Page 11 of The Librarian Did Me Dewey

So we spent a comfortable winter on that money. Clyde thought it was my good bargaining and good sense to hide some of the stock before the troops came through.

He even bought me a few books, knowing I liked that sort of thing. So many estates were going under that he got a few for pennies, and I took my leisure time on the veranda, reading through a book I barely recalled about a man named Anodos and his journey to another world through his father’s desk. Phantastes, by George MacDonald.

I found myself dreaming as I read through it, as if I walked the world by Anodos. Though, I never really understood his obsession with the Marble Lady. Or obsession with ladies in general. As someone who walked the path of both worlds, women of either race would avoid me. And the women that did approach me either were not worth the risk or were an attempt at breeding some stock—which, no thank you.

I didn’t quite know it until a young company of soldiers took the night in one of our barns. I figured out quick back then that my eyes wandered after men.

I’d had a few drinks with the men and stolen a kiss before hiding in my quarters until they left.

And as more soldiers came through, more taking up lodgings in our buildings, I began to write my thoughts down.

And I wrote, hopefully, about the man, a boy like myself at the time, coming back for a second kiss… And he did.

It was rushed and chanced, an awkward meeting that I’d not quite understood what to do.

And I wrote more things, hopeful things I wished for… And they came true.

I wrote in a ledger that a soldier recovered from an injury—and he did.

I wrote that money appeared under my mattress—and it did.

But, with no idea where it came from, I felt guilt, shame, and fear of any number of accusations. So, with little else to do, I found Clyde’s cashbox and stuffed the bills in it, fearful that I’d stolen it in a dream or done something foul.

Clyde had taken up drinking and betting. All that money was disappearing faster than we could make it, faster than I could logically make it appear.

It had to be suspicious. That many notes floating about from our plantation.

Then, one afternoon, I sat fretting over the ledgers as a Union man came by, talking nonsense about freedom that I knew would never happen.

And so, I wrote it.

And so, it was declared.

After, the Union man showed up on the porch early one morning in his finest, asking to speak to Clyde.

It wasn’t until then that I found out just how low our coffers had gotten.

However much it took to convince him to sell his own brother like a prized pony, it was too much. My own brother didn’t deserve a payout on my back.