Posted in Posted by J. M. Barrie

Sorry, this has been waiting for too long. Jo Pippin got hold of my papers and wouldn't stop editing them day and night and now I can hardly read them through all the red ink, augh! Here it is. Note: The last name Cranston has been changed to Waverley for reasons you can see here: http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/haileyscharacters/691134

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    The first link in the bleak chain, the day that led to despair, is a bright afternoon in the year 1810, as flawless as day can be, light clouds lazily floating by: perfect contrast against the impossible blue. Rolling in green, spotted with wildflowers are the famous hills of Oakley, and through them meanders a man of no more than 25 years, appearing to have nothing to do, not a care in the world. He gazes up at the sun. Suddenly, he turns to the large house in the distance. He takes walking at a brisk pace towards it, as if he is late for something quite urgent.

    With a distressed countenance, he nudges his way past the people who wander through the dusty streets of town. It takes not very long for the man to arrive at his destination: the Waverleys’ home. He knocks on the door, straightening his collar, brushing the dirt off his worn coat, running his hands continually across his hair, trying to appear decent before the old gentleman, for this is an important matter. He knows not why Mr. Waverley desires to speak with him, for truly, he is but a worthless young man, a poor carpenter, and has no business with such high people as the Waverleys.

    An old black woman opens the door and curtsies to Mr. Hawthorne. “Sir?”

    “Er… Hawthorne… Mr. Waverley was expecting me…”

    “Ah, yes. This way, sir.”

    The door slams behind them. The woman leads Hawthorne down the hall to a closed door. They hear Mr. Waverley inside, murmuring something to himself. “Mr. Waverley, there’s a Mr. Hawthorne here to see…”

    “Let him in.” The old man’s voice is cold, hard. Face red and blotchy, Tom’s hands shake as he cautiously pushes open the creaky door.

    “Hawthorne, my man. I should like to have a word with you. Sit down.”

    Blushing, he eyes a chair behind him, and takes a seat uncomfortably as if he was sitting on an anthill. “Yes, Mr. Waverley?”

    “I shall have no dilly-dallying now, so I will get straight to the point. My granddaughter Judith has shown quite some liking towards you, though you may not have noticed it. She admires you so that she wishes to marry you. Are you following me, man?”

    “Um...”

    “Good, then. I think I know of your thoughts right now. You might not want to marry her; there are a great many handsome ladies in Oakley--- and perhaps one in particular you care for, eh? But are you quite aware of the sum you shall accumulate as my grandson-in-law? When my… time… comes…” He pauses and clears his throat. “There shall be the entire plantation left to my direct descendant. That would be Richard. We all know Richard himself… does not have much time left.” He pauses for a moment and draws a deep, slow breath. “Poor Richard… poor, sick boy. As Judith’s husband, you shall be the one to inherit the fortune, the land, the house, and I believe you and Judith will be incredibly happy with Green Collis. That is, unless I pass before Richard, or he gets married. Hawthorne, will you marry my granddaughter?”

    “I am very gracious of your kindness, but, Mr. Waverley, I don’t think...”

    “Nonsense, my boy. You shall never be made such an offer in your life.”

    “I know, sir, but…”

    “And if you do not accept, you are throwing away hopes of financial security and a comfortable home.”

    “Sir, I cannot…”

    “Well, then, my boy, you shall have to come to a decision. I shall grant you until next week to make your choice. Hear me?”

    “Yes, Mr. Waverley.”

    “Very well, then. Good day.”

    “Good day.”