Hawthorne Read Online Free

"Who…?" Emma fought against the shock for her voice. "What happened to the first? Who was she?" And why did the news fill her with such an awkward sense of herself? For a man to remarry after the death of a spouse wasn't unusual, especially a young man. Her grandparents were both in their early twenties when they were wed, assuming there weren't more pieces of her family history on the verge of being upended.
    He unwound a faded purple ribbon from an aged book, the paper yellowed with time. With a gentle hand, he turned the pages. "We need to be careful with these," he said. "The paper is brittle. It tends to crumble, especially at the edges." Several pages into the book he stopped and held it so Emma could see the scrawling penmanship. "Her name was Alma. Seems she was a friend of Margaret's, at least in the beginning."
    "Friends before or after Alma married Grandfather?"
    "Before," he said, nose in his reading. "Margaret was Alma's matron of honor."
    Emma relaxed a notch . "That doesn't necessarily mean they were pals. Some sort of social protocol may have dictated the wedding party."
    Noah glanced up . "Fair enough. But Alma speaks highly of Margaret. Or writes highly of her, as the case may be. But a month or two after the wedding, Alma's tone changes. Here" — he gestured with the book — "they sound like best friends. Alma praises Margaret's new gown — apparently your grandmother made it herself — her piano playing, even her charm with a couple of young suitors, as Alma calls them. She also wrote in great length how Margaret is pursued by Alma's two brothers and wonders which is most deserving of the prize." He shrugged, a boyish grin playing over his mouth. "Seems Margaret was quite the catch. Anyway, within a thirty day period," he said, skipping ahead in the journal, "things took a turn for the worse. Here, Alma refers to Margaret as a harlot."
    "Ouch. " Emma tried — none too hard — to imagine her grandmother doing anything that might quantify her as a harlot, but the closest Emma could muster was evidence of tyranny. That she could believe. "Alma, huh? The woman scorned."
    "That's what I'm thinking. " Noah folded his legs and propped his elbows on his knees. The sight prompted a long-buried memory of the two of them at a Fourth of July fireworks celebration. She'd wound up settled between his legs, her back nestled against his chest with his arms draped loose over her shoulders. The bayou summer had nothing on the heat generated between them that night. A casual observer would have never guessed the emotions cartwheeling through her core, but it was precisely the kind of warmth that defined her relationship with Noah.
    He had a way o f stirring butterflies inside her, whether they were skipping rocks on the Mississippi or disheveling one another in the depth of the gardens. Even though their relationship never ventured beyond the timid, early explorations of two shy teenagers, they'd belonged to one another in the ways which mattered. In the purest, most innocent sense, there was always love.
    "Alma's opinion of your grandmother went downhill from 'harlot' but the rest, for the most part, isn't repeatable in mixed company."
    She still battled unease and a general air of foreboding in the stifling attic, but Emma couldn't help but laugh. "Right. So what happened?"
    "Alma's journal entries continued to get nastier, until they stop."
    They stopped ? "Why did she stop? Does it say?"
    Noah culled a newspaper clipping from the small stack in front of him. Without a word, he held the yellowed paper so Emma could see the newsprint.
     
    TRAGIC DEATH AT HAWTHORNE ESTATE
    Alma Louisa Hawthorne, twenty-three years of age, fell to her death on Thursday at her home. The wife of Doyle Hawthorne of Hawthorne Manor, Alma was expecting the couple's first child at the time of her spill. Evidence of foul play is currently under investigation.
     
    Emma tore her eyes from the paper and stared at Noah. "Foul play?" she