man, I want to ask you——
Miller. What is it you want? As you please, I am at your service.
Filimón. That’s good! And I’ll pay you for it. Tell me my fortune:
shall I find my horses?
Miller. Shall you find your horses?
Filimón. That’s it, old man. I am very anxious to find out about
them.
Miller. Now, how about that; is there going to be anything?
(Stretches out his hand to him.)
Filimón. First tell me, old man, and then we’ll see.
Miller (turns away from him, and angrily begins a song):

Tell the fortune:

As the guess is,
So is the pay.

Filimón. But, old man, I expect to pay you.

Miller.

’Tis with a promise

As with a chair:
If you sit and do not eat,
Then your belly is not full.
 Filimón. Believe me, I am not lying to you.
Miller.

If it’s so,
All this talking is in vain;
Take out your purse,
Don’t talk uselessly,
Count out the money.
(Puts out his hand, and looks in his eyes.)

Filimón. Well, I don’t care: I’ll give you some money in advance.
Miller. Only this?
Filimón. It will do for the present; what more do you want?
Miller (aside). You won’t get off with less than half a rouble.
Filimón. What are you going to tell me now?
Miller. What is it now, early in the morning?
Filimón. Not very late yet, the sun has not yet set behind the
woods.
Miller. Turn three times around, towards the sun.
Filimón. What for?
Miller. That’s what I need in my sorcery. Do as you are told!
Filimón. To please you, I’ll turn around. (Turns around once.)
Miller. Once more, towards the sun.
Filimón (turning around). Here it is, and towards the sun.
Miller. Now stand against this tree. (Filimón is about to start for the
tree, but the Miller says): No, no, stop! Have you a kerchief?
Filimón (taking out his handkerchief). Here it is.
 Miller. Close your eyes tight, and tie your kerchief over them.
That’s all right! Now listen: you must stand quiet, and don’t move
from the spot, nor speak a word to anyone, while I go and see the
elder.
Filimón (does all the Miller commands him to do). But suppose
someone should come and ask me why I am standing there, and
why my eyes are tied up?
Miller. Not a word to anybody; but you may grumble to yourself.
Filimón. May I sing a song?
Miller. You will frighten all. No, you must not.
Filimón (aside). What is it all going to be?
Miller. Stand still and don’t move!