Devonne Brown

“Don’t open that,” but the words came too late. Glass fell to the floor and shattered when he lifted the glass of the barrister bookcase. “I told you not to do that, didn’t I?” Sophie was already bending over, picking shards up from the floor. “Help me with this mess, will you?”

Now that the damage was done and dusted, Ben perused the faded leather titles. Ancient stories, unfamiliar authors, not anyone he’d heard before lined the top shelf. “Why were these locked away in secret behind the desk in this office for so long? Had they committed a heinous crime?”

Ben was careful when he lifted the next shelf. The glass stayed where it belonged, so did the bottom shelf too. He had access to all the books now. All fine leather bound blue, green, and red books, even a black one or two. Some were more faded than others, the glass had protected them from much dust, but still there was some. 

“Don’t open that either,” Sophie said too late. Ben opened the pages of a faded green leather bound book. Like the rest, it wasn’t a law book, or ledger, but a novel of fancy. A book that told a bold story, so very unlike Ben’s grandfather. 

This was a secret bookcase of nothing but novels of romance. It was like finding a stash of pornography. Sophie was mortified. Ben was delighted. “We can’t tell anybody about this, Ben. It will ruin his reputation.”

“Grandpa had a reputation for being a heartless, hateful man with no compassion for anybody. He was a law man, a sheriff, mean and stern. We found a stack of romance novels behind his chair in his office. For heaven’s sake, call the Times!” said Ben.

“Let him be known as hateful forever. That’s what he deserves,” said Sophie. “The books don’t change him.”