The Secrets of Hawthorne House

Chapter 3: Gerallt Moves In

The first Saturday in October, the air was crisp and full of yellow leaves and acorns falling from the old oaks that lined Hawthorne Drive. The previous week, some men had repaired the gingerbread trim and broken spindles on the Hawthorne House's wrap-around porch so Matt could paint them. He had spent the morning and half of the afternoon sanding and scraping off old paint when he heard the familiar clicking and creaking of Mrs. Hawthorne unlocking and unbolting her front door. Putting down his paint scraper and removing the dust mask his father made him wear because of the lead in old paint, he turned to find her in her usual place behind the security chain of the partially-opened door.

"Can I do something for you, Mrs. Hawthorne?" Matt asked, quickly brushing paint dust and chips from his hands and shirtsleeves.

"Ayuh, Matt," she replied from within the darkness of her foyer. "Somethin's come up, and I was wonderin' if I could talk you intah workin' a few extra hours today."

"Sure, Mrs. Hawthorne," Matt answered, thinking about the new sound system for his room that he'd finally be able to buy. "I could probably work an extra two or three hours. I might even be able to work a few hours tomorrow if you need me to. I'll have to ask my dad first."

"Just today, if you don't mind," Mrs. Hawthorne answered, absentmindedly running a hand through her long white hair. Then she looked back at Matt. "Tomorrow I'll be right out straight. My niece and her three children will be arrivin' from Maine. In fact, they will be movin' in tah stay with me, and I'd really like tah have this old house lookin' its finest for them. It would be wonderful if you could finish paintin' the veranda today."

Matt looked up and down the length of the large front porch before nodding. "Sure thing, Mrs. Hawthorne. It may take a while, but I should be able to get at least the first coat of paint on before dark."

"Well, do what you can, dear. I have so much work tah do myself, gettin' their rooms ready and such." With that, she quickly closed and relocked the door, leaving Matt to wonder about Mrs. Hawthorne's niece and especially her three children. Over the next hour, he finished scraping off the old paint, swept up the paint chips, and started applying the first coat of paint to the porch. He was still working when Tina called him in for supper.

"We're going to have some new neighbors," Matt announced as he joined his father and sister at the dinner table. "Pass the spaghetti, please."

"New neighbors?" Tina asked, handing Matt the pasta and sauce. "Who?"

"Mrs. Hawthorne's niece and her three children are flying in tomorrow from somewhere in Maine," Matt replied, dishing up a huge plate of spaghetti. "They're moving in, and that's why I worked until dinner. She wants me to return once I'm done eating to finish painting the porch so the house will look nice for them."

"I thought you worked late today," Sam said. "It's amazing how good the place is beginning to look."

"Thanks, Dad. It's been a huge amount of work, but it feels great to look over there and be able to say I've pretty much done it all by myself. I've even noticed that my arms are stronger, and I don't get tired as fast as I used to."

"Yes, Matt," Sam said, "You can be proud of yourself. I'm glad you stuck with it."

"And I'll have earned enough for my new sound system by the time I'm done tonight," Matt remarked between mouthfuls.

"Has she let you inside the house yet?" Tina asked.

"No. She never even opens the door more than a few inches and stands in the opening, so I can't see past her. And she still locks and bolts the door as soon as she closes it. Kind of weird, like she is hiding something."

"Sounds more like she's just scared," Tina suggested.

"Possibly," Sam said. "Still, an old woman living alone has the right to protect herself. Besides, she's bound to pick up some unusual habits after being by herself for so many years."

After dinner, Matt returned to his painting. The sun had set, and it was getting dark and cold by the time he finished the last of the gingerbread trim. He cleaned the brushes, put away the remainder of the paint, and knocked on the front door. It was a while before Mrs. Hawthorne opened it, paid him, and bid him goodnight. Exhausted, Matt fairly collapsed when he returned home, but the fifty-four dollars in his pocket made it all worthwhile.

The next day, Matt found lots of reasons to spend time in his front yard or ride his bike up and down the street. He was curious to see Mrs. Hawthorne's niece and especially to learn more about her three children. But the morning and afternoon passed without a taxi from the airport or the arrival of a moving truck. As far as he could tell, it was just another peaceful Sunday on Hawthorne Drive. The old house next door was as quiet as a graveyard.

Eventually, bedtime came, and Matt fell asleep long before the grandfather clock in the library of the Hawthorne House struck midnight. Had he been awake and looking up at the narrow Gothic windows of the third floor of the mansion's round tower, he might have seen a strange green light flash four times from behind the thick lace curtains. Later, he might also have noticed the dim glow of candlelight in the newly occupied bedrooms.

Monday morning dawned, and Matt and Tina were out early in front of their house waiting for the school bus. Before long, the newly-stained oak door of the Hawthorne House silently swung open, and three children dressed all in somber black strode solemnly down the front walk toward the bus stop.

Tina gave Matt a questioning look, but he merely shrugged his shoulders. Though Vivianne Hawthorne typically wore an old-fashioned black dress, neither of the Mitchell twins expected that her grandniece and nephews would follow suit.

First in line was a tall, slender girl, a couple of years older than Matt and Tina. Matt thought she was very pretty in a sad sort of way. She had dark green eyes and straight black hair that nearly hung down to her waist. She was quite pale as though she had rarely spent time in the sun. Next in line was a boy about Matt's height and age with the same green eyes and raven hair as his sister. Unlike her, his hands were rough, and his broad shoulders lent him the look of someone who had spent the entire summer working outdoors. The youngest was a small, shy boy who also shared the green eyes and black hair of his siblings. Dressed just like his brother, he could have been an identical twin if he were only three or four years older.

"Good mornin' tah you," the girl said, as she slowly appraised the Mitchell twins. "You must be Matt and Tina Mitchell. Ahnt Vivianne has told us about you. My name is Gwyneth Hawthorne, and these are my brothahs, Gerallt and Gareth," she said, gesturing to her brothers. Like the older Mrs. Hawthorne, she spoke with the unusual accent, only stronger than that of her great-aunt.

Gerallt, the older boy, nodded hello, while Gareth merely stared nervously at Matt and Tina from behind his big sister.

"Hi," Tina said, staring at their somber, almost sinister, black clothing. Gwyneth wore a simple, long-sleeved Victorian dress and black leather shoes with narrow toes, short square heels, and big brass buckles. The boys were also dressed entirely in black from their shirts to their sturdy leather shoes. The three looked like they could have stepped out of a Gothic novel or a hundred-year-old painting. Their clothes were plain and appeared homemade with black wooden buttons instead of zippers. Their simple black shoes had likewise never seen the inside of a shoe store.

Gwyneth and her two brothers reminded Matt of the Amish people who he sometimes saw driving into town in black, horse-drawn carriages. He was about to ask them if they were Amish but decided that they might think he was being rude. "I didn't see you arrive yesterday. I was kind of wondering if you'd made it and would actually be here this morning."

"Ayuh," Gwyneth replied, pausing as if carefully considering what to say next. "It was quite late when we arrived last night. Perhaps you were sleepin'."

Noting that there wasn't a car parked in front of Hawthorne House, Matt continued, "So did you take a taxi all the way from the Fort Wayne Airport? That must have been expensive."

"What was your flight like?" Tina added. "When we came here from Oregon a couple of months ago, we had to drive the whole way, stuffed into a big U-Haul truck and pulling our car behind us. I wish we could have flown, too."

The two younger Hawthorne children glanced nervously up at Gwyneth before she replied. "Our trip was nothin' unusual, although we have nevah traveled so fah in the past."

"So what grade are you in?" Tina asked, changing the subject when it was clear that they weren't going to divulge anything more about their trip.

"I'm a junior," Gwyneth answered. "Ahnt Vivianne tells me Matt is the same age as Gerallt. Gareth is twelve and will be attending the middle school."

Matt was going to ask more questions, but the school bus rounded the corner and pulled up in front of the children. The Hawthornes ended up sitting separately in the remaining free seats, preventing any further discussion.

Upon arriving, the two oldest Hawthorne children went into the school office to register while Gareth walked next door to the middle school. Unable to ask any more questions, Matt and Tina went to their lockers and first-period classes. Midway through American History, Mr. Thompson was describing the causes of the Revolutionary War when the door opened. Gerallt entered, walked up to the teacher, and handed him the note he'd been given at the school office.

"Class," Mr. Thompson said, after quickly reading it, "we have a new student. This is Gerallt Hawthorne, who has just transferred here from Deer Isle, Maine. I'm sure that you will all give him a big Hawthorne High welcome. You may take a seat now, Gerallt."

Spotting Matt as the only familiar face in the room, Gerallt walked over and sat at the empty desk next to him. It also happened to be the chair directly in front of Clayton Cartwright.

Waiting for the teacher to face the chalkboard and turn his back to the class, Clayton leaned forward, stretched out his arm, and poked a sausage-sized finger into Gerallt's back. "Hey, new kid," Clayton whispered. "Where'd you get the Halloween costume? What're you supposed to be, some kind of Goth druggie?"

Gerallt ignored Clayton. Matt glanced sideways, the memory of his own initial run-in with Clayton still fresh in his mind from the first day of school.

"What's the matter with you?" Clayton continued, leaning forward to poke Gerallt again. "I'm talking to you. You deaf? Or stoned!"

Gerallt glanced over his shoulder, gave Clayton a look of utter contempt, and then turned back to read what the teacher was writing on the chalkboard.

"Oh, I get it," Clayton whispered, giving Gerallt a third poke in the back. "You're one of these Amish kids who don't believe in fighting. Believe in turning the other cheek, do you? Or maybe you're just a coward." He gave Gerallt a shove to the back of the head. "Just wait 'til after school, Bible boy, and I'll give you a little something on each cheek."

This time it was Gerallt who made sure the teacher was still busy at the blackboard with his back to the class. Then he turned and whispered in the same unusual accent as his sister, "My great ahnt warned me about you, Clayton Cartwright. It will take more than the likes of you tah frighten me. And I promise you this. Poke me one moah time in the back, and you won't be poking anyone foah a very long time." Then Gerallt turned his back on Clayton, swiftly slipped his fingertips between the wooden buttons of his shirt and began to whisper something too softly for Matt to hear.

"Is that so, Bible boy?" Clayton replied angrily, just loud enough for the teacher to hear. Mr. Thompson turned around just in time to see Clayton lean his considerable weight forward to poke Gerallt once more in the back.

Clayton's finger had barely touched Gerallt's back when there was a loud c***k as the front legs of Clayton's chair snapped. Suspended motionless for an instant, his entire body pivoted forward on the chair's remaining legs, and his nose smashed into the back of Gerallt's chair with a sickening, yet strangely satisfying, crunch. Next, his outstretched index finger, driven by the whole weight of his body and desk, hit the floor with such force that the resulting snap was heard clearly by everyone in the room. This was followed instantly by the crash of Clayton's desktop, body, and books onto the floor followed by an unexpectedly high-pitched scream of pain. After a second of shocked silence, the class erupted as everybody started talking and yelling at once.

Mr. Thompson ran over to Clayton, who lay sprawled and whimpering on the floor. Blood was gushing from his nose while his right index finger was bent backward at a bizarre angle. "Class, I want you all to remain in your seats while I escort Mr. Cartwright to the nurse's office," he said, helping Clayton to his feet. "You may continue reading and working on your next assignment." Then he turned and helped the dazed Clayton stagger out the door, leaving a trail of blood drops every few inches along the floor.

Everyone seemed to be talking at once except for Gerallt, who calmly scooted his chair back to where it had been before being pushed forward by the force of Clayton's face.

"Wow, did you see that?" one girl asked. "Clayton's finger was pointing straight up."

"Did you hear what the new kid said?" Paul Stephens asked, leaning over to Matt, who was silently staring at Gerallt. "He told Clayton to stop poking him or else he wouldn't be poking anybody. And the next thing you know, the big i***t pokes him and crash! Clayton sure won't be poking anyone now. That was fricking awesome!"

"Lucky, you mean." Matt corrected Paul, before turning to Gerallt. "Man, you got to be careful talking to Clayton like that. What would you have done after school if he'd shown up with his buddies Colin and Dylan?"

"Well, luckily for them, Colin and Dylan won't have tah find out," Gerallt answered. Then with a satisfied smile, he opened his textbook and calmly began to read the assignment that the teacher had written on the board.

Later, Mr. Thompson returned with the janitor, who mopped up the blood from the floor. Once the class had settled down, Mr. Thompson told them that Clayton had been taken away in an ambulance, suffering from a broken nose and broken finger. He also left the school with a severely damaged reputation. The rest of the day was filled with far more rumors than schoolwork. By lunchtime, the story was that the new boy had beaten Clayton up, given him a concussion and broken his arm. Gerallt had become a hero to half of the school.

Between being seen getting on the bus in front of the old Hawthorne House and having Hawthorne as his last name, it didn't take long for the students to put two and two together. The news spread swiftly, and Gerallt's hero status melted faster than frost on a sunny morning. Now, the rumor was that Gerallt had taken out a magic wand, levitated Clayton to the ceiling, and then dropped him so that he broke both arms falling onto the floor. By the time school was over, most of the students looked on Gerallt with more fear than admiration.

Everyone stopped, stared, and got out of his way when Gerallt walked by. Everyone, that is, except Matt.

"So, Gerallt," Matt said, sitting next to his new neighbor for the bus ride home. "That was quite a first day at school. I thought my first day was rough. I was sent to the principal's office for losing it with Clayton in history class, and then in the cafeteria, Colin O'Connell tripped some kid so that I ended up wearing my lunch. But you definitely have me beat."

"Ayuh," Gerallt muttered, shaking his head nervously. "Now, I've gone and stepped in it. My mothah and great ahnt are goin' tah skin me alive when I get home."

"But why?" Matt asked, wondering what reason they could have for being upset with Gerallt. "You didn't do anything wrong. It was Clayton who started everything by picking on you. And he only has himself to blame for falling on his fat face and finger. If he hadn't been leaning his chair so far forward and putting all his weight on its front legs, they wouldn't have broken. Regardless of what they say about your family, it's not like you cast some spell to break his chair."

"Uh... ayuh." Gerallt paused before responding to Matt's question. "It is our way. We ah taught that it is wrong tah mix with outsidahs, and when we must go among them, it is ah custom tah be quiet and not draw attention tah ourselves. It is a bad thing tah bring unnecessary trouble on oneself, one's family, and one's people. Besides, there ah already too many stories about us Hawthornes without me addin' anothah one."

The bus pulled up in front of their houses, and the Mitchell and Hawthorne children got off. Matt was going to invite Gerallt over, but before he could speak, Gwyneth turned to her brother. "Well, Gerallt, can you guess what I heard today? It seems that durin' his very first class, a Hawthorne got intah a fight with one of the school bullies and sent him tah the hospital. Just wait until Ahnt Vivianne hears about this. And you know how upset Mothah's been since the accident. You'll be lucky if she doesn't confine you tah yoah room for the rest of the year."

"Gerallt didn't do anything," Matt interrupted as Gwyneth paused for breath. "I was sitting right next to him and saw the whole thing. Clayton did it to himself and got what he deserved for picking on Gerallt."

"Did he, now?" Gwyneth asked skeptically, looking over at Matt with a mixture of caution and surprise. "Still, Gerallt knows bettah than tah call attention tah himself and our family name. It's good that he's found someone tah stick up for him, but that doesn't really change what has happened. A boy was injured, and a Hawthorne was involved." She turned back to Gerallt and Gareth. "Come along, boys. Mothah is waitin' for us, and Gerallt has some explainin' tah do." The three Hawthorne children silently filed through the gate, up the front walk, and into the Hawthorne House.

"So what really happened?" Tina asked Matt once the others had left.

Matt told his sister the entire story and retold it to his father over dinner. All in all, it had been a most interesting day, and Matt decided that he liked not being the newest kid anymore. He admired how Gerallt had stood up to Clayton without losing his temper and especially without getting into trouble. Matt also liked the fact that Clayton wouldn't be bothering anyone for the next few weeks while his nose and finger healed. Although they'd just met and he hardly knew anything about him, Matt decided that he liked Gerallt Hawthorne.