The Book

The little black book seemed innocent enough, lying as it was on the sidewalk. Why it caught her eye, Kendra Young couldn't say. It obviously didn't belong to anyone who lived in this area.

She looked around, hoping to spot someone who looked as if they may have dropped it. Whoever it was would be well-dressed. They should stick out like a sore thumb among the throngs that frequented the area. This was not a well-to-do place, and everyone knew that. So, how then, had this mysterious book come to be in such a place?

Carefully, almost reverently, she stooped down to rescue the book from the icy winds that could carry it away to be lost forever. She admired the smooth, black cover, the pristine white pages. It looked important somehow.

Kendra opened the book, gasping as she spotted a hundred dollar bill. She flipped the page and saw another. Looking around quickly to see if anyone else had seen. Nobody paid her any mind.

She looked around once more, but still didn't see anyone who even looked like they might possess such a lovely item, and the money inside. Should she take it back to her box? It wasn't far. She'd be able to see if someone came looking for it.

No, she decided. She should take it to them. If it was her book and her money, she would want it back as soon as possible. But how to return it?

She chewed her lip, shivering in the arctic gusts that sliced through her threadbare clothes as if they didn't exist. If she returned the book, she could probably at least see one of the lovely homes on the other side of town. How she'd longed to live there when she was younger. She'd dreamed about it from an early age: a warm bed, warm meals three times a day, nice clothes and friends to love her.

Now she was older, almost thirty. She knew that dreams were for children. Still, maybe one more dream wouldn't hurt her.

She opened the book and peered at the writing inside. It was a bold script, most likely written by a man, but she'd never learned to read cursive writing. She barely knew how to read at all. If she tried, she could at least match the letters on the pages to the letters on the street signs. Then perhaps, she could do the same with the numbers.

It was a long walk to the other side of town and with the rapidly approaching night, the already frigid temperatures fell even more. Still, Kendra trudged on, determined to complete her mission. Her fingers and toes burned with the cold and the thin shirt that served as a coat, did little to keep her warm.

At last, she looked up and saw it. The street sign letters matched the letters in the book. Now, to find the same numbers. She was getting tired. But it was only a little further.

Kendra counted the numbers as she strode along the immaculately kept sidewalks. She had a feeling no leaf or errant piece of trash ever dared alight on the perfectly clean surfaces on which she now trod. With a frown, she realized she would have to hurry. Her kind wasn't appreciated in these parts. She belonged back in the gutter with the others.

She stopped. The house immediately in front of her had wide black iron gates, swung open wide, as if to invite her in. Lights shone in almost every window, a beacon to those out on such an unfriendly evening.

Nervously, she made her way up to the door, hesitating before she pressed the doorbell. She did so, and turned to go, having tucked the small leather book safely against the door. The weather couldn't hurt it there. Not in the few minutes it would take for its owner to retrieve it.

Behind her the door opened, and a voice called out to her. The voice sounded friendly. It was different from the arrogant, condescending tone she was used to from the people in this neighborhood.

She paused, uncertain whether she should keep walking or go back. Slowly, she turned. The book's owner stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light behind him. Or her. She couldn't tell with the face all in shadows.

"Please, come in," the shadowy figure entreated. "It's freezing outside."

"It's okay," Kendra said, shrinking back slightly.

They had clearly not seen her well enough yet, or they would never have invited her in. Perhaps it was too dark for them to tell how poorly she was dressed. Maybe it was too dim for them to notice how dirty she was.

"I should be going home," she continued, taking another step back.

"You brought my book back," the figure stated.

"Yes. I found it. I didn't steal it, I swear," she promised, suddenly fearing she would be accused of just that.

"Oh, I know that. I left it there on purpose."

Kendra was confused. Who would have left such a beautiful book in such a desolate area? There was nobody of any importance there, only people like her: the forgotten, the lost, the ne'er do wells.

"Please. Come in. I'll explain," the figure coaxed once more.

Kendra looked beyond the shadow and into the house. It looked so warm and inviting. Was that what heaven was like, she wondered.

Cautiously, she took a step toward her mysterious host. Then another. The figure reached out a hand and Kendra stared at it. Nobody of this class had ever been willing to risk touching her, let alone do so intentionally.

She ignored the hand and stepped inside the house. Oh, the warmth. Surely, this was indeed heaven.

Her host stood beside her, gesturing for her to follow into another room and she mutely complied. She tried not to stare at the marble floors, the rich carpets, and crystal chandeliers. It was everything she had pictured as a little girl.

"What is your name?"

She could see now that the mysterious person was a man, not much older than she. He was, as she'd expected, well dressed. While he wasn't overweight by any means, she doubted he'd ever missed a meal in his life. Why was she here? Why had he his little book in the ghettos?

"Kendra," she answered at last.

"Well, Kendra, my name is Harrison Fuller."

He waited for a sign of recognition. There was none.

"I run one of the biggest banks in this area. I left my book near your home a few days ago. It was part of a test. You see, a lot of the people in my neighborhood believe that the people in your neighborhood can't be trusted, that you're worthless and deserve whatever fate befalls you. I don't. I believe you are people, just like us. And deserve a chance."

Kendra waited, unsure where this was going. What did that have to do with a test? She couldn't even take a test. She couldn't read.

"Don't worry," he said, as if reading her mind, "There is no writing. The test was what you would do with the book."

She watched as he opened the pages and removed several bills from within. Her eyes widened. There was more money there than she'd seen her entire life.

"I believed that someone would return the book, with the money still inside. You proved I was right. This money is yours."

"Sir, I don't understand. I simply picked it up and brought it to you," Kendra replied.

"And that is why you receive the reward. And, for tonight, you will stay here. There is a warm bed up the stairs, clean clothes, a hot bath, and a warm meal. Tomorrow, we will make arrangements for other necessities."

"Necessities?" she echoed.

"You will have a job. I will arrange for an apartment. You will have food and clothing."

Kendra felt tears in her eyes. This couldn't be real. Was she dreaming again? She bit her lip until it bled. No, it was no dream.

"Your honesty is being rewarded in the way mine once was. You see, ten years ago, I was in your position. I had no home, no family, nothing. Someone did the same for me. And all I ask in return is that someday, you pass along the tradition and do the same for another person in need."

That night, Kendra slept in a warm soft bed, her stomach full for the first time in recent memory. She remembered to thank God for her newfound good fortune and remembered those she'd left behind. One day, she would honor her benefactor's request to pass along the favor.

Ten Years Later

The little black book seemed innocent enough, lying as it was on the sidewalk...