(2007) Chasing Fireflies - A Novel of Discovery by Charles Martin Read Free Book Online

out of the past and reminded me that I'd been left on some street corner and that I wasn't good enough even for my own parents, that hand told me otherwise.
    "Yes sir?"
    He turned back to face the windshield and rested his foot up on the side of the door. "Kids are like a spring, or a Stretch Armstrong. No matter how many times they're passed around, passed off, and passed on ... they snap back." He spit through his window. "Hope ... it's the fuel that feeds them." He shook his head and spit something off the end of his tongue. "God forbid the day they stop eating it."
    \ Then Unc and Aunt Lorna first brought me home to their house, they sat me down and said something I'll never forget.
    "Chase ... our home is what the state calls a foster home. That means you can stay here and live with us until your parents come get you." He patted the bed. "That means, until then, this is your room."
    I looked around, my feet dangling a foot above the floor.
    "But we probably ought to decide what you should call us. So. . ." He took Lorna's hand and swallowed hard. "Why don't you call my wife Aunt Lorna, and you can call me ... you can call me Uncle Willee ... or ... Unc ... if you like." He was quiet several seconds. "That way ... when your folks show up, you'll have room in your head for names like Mom and Dad."
    The words "when your folks show up" sent shock waves through me that echo still. Uncle Willee did something no other adult had ever done. He gave credibility to the thought I'd had for as long as I could remember. He silently agreed with the simple notion They might ...

    UnC was right. Kids hope.
    All they need is a reason.
    Moments passed before I said anything. "When do they quit?"
    He leaned his head back against the seats. "That depends ... that depends."

     

Chapter 4
    the story of the McFarland brothers has nearly grown to mythical status around Zuta, Georgia. And after a generation of embellishment, it changes like a chameleon in the sun. It's the cause of endless speculation, volumes of courtroom proceedings, several federal investigations, and three murders-and is the reason I spent last week in jail. It's also the reason I became a journalist.
    I first heard whispers of the trouble between William McFarland and his brother in my early teens. I had felt something funny, kind of like an electric charge in the air, a few months after Unc and Aunt Lorna brought me into their house at the age of six, but they did a good job of keeping it from me and every other kid who passed through their house. Living with Unc painted one picture, while the rumors painted another. When the two didn't add up, I started digging, and pretty soon my bedroom walls were tacked with a collage made from bits and pieces of the truth.
    Getting through my senior year of college was predicated on writing a passing thesis. All journalism students rowed in the same boat. In the beginning of our junior year, they sat us down and gave us the game rules. The requirements were simple: Pick a national, newsworthy story or issue that has not been solved by the gathering of information or has been put to bed by disinterest, then investigate it and contribute new information to the discussion that the previous news networks have not. Do not summarize existing material. Put your talent to work and dig up something new. This was to be an in-depth piece, and bonus points were given for finding and using primary sources. Three keys stood out: national, newsworthy, and new. Many of the students spent months agonizing over a story topic that they would then spend the next ten to twelve months investigating. For me it was never really an issue.

    The story I'm about to tell you comes from local papers, court documents, interviews, hearsay, gossip, carvings found on old swamp trees, and local legend. Knowing all this, Red-while he shares my passion for the story-has never let me print a single word of it.
    Tillman Ellsworth McFarland was born in 1896. But that's a