The book is small but hefty, not unlike an antique bible, though its contents couldn’t be further from that truth. The reddish brown leather cover is heavily weathered, smooth to touch, slightly sticky from ingrained grime gathered over more than one century. Wrapped within are ancient pages yellowed by time, precariously secured by an iron clasp that once locked but now easily falls loose.

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It was 1850 in Georgia in America’s south when a young Haitian slave boy dug the book out from his family’s possessions to save his father. But that’s a story for another day.

Our story starts 15 years later when the book finds its way into the hands of Preacher O’Rourke. At first his interest is theological, but when circumstances present, the power of the book is hard to ignore.

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