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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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for one of the persecuted race to save the unhappiest member of the
family by which his own had suffered. Holgrave marries Phœbe
Pyncheon and the blood of the two families is united.
Holgrave’s sole inheritance from his wizard ancestor, as he
laughingly explained, was a knowledge of the hiding-place of the now
worthless Indian deed. For this secret a Pyncheon had bartered his
daughter’s life and happiness in former years.
The Judge Pyncheon of the story has been pronounced ‘somewhat
of a stage villain, a puppet.’ This may possibly be due less to
Hawthorne’s handling of the character than to the inherent weakness of
the hypocrite as presented in fiction or drama. The patrician old woman
turned shop-keeper is so perfect a study that praise of the delineation is
almost an impertinence. And there is the great silent but living and
breathing House of the Seven Gables, in the creation of which
Hawthorne expended the wealth of his powers. It will always be a
question whether in the spiritual significance he attaches to or draws
from some physical fact this great literary artist does not show his
highest power. And many a time one finishes the reading of this
particular book with the feeling that the House of the Seven Gables is
the real protagonist of the drama.
In respect that it is a beautiful example of Hawthorne’s art The
Blithedale Romance is deserving of all the praise lavished upon it; in
respect that it is a picture of Brook Farm it is naught. The author himself
freely admitted that he chose the socialist community merely as a
theatre where the creatures of his brain might ‘play their phantas-
magorical antics’ without their being exposed to the rigid test of ‘too
close a comparison with the actual events of real lives.’
The antics played are such as we witness daily when human
puppets are swayed by various passions of love, jealousy, self-will,
pride, humility, the instinct for art, or the instinct for reform. The bearded
Hollingsworth, whose ‘dark shaggy face looked really beautiful with its
expression of thoughtful benevolence,’ was, without being conscious of
it, a brutal egoist, capable of bending all people and all things to the
accomplishment of his idea. He illustrates the weakness of strength, as
Priscilla, so frail, nervous, and impressionable, illustrates the strength
of weakness.
 That Hawthorne intended to show in Coverdale the insufficiency of
the profession of minor poet to make anything of a man, we shall not
pretend; but his distrust of the worth of literature is well known.
Coverdale’s failure was no greater than Hollingsworth’s, and he at least
never played with hearts.
Zenobia is at once the most human, the most attractive, and the
most pathetic figure in the drama. ‘But yet a woman,’ and too much
woman, so that her imperial beauty and grace, her wealth, her skill to
command, her magnetic charm, and her intellectual gifts were
insufficient to save her. No less regal in endowment than was Hester
Prynne, she sank under a burden infinitely lighter than Hester’s. Her
nature was strong but impulsive, and impulsiveness was Zenobia’s
ruin.
Rome is the scene of The Marble Faun, the longest of Hawthorne’s
romances, and in his opinion the best. The author professed to have
seen, in the studio of an American sculptor, Kenyon, an unfinished
portrait bust, certain traits of which led him to ask the history of the
original. This face, of a beautiful youth, might have been mistaken for a
not fortunate attempt to reproduce the roguish countenance of the
Faun of Praxiteles. The resemblance was external merely; the beholder
presently detected something inscrutable in the eyes, in the whole
expression, as if powers of the soul hitherto dormant were awaking,
and with the awakening had come anxiety, longing, grief, remorse, in
short a knowledge of good through a sudden apprehension of evil.
It was the portrait of a young Count of Monte Beni (known as
Donatello), whose family, an ancient one, was believed to have sprung
from the union of one of those fabled woodland creatures, half animal,
half god, and an earthly maiden. At long intervals the traits defining the
origin of the race were accentuated in a member of the family. He was
said to be ‘true Monte Beni.’ He lived on the border line between two
worlds, fearless and happy, but also unthinking, a creature incapable of
doing wrong because his life was free, natural, instinctive. Such was
Donatello.
The idea of a creature who should unite the characteristics of the
wild and the human fascinated Hawthorne. The charm is elusive, and
must be elusive or it is no longer charming. Hawthorne warns us
against letting the idea harden in our grasp or grow coarse from
handling. For this reason (and not for the sake of petty mystification)
Hawthorne will not disclose the one physical trait which would have
completed Donatello’s resemblance to the Faun, the pointed, furry
ears. The youth himself will jest with his friends on the subject, but no
more; the thick brown curls are never brushed aside.
So in Donatello’s attachment to Miriam, the mysterious beauty of
the story, there is something animal-like, at once pathetic and fierce.
Love does not awaken the intellect, however; the youth remains a child
until the wrathful moment when he holds the mad Capuchin, Miriam’s
persecutor, over the edge of the precipice, and reads in the girl’s
consenting eyes approval of the deed he is about to commit. At this
point Donatello’s real life begins.
The crime is far-reaching in its consequences, blighting for weary
months the happiness of the gentle Hilda, a terrified eye-witness; but is
most sinister in its effect on Donatello, whose dumb agony and remorse
Hawthorne has painted with a strong but subdued touch. Perhaps the
most striking of the incidents at Monte Beni is that where the wretched
Donatello tries to call the wild creatures of the wood to him as he had
been used to do in the days of his innocence, and finds his power
gone, only some loathsome reptile coming at his bidding.
Hilda is one of the triumphs of Hawthorne’s art. By what
necromancy did he contrive to invest a character so ethereal with life
and interest? For the type is by no means one that invariably attracts,
and the mere symbolism of the shrine, the doves, together with an
innocence which carries its own safeguard, might have been used
unsuccessfully a thousand times before being wrought by Hawthorne’s
subtile power into enduring form.
Kenyon is a proof of the instinct Hawthorne had for avoiding the
realistic fact. One would fancy this a character which would take on
realism of its own accord, a character which could be depended on to
become human and bohemian, to smoke, swear, tell emphatic stories,
and yet be gentle and high-minded withal, like Bret Harte’s angel-
miners. But Kenyon is almost as shadowy as Hilda.
Miriam with her rich dark beauty (making her in contrast with Hilda
as Night to Day) is the one strong human character, capable of infinite
pity and infinite devotion, a woman to die for—if the need were, and
such need is not uncommon in romances. The shadow of a nameless
crime hangs over her, from which, though innocent, she cannot escape.
She has warned Donatello of the fatality that attends her. She holds his
love in esteem so light as to be almost contempt until the moment when
he shows the force to grapple with her enemy; then love flames up in
her own heart. For her Donatello stains his hands with blood, suffers
agony indescribable, and then ‘comes back to his original self, with an
inestimable treasure of improvement won from an experience of pain.’
And as Miriam contemplates him on the day before he gives himself up
to justice, she asks whether the story of the fall of man has not been
repeated in the romance of Monte Beni.
The deficiencies and excesses of The Marble Faun have been
often pointed out. The superabundance of guide-book description
which disturbed Sir Leslie Stephen was noted by Hawthorne as a
defect and apologized for in the preface. It is astonishing how it fits into
place when, after an interval of several years, one comes to re-read the
story. The Marble Faun is a magical piece of work, its very enigmas,
mysteries, and its inconclusiveness tending to heighten the effect. And
it does not in the least detract from the enjoyment that one cannot
follow the author to the extent of believing it his best work.

VI
LATEST AND POSTHUMOUS WRITINGS
OUR OLD HOME, NOTE-BOOKS, DOLLIVER ROMANCE

Our Old Home is a volume of twelve chapters on English life and

experiences. Acute, frank, sympathetic, modestly phrased, abounding
in humor, it may fairly be accounted one of the best of Hawthorne’s
works. The English are said to have been disturbed by a number of the
comments on their character and manners. If so, they must be as
touchy as Americans. Our Old Home contains nothing that should
offend, unless indeed it be an offence to speak of one’s neighbor in any
terms not those of unmitigated eulogy. Hawthorne noted certain
differences between the national types of the two countries and gave
an account of them. But of any disposition to laud his own people at the
expense of their British cousins, the book contains not a trace.
Passages from the English Note-Books of Nathaniel Hawthorne is
the raw material out of which was fashioned such a charming and
perfect literary study as Our Old Home. It is idle to dispute over the
question whether the fragmentary journalizings of an eminent author
should or should not be given to the public. They will always be given to
the public, and the public will always be grateful for them, even though
it has no deeper cause for gratitude than that involved in satisfaction of
mere curiosity. At all events, the passion for looking into the work-shop
of a great artist cannot be overcome. Perhaps this most trivial form of
hero-worship deserves countenance.
The Note-Books (English, Italian, and American) bear the same
relation to Our Old Home that a man talking with his most trusted friend
bears to that same man when talking with an agreeable chance
acquaintance. In the one case he is wholly unguarded, in the other he
keeps himself in check even at the moment he seems most frank and
expansive.
The Dolliver Romance is one of a group of studies for an elaborate
narrative in which Hawthorne proposed to trace the fortunes of an
American family back to those of its English forebears. The idea of
connecting the obscure New England branch of the house with the
proud Old-World descendants by some vague claim on the ancestral
estate is almost too common in fiction. But Hawthorne seems to have
been drawn towards it by his life in the consulate at Liverpool, where he
had continually to check the exuberance of misguided fellow-
countrymen who had appropriated, in mind, not a few of the finest
estates in England, and only lacked faint encouragement to attempt
entering on actual possession.
The idea of the Bloody Footstep was taken from a tradition
connected with Smithell’s Hall in Bolton-le-Moors, and Hawthorne went
to see what purported to be the mark made in the stone step by the
unhappy man about whose mysterious history the romance gathers.
The quest and discovery of an elixir of life is in itself a threadbare
motive, but could hardly have been commonplace under Hawthorne’s
treatment.
 He was not to complete his design. The four versions of the story,
The Dolliver Romance, The Ancestral Footstep, Septimius Felton, and
Doctor Grimshawe’s Secret, furnish another glimpse into Hawthorne’s
literary studio, though we are warned not to infer that he always worked
in the way the existence of these fragments might suggest.

* * * * *
Hawthorne was the most gifted of our American romancers. In a
certain sense his field was a narrow one, but the soil was rich, and
there was magic in his husbandry. He himself once declared that he
never knew what patriotism was until he met an Englishman; that he
was not an American, New England was as big a lump of earth as he
could hold in his heart. The defect (if indeed it be a defect) was one of
the sources of his power. Hawthorne did indeed love New England, but
to suppose that he loved it with a blind and uncritical love is wholly to
misunderstand both the man and his work. He was the genius of his
little world. He knew its poetry and its prose, its mystery, charm, beauty,
and its repellent and sordid features. New England will have no
profounder interpreter, though it may be that as the superficial
characteristics of the people change, his transcripts of life will
increasingly take on the qualities of pure romance.

FOOTNOTES:
38
Enlarged edition, 1854.
39
Published in England under the absurd title of Transformation.
Hawthorne wrote to Henry Bright: ‘Smith and Elder do take
strange liberties with the titles of books. I wanted to call it the
Marble Faun, but they insisted on Transformation which will lead
the reader to expect a sort of pantomime.’
40
Letter to Horatio Bridge, May 26, 1861.
41
Henry James: Terminations.
 XI
Henry David Thoreau

REFERENCES:

R. W. Emerson: ‘Thoreau’ in the ‘Atlantic Monthly,’

August, 1862.
W. E. Channing: Thoreau: the Poet Naturalist, 1873.
F. B. Sanborn: Thoreau, ‘American Men of Letters,’
1882.
H. S. Salt: Thoreau, ‘Great Writers,’ 1896.

I
HIS LIFE

Philippe Thoreau, of the parish of Saint Helier in the Isle of Jersey, had
a son John who emigrated to America and opened a store on the Long
Wharf in Boston. He married Jane Burns, daughter of a well-to-do
Scotchman from the neighborhood of Stirling. John’s son John, a lead-
pencil maker of Concord, Massachusetts, married Cynthia Dunbar,
daughter of the Reverend Asa Dunbar, of Keene, New Hampshire. Of
their four children Henry David Thoreau, the author of Walden, was the
third. He was born at Concord on July 12, 1817.
After his graduation at Harvard in the Class of 1837, Thoreau
taught school, learned surveying and the art of making lead-pencils,
and began writing and lecturing. The episode in his life which gave him
more than a local reputation was his camping out by the shore of
Walden Pond. He spent two years and two months there studying how
‘to live deliberately.’ His hut, built by himself, might have seemed bare
and cheerless to a victim of civilization. There was no carpet on the
floor, no curtain at the window. Every superfluity was stripped off and
life ‘driven into a corner’ in the hope of discovering what it was made of.
Thoreau sturdily resisted the efforts of friends and neighbors to burden
him with trumpery, refusing the gift of a door-mat on the plea that it was
‘best to avoid the beginnings of evil,’ and throwing a paper-weight out
of the window ‘because it had to be dusted every day.’
He raised his own vegetables in a patch of ground near by, made
his own bread, and spent his leisure time in recording his observations
of nature and in writing his first book, A Week on the Concord and
Merrimack Rivers. When he was satisfied with this taste of life ‘reduced
to its lowest terms,’ he went back to civilization.
A Week on the Concord and Merrimack was a failure, as publishers
say; meaning that it did not sell. Having published at his own expense,
Thoreau was financially embarrassed when seven hundred and fifty
copies of an edition of a thousand came back on his hands. He said to
a friend: ‘I have added several hundred volumes to my library lately, all
42
of my own composition.’ His second venture, Walden, was more
fortunate. He printed a few articles in the ‘Boston Miscellany,’ ‘Putnam’s
Magazine,’ the ‘New York Tribune,’ ‘Graham’s Magazine,’ and the
‘Atlantic Monthly,’ but at no time could he be said to live by literature.
His income from his lectures must have been small, and apparently
he made no effort to obtain engagements. He had an exalted idea of
what constitutes a good lecture, and was suspicious of oratory. He told
his English acquaintance Cholmondeley that he was from time to time
congratulating himself on his ‘general want of success as a lecturer.... I
do my work clean as I go along, and they will not be likely to want me
anywhere again.’
When Hawthorne was corresponding secretary of the Salem
Lyceum, he invited Thoreau in behalf of the managers to give them a
lecture. The invitation was accepted. The lecture must have had the
fatal defect of being ‘interesting,’ for Thoreau was asked to speak
before the Lyceum a second time the same winter.
Thoreau was a radical Abolitionist and for six years refused to pay
his poll-tax, on the ground that the tax went indirectly to the support of
slavery. For this delinquency he was once lodged in the town-jail over
night. In 1857 he made the acquaintance of ‘one John Brown’ as a
Southern-born president of a Northern college naïvely describes that
terrible old man. When two years later news came of the desperate
attempt at Harper’s Ferry, Thoreau gave in a church vestry at Concord
his impassioned ‘Plea for Captain John Brown,’ which one of his
admirers regards as the most significant of his utterances.
Of the twelve volumes forming his collected writings two only were
seen by Thoreau in book form. The remaining ten have been made up
of reprinted magazine articles or selections from journals and letters.
The list is as follows: A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers,
1849; Walden; or, Life in the Woods, 1854; Excursions (edited by R. W.
Emerson and Sophia Thoreau), 1863; The Maine Woods, 1864; Cape
Cod, 1865; Letters to Various Persons [with Poems], 1865; A Yankee in
Canada, with Anti-Slavery and Reform Papers, 1866; Early Spring in
Massachusetts, 1881; Summer, 1884; Winter, 1888; Autumn, 1892;
Miscellanies, 1894; Familiar Letters of Henry David Thoreau, 1894.
Thoreau ‘travelled widely’ in Concord and made a few trips
elsewhere. Aside from his excursions to the Maine woods, the White
Mountains, Cape Cod, and Staten Island, he took no long journey until
1861, when he went as far west as Minnesota. He was in ill health then,
and a violent cold terminating in pulmonary consumption brought about
his death (May 6, 1862). It has been often mentioned as a strange fact
that this man who almost symbolized the out-of-door existence, who
chanted its praises, and who was unhappy unless he had at least ‘four
hours a day in the woods and fields,’ should have died, at the age of
forty-five, of exposure to the elements which (according to his
whimsical philosophy) were more friendly than man.

II
 THOREAU’S CHARACTER
Without posing, Thoreau contrived somehow to gain the reputation of
a poseur. Because his nose was more Emersonian than Emerson’s,
because he lived for a time at Emerson’s house (where he was beloved
by every member of the family), and because he affected the Orphic
and seer-like mode of expression, he was called an imitator. Because
he was a recluse and a stoic, and because his letters were edited in a
way to emphasize his stoicism, he has been thought to lack the human
and friendly qualities.
The charge of imitation has been refuted by those who knew him
best. ‘Doubtless his growth was stimulated by kindred ideas. This is all
that can be granted. Utter independence, strong individuality
distinguished him. His one foible was, not subserviency, but
combativeness, mainly from mere love of fence when he found a
43
worthy adversary, as his best friends knew almost too well.’
In many ways Thoreau was much like other men. He was a
devoted son, a brotherly brother, a helpful neighbor, a genial
companion. We have his own word for it that he could out-sit the
longest sitter in the village tap-room if there were occasion.
On the other hand, he was not ‘approachable’ in the common
meaning of the word. He puzzled many people. He could be angular,
stiff, remote, encrusted. Howells saw him in 1860, ‘a quaint stump
44
figure of a man.’ He sat on one side of the room, having first placed
his visitor in a chair on the other side. It was more difficult to get near
him spiritually than physically. He seemed almost unconscious of his
caller’s presence.
Emerson edited Thoreau’s letters so as to present ‘a most perfect
piece of stoicism.’ It was the side of his friend’s character in which he
most rejoiced. The book should be read exactly as Emerson intended it
to be read. Later it should be supplemented by the Familiar Letters,
which brings into relief the affectionate and winning side of Thoreau’s
character.
 III
THE WRITER
Thoreau was a painstaking student of the art of expression, but never
for its own sake, always as a means to an end. One may conclude that
it was not mere author’s vanity which led him to resent editorial
tampering with his manuscript. He had good reasons for believing that
neither Curtis of ‘Putnam’s’ nor Lowell of ‘The Atlantic’ could change his
text to advantage. The question was not one of mere nicety of phrase,
but of that subtile quality of style due to the inextricable interweaving of
the thought and the language in which the thought is expressed.
An out-of-doors writer, Thoreau’s power to produce was in direct
ratio of his intercourse with Nature. If shut up in the house he could not
write at all. When he walked he stored up literary virtue. He believed
that nothing was so good for the man of letters as work with the hands.
It cleared the style of ‘palaver and sentimentality.’
The fresh wild beauty of Thoreau’s style (when he is at his best)
may be praised without reserve. There is no danger of exaggerating its
perfect novelty and attractiveness; the danger is that we may take the
hint of these qualities for the reality. Thoreau could be commonplace
when he chose.

IV
THE BOOKS
Early in September, 1839, the Thoreau brothers, John and Henry,
made a voyage down the Concord and Merrimac rivers. The boat used
was of their own building. It was painted blue and green, had wheels by
which it could be dragged around the dams, and must have been as
ugly as it was useful. A Week on the Concord and Merrimack records
the unadventurous adventures of the two young men both on this and
other excursions.
 It is a medley of prose and verse, of homely common-sense and
lofty speculation. Side by side with realistic portraits of plain people,
farmers, fishermen, boatmen, and lock-keepers, are minute and
exquisite descriptions of the life of field, mountain, stream, lake, and air.
The literary allusions are many, and taken from sources as wide apart
as the poles, Shattuck (the historian of Concord) and Anacreon, Gookin
and Chaucer. Here is to be found the famous essay on Friendship, the
spirit of which may be partly divined from this sentence: ‘I could tame a
hyena more easily than my friend.’
The poetry in the volume is a stumbling-block to not a few readers.
Doubtless it has its virtues, but too often Thoreau’s poetry must be
forgiven for the sake of his prose. The stiff, almost self-conscious air of
A Week on the Concord and Merrimack and the hobbling verse help to
explain the indifference of the author’s contemporaries to a very original
work.
Walden, the second of Thoreau’s books, is the better of the two,
which does not mean that the first could be spared. The style is easier,
the flavor more racy, the spirit more humorous. The attitude of the
writer is characteristically provoking and pugnacious. The chapters
abound in audacities which at once pique and delight the reader. This
modern Diogenes-Crusoe, solving the problem of existence on an
improvised desert-island two miles from his mother’s door-step, is a
refreshing figure.
Life in the woods fascinated Thoreau. Walden is a tribute to this
fascination. In the absence of domestic sounds he had the murmur of
the forest, the cry of the loon, the ‘tronk’ of the frog, and the clangor of
the wild-goose. Society was plenty and of the best. His neighbors were
the squirrel, the field-mouse, the phœbe, the blue jay. Human
companionship was not wanting, for there were visitors of all sorts, from
the half-witted to those who had more wits than they knew what to do
with. Matter-of-fact people were amazed at the young man’s way of
living, lacking the penetration to see that he might live as he did from
the humor of it. When sceptics asked him whether he thought he could
subsist on vegetable food alone, Thoreau, to strike at the root of the
matter at once, was accustomed to say that he ‘could live on board
nails.’ ‘If they cannot understand that they cannot understand much
that I say.’
 The Walden episode was an experiment in emancipation, and the
book is a challenge to mankind to live more simply and freely. Thoreau
mocks at the worship of luxury. ‘I would rather sit on a pumpkin and
have it all to myself than be crowded on a velvet cushion. I would rather
ride on earth in an ox-cart, with a free circulation, than go to heaven in
the fancy car of an excursion train and breathe a malaria all the way.’
Excursions is a collection of nine essays. Some of them are formal
and scientific with the Thoreau-esque flavor (‘Natural History of
Massachusetts,’ ‘The Succession of Forest Trees,’ ‘Autumnal Tints,’
‘Wild Apples’), others are pure Thoreau (‘A Walk to Wachusett,’ ‘The
Landlord,’ ‘A Winter Walk,’ ‘Walking,’ ‘Night and Moonlight’). The flavor
of these ‘wildlings of literature,’ as a devotee happily calls them, is as
marked almost as that of Walden. They are, in fact, Walden in
miniature.
The Maine Woods consists of three long essays, ‘Ktaadn,’
‘Chesuncook,’ and ‘The Allegash and East Branch.’ They are readable,
informing, uninspired. In the degree in which he left himself out of his
pages Thoreau became as tame and conventional as the most
academic of writers. The strength of some men of letters lies in
conformity. Thoreau is strongest in non-conformity.
Cape Cod is far more characteristic than the Maine Woods. He who
likes the savor of salt and the tonic of ocean air will enjoy this book
whether he cares for Thoreau or not. It is interesting as an early
contribution to the history of Cape Cod folks by a historian who was
more of an enigma to the natives than they were to him.
The best part of A Yankee in Canada is not to be found in the
account of the excursion to Montreal and Quebec, but in the sheaf of
anti-slavery and reform papers bound up in the same volume. Here are
printed the address on ‘Slavery in Massachusetts,’ the paper on ‘Civil
Disobedience,’ containing the lively account of the author’s experience
in Concord jail, the two addresses on John Brown, the essay on ‘Life
without Principle,’ and the critical study of ‘Thomas Carlyle and his
Works.’
The four volumes named for the seasons are valuable for the light
they shed on Thoreau’s method as a writer, and his skill and accuracy
in reporting the facts of Nature. They are sure to be read by the faithful,
because the genuine Thoreau enthusiast can read his every line. The
rest of the world will be content to know him by two or three of the
twelve volumes bearing his name. A Week on the Concord and
Merrimack Rivers, alden, the Familiar Letters, and a few essays from
Excursions and the Anti-Slavery papers ought to be sufficient.

* * * * *
No more than greater men of letters can Thoreau be disposed of in
a paragraph. Some of his pronounced characteristics can be, however.
He was a paradoxical philosopher. To praise Nature at the expense
of civilized society, to eulogize the ‘perfection’ of the one and lament
the degradation of the other, to declare solemnly that church spires
deform the landscape, and that it is a mistake to do a second time what
has been done once,—these declarations give a wholly incomplete but,
so far as they go, not unjust idea of his manner. Taking Thoreau literally
is a capital way to breed a dislike for him. Grant him his own manner of
expressing his thought, make no effort to exact conformity from so
wayward a genius, and at once you are, as Walt Whitman would say,
‘rapport’ with him. It is easy to exaggerate his paradoxicalness. Say to
yourself as you take up the volume: ‘Now let us find out just how
whimsical this fellow can be,’ and straightway he disappoints by not
being whimsical at all.
If Thoreau’s praise of Nature at the expense of Society seems to
border on the absurd, one must bear in mind how complete and
intimate was his knowledge of what he praised. His love of forest, lake,
hill, and mountain, of beast and bird, was deep, passionate,
unremitting. He speaks somewhere of an old man so versed in Nature’s
ways that apparently ‘there were no secrets between them.’ This might
have been said of Thoreau himself. He could pay lofty tributes to the
‘mystical’ quality in Nature; but he was not a mere rhapsodist, a petty
village Chateaubriand; he could come straight down to tangible facts
and recount every detail of the advent of spring at Walden. His power
to see and his skill in describing the thing seen unite to give the very
atmosphere of life in the woods.
He was himself so complete an original and his literary
attractiveness is such that Thoreau numbers among his best friends not
only those who are nature-blind but the confirmed city-men as well, the
frequenters of clubs, the lovers of pavements and crowds. That some
of the most appreciative tributes to his genius should have come from
these is but one paradox the more in the history of him who (at times)
delighted above all else in the paradoxical.

FOOTNOTES:
42
F. B. Sanborn: The Personality of Thoreau, p. 30.
43
Edward W. Emerson in the ‘Centenary’ Emerson, vol. x, p. 607.
44
Literary Friends and Acquaintance, p. 59.
 XII
Oliver Wendell Holmes

REFERENCES:

W. Sloane Kennedy: Oliver Wendell Holmes, 1883.

J. T. Morse, Jr.: Life and Letters of Oliver Wendell
Holmes, 1896.

I
HIS LIFE

Holmes invented a phrase which became celebrated—‘the Brahmin

caste of New England,’ that is to say, an aristocracy of culture. The
inventor of the phrase belonged to the class. He was a son of the
Reverend Abiel Holmes, minister of the First Church of Cambridge and
author of that ‘painstaking and careful work,’ the American Annals.
Abiel Holmes (a great-grandson of John Holmes, one of the settlers
of Woodstock, Connecticut) was twice married. His first wife was Mary
Stiles, daughter of President Ezra Stiles of Yale College. Five years
after her death he married Sarah Wendell of Boston, who became the
mother of Oliver Wendell Holmes. Through the Wendells, Holmes was
related by one line of descent to Anne Bradstreet; by another to Evert
Jansen Wendell of Albany.
 The author of The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table was born at
Cambridge, Massachusetts, on Harvard Commencement Day, August
29, 1809. After a preliminary training at the Cambridgeport Academy
(where he had for schoolmates Margaret Fuller and Richard Henry
Dana) Holmes completed his college preparation at Phillips Academy,
Andover, entered Harvard in the class of 1829, and in due time was
graduated.
He had, or thought he had, an inclination to carry the ‘green bag,’
and to this end spent a year at the Dane (now Harvard) Law School, in
Cambridge. He soon discovered a greater inclination towards medicine
and entered the private medical school of Doctor James Jackson, in
Boston. In 1833 he became a student at the École de Médecine in
Paris, and during two busy winters heard the lectures of Broussais,
Andral, Louis, and other teachers.
In 1836 he began the practice of medicine in Boston. During the
two following years he competed for and won four of the Boylston
Prizes. Enthusiastic in his profession, he found the life of a general
practitioner not to his liking, and when, in 1838, the professorship of
anatomy and physiology at Dartmouth College was offered him, he was
‘mightily pleased.’ He held the position for two years (1839–40);
residence at Hanover was required for three months of each year.
Some time before going to Hanover, Holmes was writing to his
friend Phineas Barnes, congratulating him on having entered into ‘the
beatific state of duality,’ and wishing himself in like case. ‘I have flirted
and written poetry long enough,’ he said, ‘and I feel that I am growing
domestic and tabby-ish.’ On June 15, 1840, he married Miss Amelia
Jackson, a daughter of Judge Charles Jackson of Boston. She was a
young woman of rare endowments. ‘Every estimable and attractive
45
quality of mind and character seemed to be hers.’
In 1847 Holmes was appointed Parkman professor of anatomy and
physiology in the Harvard Medical School. The multifarious extra cares
involved led him to say that in those early days he occupied not a chair
in the college but a settee. He held the position for thirty-five
consecutive years.
The reputation which Holmes began early to build up through his
writings was partly literary, partly scientific, partly a compound of both.
Lovers of well-turned and witty verse knew him through his Poems
(1836) and his metrical essays, Urania (1846) and Astræa (1850). The
public, always solicitous about its health, heard or read the two lectures
on Homœopathy and its kindred Delusions (1842). Physicians made
his acquaintance through the Boylston Prize Dissertations (1836–37),
and the Essay on the Contagiousness of Puerperal Fever (1843).
Fame came to Holmes in 1857 when he began printing in the newly
founded ‘Atlantic Monthly’ a series of papers entitled The Autocrat of
the Breakfast-Table. Reprinted as a book, it at once took its proper
place as an American classic, and now after forty-eight years its
popularity seems in no degree lessened.
The following list contains the principal works upon which Holmes’s
reputation as a man of letters rests. A full bibliography must be
consulted if one would know the extent of his literary and scientific
activity: The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table, 1858; The Professor at
the Breakfast-Table, 1860; Currents and Counter-Currents, with Other
Addresses, 1861; Elsie Venner, 1861; Songs in Many Keys, 1862;
Soundings from the Atlantic, 1864; The Guardian Angel, 1867; The
Poet at the Breakfast-Table, 1872; Songs of Many Seasons, 1875;
Memoir of John Lothrop Motley, 1879; The Iron Gate and Other Poems,
1880; Pages from an Old Volume of Life, 1883; A Mortal Antipathy,
1885; Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1885; Our Hundred Days in Europe,
1887; Before the Curfew and Other Poems, 1888; Over the Teacups,
1891.
Holmes’s life was without marked incident. His work at the Medical
School, his public lectures, social engagements, the normal and
agreeable responsibilities of home and society, filled the measure of his
days. The visit to England in 1886, when he was made a D. C. L. by
Oxford, a Litt. D. by Cambridge, and an LL. D. by Edinburgh, was
something like apotheosis, if the term be not too extravagant.
He endured the evils consequent on old age with philosophic
composure, and it became at the last a matter of scientific curiosity with
him to see how long he could maintain life. He was spared a tedious
illness, and died an almost painless death on October 7, 1894.
 II
THE MAN
Among the ‘Autocrat’s’ distinguishing traits was humanity. He has
recorded the feeling of ‘awe-stricken sympathy’ at first sight of the white
faces of the sick in the hospital wards. ‘The dreadful scenes in the
operating theatre—for this was before the days of ether—were a great
shock to my sensibilities.’ His nerves hardened in time, but he was
always keenly alive to human suffering. There is a note of contempt in
his reference to Lisfranc, the surgeon, who ‘regretted the splendid
guardsmen of the Empire because they had such magnificent thighs to
amputate.’
It was once said of Holmes that he was difficult to catch unless he
were wanted for some kind act. He lost no opportunity to give
happiness. In old age when flattery was tedious, and blindness
imminent, and the autograph hunter had become a burden, he patiently
wrote his name and transcribed stanzas of ‘Dorothy Q.’ or ‘The Last
Leaf’ for admirers from all parts of the earth. This was the smallest tax
on his good nature. For years he had been expected to act as counsel
and sometimes as literary agent for all the minor poets of America.
Many of these innocents conceived Holmes as automatically issuing
certificates to the virtue of their work. He was always kind and
invariably plain-spoken. To the author of an epic he wrote: ‘I cannot
conscientiously advise you to print your poem; it will be an expense to
you, and the gain to your reputation will not be an equivalent.’
Holmes believed in the humanizing influences of good blood, social
position, and wealth. It was no small matter, he thought, to have a
descent from men who had played their parts acceptably in the drama
of life. He preferred the man with the ‘family portraits’ to the man with
the ‘twenty-cent daguerreotype’ unless he had reason to believe that
the latter was the better man of the two. His amusing poem,
‘Contentment,’ is not a jest, but a plain statement of his philosophy.
Open-minded in literary and scientific matters, he was delightfully
conservative about places. He respected the country and loved the
town. A city man, he was also a man of one city. He professed to have
been the discoverer of Myrtle Street, the abode of ‘peace and beauty,