The Bibliophile (The Librarian Chronicles Book 3)

  The Bibliophile

  The Librarian Chronicles III

  By

  Christy Sloat

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Text Copyright ©2019 Christy Sloat

  All rights reserved

  Published by

  CHBB Publishing, LLC.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Cheree Castellanos

  Cover & Formatting by Pretty AF Designs

  He traveled through time … to save her. As a lover of books, Adam Giordano was accustomed to getting lost in the beauty of the written word. But never quite so literally. Cracking open the pages of one unique hardcover, transports him to Colonial America on the verge of war. There, he meets a wild, Native American beauty by the name of Rose, whose life he fears is directly in the path of the brewing storm of battle. Enraptured by her, he struggles to find a way to save her from a history that may already be written. Will Adam’s attempt at rescuing her prevent Rose from becoming the historical beacon she was meant to be?

  Biography

  Christy Sloat resides in New Jersey with her husband, two daughters, and her Chihuahua, Sophie. Christy has embraced the love of reading and writing since her youth and was inspired by her grandmother’s loving support. She loves adventurous journeys with her friends and can be known to get lost inside a bookstore. She is the bestselling author and award-winning author of fifteen novels including, The Librarian Chronicles, The Visitors Series, and The Slumber Duology.

  Note from the author

  I’m very excited to bring you the third book in my Librarian Chronicles. This book is a bit sexier than the previous two, as it is not a young adult novel. I fell into the romance of this story and didn’t hold back. Fair warning, this book contains love at first sight and a HEA. I get a lot of grief for writing characters who instantly fall in love. I will tell you, it is possible, as I have done it and after fifteen years of being together, we’re incredibly happy.

  I hope you enjoy hearing the story told from two character’s point of view this time. And not only are they different opinions, but time-periods as well. I wanted to challenge myself and I think it turned out wonderful. I was pleased and excited to write about the Cherokee Indian tribe in this book. Thanks to a good friend and of course many websites online, I feel I gave this story the characters it needed. I learned so much about the Cherokee Nation and have respect for them all. While I tried to study the historical facts of this era as much as possible, it is hard to be exact when writing about this time-period. Please understand that as an author, most of the story is fiction and cannot be true to all aspects of this time and place.

  Happy reading.

  One

  Rose 1765

  I watched as my mother heaved the last log onto the fire. I always felt amazement and pride when she did the same labor as my father. He was strong and large, but Mother could do the same heavy lifting as he could. She was the one to teach me about hunting, fishing, and keeping up the daily chores around our homestead. While Father went on a hunting trip, we both did all the chores he wasn’t there to do.

  “Rose, get wood for the fire.” I nodded and pulled on my wool cape that Mother knit me last winter. This year’s winter was coming fast, I could feel the chill on my skin as soon as I opened the door. Stepping out onto the cold porch a gush of wind blasted my face, causing my teeth to clench. When the winter came it would only get worse, and it was hard for me to imagine it getting worse than this. I grabbed the wood and hefted it into my arms. Looking out over the vast mountains in the distance, I briefly wondered when Father was going to come back. He had been gone a fortnight, and while it was normal for him to leave us for this length of time, it still was hard without him here.

  By the time I reached the cabin, my arms were almost frozen, quaking with cold. I gave Mother the first haul of wood, and she helped me stack it against the cabin wall.

  “More,” Mother ordered.

  I fought the urge to tell her how cold it was outside and made two more trips, without whining. When the wood was nice and stacked, she would let me sit in peace and finish stitching my new dress. It was coming along nicely now. I was increasingly thankful for the talent that I gained this summer for stitching. The woman who once lived in the cabin near ours, Miss Hawksley, had taught me just before she died. The pox had claimed her in the fall, and that made me extremely sad. She had been the only friend I had. One who did not judge me, or my heritage. Being half-white and half-Cherokee was difficult. I had already come to the understanding that I would probably never marry.

  Most of the young men in our old village had shunned me and said there would be no match with a half-breed Indian like me. They didn’t mind marrying a full Cherokee woman, though. It was hard to not let it get under my skin but the fact was, it did. It bothered me greatly.

  When Father said that we would be building our home in Raven’s Ridge, far into the mountains, I was elated. It was wonderful to be far from the small village for us all. Living in a trade town was just too busy. So many people would come and go, and it tended to get rowdy at times. Especially when the war ended. We were happy once, but since I was Indian, it made them look at me in a different light. There was no longer a war but the animosity still lingered in their gaze. Especially for Mother. Most of the women despised her and she knew it. They were mostly angry that an Indian woman had stolen a handsome white man.

  “Dress coming along very nice,” Mother said, in her broken English. I smiled, “Thank you, Mother. I finished the sleeves. See.”

  Holding up the blue dress I showed her the long sleeves that I had attached today. This dress was my crowning achievement so far. I had sewn bonnets, socks, and a nightdress to start. When Mother found the blue material for me from a local tribe, I jumped at the chance to make myself a fine dress.

  Where I would wear it was beyond me. Nothing much happened here in these woods. The nearest homestead was over four miles away and there were no celebrations until Christmas. Our family would go to Margaret Winthorp’s home and celebrate with her family. They were the only family on Raven’s Ridge. We would visit them when time allowed it. It was kind of her to open her home for celebrations, albeit quietly. Many didn’t believe in Christmas in the Georgia colony. But my father insisted we celebrate, as his family had before him and so forth.

  Mother had acclimated to her new lifestyle accordingly. She took the family name of Bennet and left hers behind. She even took an English name, calling herself Helen, instead of Nayawene.

  I was happy, sure enough. Well-loved by my family, I had a nice home to keep me warm and dry. And I loved the animals that we had attained before moving here.

  But as I looked out the window, like I did many nights, I longed for a home of my own someday. Far from here but not in a village where they looked at me like I was an animal.

  Mother wished different for me. She wanted me to someday have my own farm to run, corn to pick, and a mountain for me to call home. While I did not want the sa
me, I often longed for a husband to wait for when he went on long trips hunting. Or perhaps my husband would take me along with him since I had the best shot on the ridge. I couldn’t help but feel a foreboding sense that a man of that caliber did not exist here in this colony. No one here would love me as I yearned for. Would I be alone forever? Would I always watch Mother cook and Father hunt, until their dying days? Would I be without a companion forever?

  Two

  Adam 2019

  The only thing that woke me that morning was the soft chime of the small bell that we hung on the door. It alarmed me to hear this sound, because we weren’t open yet, being three a.m., I didn’t expect guests either. I sat up at the noise, and reached for her, but found the empty bedsheets in her stead. I was alone. In our crappy bed we bought together in that annoying store in New Jersey. It was a pain to put together, I’ll never forget that. The sheer hours I wasted putting this stupid bed together, only for it to fall apart once we got in it.

  We bought this bed together as our first big purchase, in our first place, while starting our career together, and she left me in it alone. Of course, then, I thought maybe she was in the bathroom, so I got up and stumbled sleepily across the floor to the small kitchenette and then knocked on the door to the bathroom. No reply came from inside, so I pushed the door open and found a dark empty room. With the light on, I saw a bare bathroom sink, her toothbrush gone, her many hair products that I was forbidden to use but did anyway, gone. Her bathrobe that hung on the door that she looked amazing in, gone.

  Now I was awake at that point, and I knew exactly what happened. I ran down the steps into the alleyway and found her car that usually parked there, also gone.

  I sat on the ground that night in my boxer shorts, and stared into the dark alley, and for the first time since my mother passed away, I cried. I didn’t all out bawl but I did shed tears. I loved Elisa, like really loved her. That for me to admit in itself should have explained the way I felt about her. Love for me was a condition. It wasn’t something I felt or expressed often. I don’t think love was something that can be felt so easy, and I think love at first sight, is bullshit. I didn’t feel it with many people. After Mom died, my relationships with those around me became strained and falling in love wasn’t anything I wanted to do with anyone. I let my guard down with Elisa, and I shouldn’t have.

  Now, looking back, I shouldn’t have cried. I should have known she was going to leave. There were signs, I’m not an idiot, well not completely. She grew distant, and I ignored it because that’s what I do best. My mom told me this all the time when she was still alive. But it’s a coping mechanism, and I can’t help it.

  When I first dropped out of school, I thought starting the business was going to be the best course of action for me and Elisa. We needed a good coffee shop on this block, and it was Elisa’s idea to have used books too. She, like me, was a book lover. Together we had over a thousand copies of books we collected over the years. When we put it all down on paper it made perfect sense. And for the first year, we did great. We met our target point for what we wanted to pay off, and of course, we weren’t in the red yet. I brought in a fancier coffee machine and a latte maker. She brought in newer books and author signings. Book clubs were gathering on the weekends, so we bought all new furniture, and put up a wall for more privacy. Then, we started seeing nothing but red. Money wasn’t coming in, because we were putting too much out. This was not the start in life that I hoped for. I don’t think anyone hopes for debt at twenty-one.

  It’s been two months since she left me. All I heard from her was a quick Instagram message about how sorry she was that life with me became hard, so she had no choice to leave.

  Wow. That’s not a slap in the face at all.

  She blocked me right after that. I didn’t respond, not only because she wouldn’t ever see it, but also because I had no words. Was that an apology, or was that her way of saying that I messed up our relationship? Either way, it was shitty.

  After that, I decided not to love Elisa anymore, or any girl for that matter. My walls were firmly in place, and they weren’t coming down.

  Love chewed me up and spit me out. To be frank, love and cancer were best friends. And I didn’t want to be involved with anything that they had in common. So there I sat, crunching numbers, or whatever they called subtracting what money you owe from the little you had left. And when I was finished, I ran my hands through my hair. Yep, I was screwed.

  I picked up my cell and dialed my friend Roger, who was going to school for business. He knew exactly what I was going through and told me he’d come by and take a look at my mess when he had a chance.

  “Yo, Adam!” he answered.

  “Rog! Hey, man. How’s school?”

  He laughed. “Dude, it sucks. You’re so lucky you got free of this shit. Seriously, I wish I could. But I gotta stay in.”

  Roger was a slave to his family. He would do anything they said, even going to school for business when he wanted to study law.

  “I wish I could say that owning this place has been good for me, but I can’t say that, man. I think I need you to come over and take a look at my books. Let me know what you think, if I can salvage at least the coffee shop.”

  He sniffed and then coughed, the dude sounded sick as hell.

  “Ah. I see. You only want to keep on the food but cut out the books. I gotta say that’d be a mistake, Adam. You got tons of older ladies there that love those books. I saw the packed house you got for that signing a few months ago. If you want to salvage anything, that’s where you should go. Let the coffee part go. People love their Starbucks and Dunkin’ Donuts. They can’t find a Barnes and Noble for too much longer.”

  “Why’s that?” I thought the opposite for so long. And I wasn’t the one who brought that author in. That was Elisa’s doing. She was good with people, not me.

  “Those brick and mortar bookstores aren’t doing so good right now. I know for a fact that they turn certain authors away for signings; authors you say ‘yes’ to. That’s big man. You’re helping the industry by supporting the little guy.” He coughed again, fighting a wicked cold no doubt.

  “People are reading eBooks and buying from online retailers, too. But, in your case, you are connecting with the locals and giving them a place to share their stories, and buying once loved books. You shouldn’t give up just yet. But listen, I have a cold. So I might be able to hit your place up tomorrow night. I need to let my girl take care of me tonight.” He blew his nose and I could hear his girlfriend cooing over him. And he sucked that crap right up.

  I rolled my eyes out of jealousy and said, “Okay. Tomorrow’s good. See you then.”

  I clicked end call and put my head back into my hands. Freaking Elisa came in and screwed everything up. Why couldn’t I just stay friends with her? Why did I have to go making her my girlfriend?

  “Stupid, Adam!” I said to myself.

  “Hello, are you open?”

  Oh crap! I hadn’t remembered to lock the door on my way to lunch.

  “Uh, yeah one sec.” I pulled my apron off the chair and put it on my waist. I hated the thought of giving up the coffee part. I loved it, not as much as I loved the books, but it was fun being a barista. I made my twists on the latte’s that I felt made them special, better than Starbucks. And I was cheaper by far. But Roger did have a point. Most people came in for the books than they did for the drinks. I started this place for the books and I had to reconnect with that; the real reason this whole journey started. Letting a break-up end my true passion would just not do.

  “Hi, sorry about that,” I said as I rounded the corner. A nice, young girl, about twelve or so, stood at the counter holding a book.

  “No problem. My mom sent me down to pick up this book for her.”

  I took it and place it in the bag. It was a mushy romance book that we just got in
yesterday. The woman had called in a special order for it.

  “Ten fifty,” I told the girl. She handed me the exact amount and took the bag, thanked me, and was on her way. I loved New Yorkers. We didn’t need to say anything when parting. We didn’t live for ‘have a great day’ or ‘goodbyes.’ As a resident, I understood that we had better things to do than worry about niceties. We were united just by living here. We supported each other’s businesses, shared cabs when need be, and kept the city looking nice; well at least where I lived. I couldn’t talk for other districts.

  Truth be told, New York was home, and always would be. I never pictured myself a city guy for life, but now I never wanted to leave this place.

  And as I watched the little girl go down the street and swing the bag in her hands, excited to deliver it to her mom, I realized that Roger was right. This bookstore, like New York, was the best place for me.

  Three

  Rose 1765

  Father had been gone a month and Mother was worried, saying prayers constantly. I knew in my gut that she was unsettled, like me, and she would go after him. That’s what she did and who she was. My father and mother had a bond that I never fully understood because I’d never felt that strongly for a man. It’s hard to fathom love when you’ve never loved before.

  When Mother told me about how they first met, I was in awe of a love so strong and unburdened by grief and hate.