**
Young Men Do Read
Books can begin a conversation.
–Harry Finkle
Lizzy heard footsteps approaching. It was unlike Mr. Wellington to interrupt her while she was reading. Lizzy put down the journal and glanced toward the doorway. Just then a young man entered. Lizzy quickly averted her eyes and pretended to read. What is he doing in here? Lizzy wondered.
Lizzy had never known anyone to deliberately venture into the back room of the shop. Usually when people took a look at the untidy room they would immediately turn around and return to the front. This young man was not leaving, however. Who is he, and why is he here? Lizzy wondered.
Lizzy peeked above the book she was pretending to read and noticed the young man browsing the shelves. He slid his fingers along the leather spine of each book, removing the dust and reading the title. Lingering in one area, he unexpectedly glanced in Lizzy’s direction.
Lizzy didn’t realize she’d been staring at him. Her cheeks turned a light shade of pink before she returned her eyes to the book in her hands.
The young man cleared his throat. “Hello,” he said.
“Um, hello,” Lizzy reluctantly replied. How rude. Could he not see that she was reading? Even though she had been pretending, it was still rude of him to interrupt.
“What are you reading?”
“It’s a book about glowworms.”
“Glowworms? Why would you want to read about them?” he asked.
“Aren’t they just so fascinating?” Lizzy asked back. “Last night was the first time I’ve ever seen them, and they’re wonderful.
“It happens every summer,” he said in a bored voice, then continued to thumb through the pages of a book.
“It’s like the stars in the sky have fallen onto the valley,” Lizzy said dreamily. “It’s just so beautiful, don’t you think?”
The young man laughed and continued to browse the shelves.
“What’s so funny?” Lizzy asked.
The young man cleared his throat again, then opened a book he had removed from one of the upper shelves. “It’s just that…you’re a girl. Shouldn’t girls be reading books about love, or fairies, or something of that nature?”
With one hand Lizzy snapped her book shut. “Whatever gave you that idea?” she demanded. Her blushed cheeks turned bright red. She narrowed her eyes at the intruder and prepared for a verbal fight.
“I’m sorry,” he said, to her surprise. “I can see that I’ve offended you. That certainly wasn’t my intention. My apologies.” The young man lowered his eyes, then turned around to inspect the bookshelves once more.
Silence filled the air. Lizzy reopened her book but merely stared at the words on the page. Had she been too harsh with him? She didn’t mean to be rude and suddenly felt awful about her outburst. Taking a deep breath, she decided to break the silence and start anew.
“I don’t read stories of love or fairy tales of any kind, because they don’t contain real knowledge,” Lizzy said in a softer, but firm, tone. She was very proud of the fact that she enjoyed reading only books with factual information in them.
Lizzy wasn’t always this way. When she was a young girl, her father told her stories about fairies and they fascinated her. Her wish was to be able to actually see one. Her father said they were real. Why would she believe otherwise?
That all changed when Lizzy was made the object of ridicule by a group of schoolmates. The children teased her when she retold the fairy stories. She was so deeply embarrassed that she never got over it. From that day forward, she read only factual books and had nothing more to do with tales of fairies.
“They don’t contain real knowledge, you say? You can’t possibly be serious,” he replied. “You may not want to read stories of love, not everyone does. But to not want to read about fairies is something altogether different. Fairies are real, and any books written about them do contain real knowledge.”
The young man returned a book to the shelf and chose another, then turned to face Lizzy and waited for her to respond.
“You believe in fairies?” Lizzy asked, laughing. Who in his right mind over the age of five believes in fairies? Lizzy thought.
“Doesn’t everyone?” the young man replied.
Lizzy stopped laughing. “I don’t.” Not anymore, she thought.
“Maybe you should try reading a book about them. You might enjoy it,” the young man said.
“This is one of my favorites,” he continued, tapping the tome he was holding. “Each time my uncle comes to visit, he buys me a book or two of my choice. He knows I enjoy reading.” The young man returned to browsing.
Lizzy got up and began browsing the books on the shelves too. She thought about what he had said. Would I enjoy reading a different type of book? Made-up stories appealed to me when I was young, but not anymore. Maybe something is wrong with me! What if I don’t have an imagination?
Just then the shop bell rang once again, announcing another patron. Lizzy glanced toward the shop entrance and gasped. There stood none other than Mr. Lewis Lowsley. What is he doing here? Lizzy thought. I’ve never seen him in the bookshop before. What does he want? I need to leave, and be quick about it.
“It was very nice to meet you,” Lizzy’s voice squeaked. “I must be going home now.” Not waiting for a reply, she hurriedly left the room. Lizzy headed for the shop door, keeping her head down and eyes glued to the wooden floor. Lizzy didn’t trust Mr. Lowsley and didn’t want to be anywhere near him.
Ever since the Finkle family moved to Finkleton, Mr. Lowsley kept inquiring about land for sale. He nearly purchased Mr. Cornerly’s land two years ago, but Jack fixed the broken lever under the shop counter and Robert stopped the rain.
Robert found the lever shortly after they arrived in Finkleton. No one understood how, but it magically controlled the rain.
When the rain stopped, Mr. Cornerly tore up the contract. Mr. Lowsley was furious and tried to persuade him to sign, but it was to no avail. Mr. Lowsley was not very happy with the outcome, to say the least. Mr. Cornerly’s farm had thrived over the two years since then.
Pulling the door shut, Lizzy heard Mr. Lowsley ask, “What books do you have today?” That’s odd, Lizzy thought. I hadn’t viewed Mr. Lowsley as being the book reading type. Then again, I don’t really know him. The only thing I know about Mr. Lowsley is that he desperately wants land here.
Mr. Lowsley wasn’t a farmer, so his persistence in trying to buy land in Finkleton was most unusual.