Birds scattered, one almost colliding with him in his haste to get away. Feathers rained down and fell listlessly on the floor. Dust motes gave the place a sparkling shine. There was not much inside except for a skewed wooden cross which leaned to the far back of a blackened wall and piles of pews. A small pile of wood lay on one side. It called to him. On closer look shattered glass and bird droppings covered the floor amidst grassy debris. He removed the wood one by one, then gasped. Underneath all the rubble a book waited, untouched. He crouched, picked it up and blew away the dust. Gold letters on the black leather-bound became visible: Holy Bible. He smiled. Roger was correct. She wanted books to read. This would be perfect. Briefly, he brushed through the thin papers. Some words brou
