The Bibliophile (The Librarian Chronicles Book 3) by Christy Sloat

Author:Christy Sloat [Sloat, Christy]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: CHBB Publishing
Published: 2019-10-13T16:00:00+00:00

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Rose 1765

The snow pelted our bodies for the short walk back so fiercely that it didn’t set in that he was truly here until I opened the door and got us inside. Once in the warm house I pushed Adam toward the small fire and threw two logs on. He was stiff as a log himself as he slowly fell to the ground.

“My feet,” he said chattering his teeth loudly. Taking notice of his snow-covered boots; I pulled them off exposing his almost blue toes.

“Get them near the fire,” I told him, as I pulled his wet jacket off. “Where in God’s Name are your furs? What possesses a man to travel through the wild Georgia mountains without proper clothes and what—” Stopping short I realized I recognized the trousers he was wearing. I’d seen them before.

“I think I may have made these.” I touched the fabric and ran my fingers over the familiar stitching. The bad lines and horrible shaky way that they ran down the inseam was what caught my attention.

“It’s possible,” he said through clenched teeth. “They’re not mine to begin with. They came from the Winthorp’s house.”

“How did you come to wear them?” The way his head tilted to the side, and the look in his eyes gave me a fright. Something was wrong, terribly so. “You’re scaring me, Adam.”

He rested his hand on mine, and pulled me down toward the floor gently. The way his lips cast downward and the tears in his eyes, I knew something awful had happened to my friends.

“I came here looking for you. I just… couldn’t get over you. I know that sounds desperate but whatever. Better to be honest, right?”

I shrugged, trying to keep up. “What… ever.”

He laughed slightly, as if something were funny. “There’s was the first house I found. So, I knocked and no one answered. I went inside, hoping that maybe they were just out or something. But… but I found Arthur first. And it was bad.”

I nodded, understanding what he was saying, or trying to say. My friend was dead.

“And the others?”

He shook his head but kept his eyes on me. “There was no saving them. From the looks of them it was like they’d been dead for days. They suffered, too. I hated to see such nice people in that state.”

“How can you tell?” I asked, not sure what sign would show him of their suffering. I could only imagine the horror he witnessed. They were nice people and they didn’t deserve to have such a horrific death. “And what was it that took them?”

Death on Raven’s Ridge was not uncommon. We had lost many when we first settled. Mother told me of a nice young family who died in a house fire. We helped bury them after Father pulled their charred bodies from the house. We often times found bodies of people in the woods while on hunting trips, and it always left me wondering how they died.

“I really don’t know what killed them, Rose.

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