1. The Library
The windshield wipers swooshed back and forth on the windshield of Miles Hensley's car as rain poured down. Miles sighed and turned off the radio, which was had droned on about the stock market for over an hour since he left home. The rain had started coming down when he got into his car and pulled out of his driveway, and now it was coming down hard. Though it wasn't surprising; rain was common in the city of Seattle, Washington. And after living in Seattle for over ten years, Miles figured he should be used to it. But it never rained Kansas like it did in Seattle. Mile's hometown of Topeka, Kansas was fairly dry during the fall and winter seasons, and had the most rainfall in spring and summer. The rate of precipitation in Seattle was larger than Topeka.
Miles leaned in to see past the large drops that splattered onto his windshield and then were swept away by the wipers. He should reach his destination soon and then run from his car to safe, dry sanctuary of the city library. On Saturday the library opened at noon and closed at five thirty. Miles would have enough time to find the information he needed for his new book. An accomplished writer, Miles had already had many Americans reading his novel Tales of being Shipwrecked, which was about a young boy and his sister being cast out at sea and forced to live on an island after their ship sank. Miles had been interviewed on television and the radio and in the newspaper and tabloid, and giving autographs at local bookstores for a whole year. Now his book was out in the open, published, after four years of research, editing, and fact checking, Miles knew he was ready to start writing again.
He had an idea for a plot, a young boy traveling with his parents in the old west during the nineteenth century and being ransacked by Indians, separating him from his parents. To research his new story, Miles decided to head to the local library. He was excited to begin writing and do his research, and the slow pace of the cars ahead him, due to the heavy rainfall, only made him anxious to get to his destination. Finally he spotted the large gravel pillars that stood outside on either side of the glass door of the familiar building that was the library. Miles turned onto the road that led into the parking lot next to the building. He turned off the ignition, grabbed his umbrella, and opened the car door. The rain splattered, making a pinging sound on the paved lot. Miles trotted through the lot with the bottom of his shoes occasionally meeting a puddle. He quickly ran up the gravel stairway that led to the glass door and went inside. An overhead chandelier brightened the large room filled with shelves that reached the ceiling. Behind a large desk sat Mrs. Kensworth, the librarian. She was humming to herself while checking over the books that had been turned in. She looked up from one of the books to smile at Miles.
"Nice to see you again, Mr. Hensley, " she said in a friendly manner. "It's rainy outside today, isn't it?"
"Very" Miles pushed his wet bangs away from his forehead. "I'm doing research for a new book. Where are the books on the nineteenth century?"
"In the west wing," Mrs. Kensworth directed. "I really hope you write a new novel, Mr. Hensley."
"Thanks, and you know you can call me Miles," Miles said. Mrs. Kensworth just smiled and went back to examining books. Miles turned toward the west wing, passing by shelves and shelves of books. The urge that usually hit Miles to explore the unknown wonders the books had to offer suddenly struck him. Since he was twelve years old, Miles loved to read. He would go to the library and find at least three books he wanted to read. By the time he started his second year in college, Miles had read over 100 books and memorized all the authors and titles of the books. The ones he liked most were the ones about the old west, the sea, and young people going on an adventure. It inspired to write his own stories, which soon went on to becoming a novel. With his first novel being success, Miles was eager to write his next one.
Miles finally turned the corner, which led to the west wing. He scanned the shelves, which held books on ranches, farms, railroads, cowboys, and colonization, all about the nineteenth century. Miles finally found something close to what he was looking for: a book on Indians and another one about western living. He took out Indian book on the second shelf and took out the western living book on the third. He turned around to go over to one of the reading tables and heard a thud. He turned back around and saw a small, brown book with a leather cover. It must have fallen off after Miles had taken out the book because the books were tightened wedge together. Miles bent down and picked up the book, and was surprised to see that it had neither title nor the name of the author on the front. Curiosity got the best of Miles and he opened the book. Inside was clean white paper with handwritten words instead of printed. It seemed to be a journal and as Miles looked at over the first page, his eyes widened at what was written on the top of the page:
PROPERTY OF RUTH GORMAN