Hawthorne Read Online Free Page B

whole situation.
    Emma Grace hadn't said anything when he told of the rumors swirling about Margaret's involvement in Alma's death. Of course, one bit of hearsay didn't make for an absolute truth, but Margaret's hand-written rundown of the grapevine gossip did nothing to dispel his curiosity. But he couldn't speak for what Emma Grace thought, and at this point neither had she. She'd merely exited the stuffy attic, leaving behind the warm scent of honeysuckle and a longing within him for the way things used to be. Her departure filled his heart with a panic that she might keep right on going, taking the last pieces of him with her.
    It wasn't a matter of if but when .
    Still, him facing those particular demons would be no less difficult than Emma Grace facing her own — of that he was certain. Death had such a way about it.
    Noah remained in the attic after she left, unsure of where she'd go, but giving her a good head start to wherever it was. He sensed she might need it. Finding out a grandparent had been accused of murder — let alone to think the accusations might be true — would derail almost anyone. Even though the past was long buried and the truth, whatever it may be, lacked any real impact on the present, it had to shake up Emma Grace a little to hear her family wasn't what she thought. She had no one else in the world. Her mother had died when Emma Grace was just a toddler, marking another tragic accident in the history of Hawthorne — a history which got a bit darker with each envelope he breached in search of any clues to Margaret's missing documents.
    But a s powerful as the need grew in his throat to escape the plantation home and its dark secrets — in particular before he had the misfortune of joining the ranks of its victims — Noah couldn't walk away without doing one last thing for the place: offering it the closure he'd spent the last decade so desperately wanting for himself.
    Although Hawthorne was the only home he'd ever known, h e wasn't attached. More of the fondness and sense of responsibility he held for the place vacated his conscience with every secret unfurled, but the fact remained that the greater part of Noah left when Emma Grace did. Anything he had left in Hawthorne, he didn’t want. He just didn't want anything else, either, so he stayed.
    As for the missing will and the rumors of his inheritance, he couldn't deny his curiosity but no amount of supposition would change one thing: he didn't desire the house. He didn't want its ghosts or its tragedies, and he didn't want to carry the weight of its sordid past on his shoulders. He'd rather play host to the good memories, even though they weren't enough to keep the myth of the majestic Hawthorne alive — at least not in his mind. He'd probably never drive by and admire the gleaming white façade with the tunnel of live oaks and the fingers of Spanish moss like the tourists so often did. Not without thinking of a blue Mustang, anyway.
    Nor would he ooh and a ah over the sprawling staircase. Instead, he'd see it and remember the thrill of sailing down the banister after Emma Grace. Other folks might see the grandeur of the front hall, but he was much more likely to remember the string of profanity forced on his young ears when Margaret realized they'd oiled the rail to make the slide faster — not with the expensive English oil she preferred. Rather, they'd used cooking oil from the kitchen, spurring Margaret to use the broom to chase them in a most unladylike manner clear across the yard, shouting threats and obscenities he'd yet to forget.
    H e treasured those memories — survived on them day in and day out — but Noah didn't want to own Hawthorne. What he wanted was to put the house to rest in his past. If the rumors were true and Margaret had left the estate to him, he knew he could sell it to an organization or a person who would appreciate its history. In doing so, he'd be able to give his dad and Gil and Abigail something with