The Noah Confessions by Barbara Hall Read Free Book Online Page A

slightest pause. He knew he couldn’t argue, but he had to say something.
    â€œYou should have left a note.”
    â€œI was in a hurry.”
    â€œHurry? What hurry?”
    â€œI had to catch the bus. As in I don’t have a car. Remember?”
    â€œMy God, is this about the car?”
    â€œNo, actually, it’s about the letter. Did you think it was going to be easy for me?”
    â€œNo,” he said.
    A minute passed of us staring at each other. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Maybe it’s for when you’re older. I should take it back.”
    â€œYou can’t.”
    â€œYou’re right,” he said. “It’s done.”
    â€œI’m going to bed,” I told him.
    â€œYou have to eat.”
    â€œNo, I don’t.”
    â€œLet’s not throw anorexia into the mix, all right?”
    â€œStop reading magazines. You can lose your appetite without having an eating disorder.”
    â€œLynnie…”
    â€œDad. Stop. It’s okay.”
    He looked at me and I smiled at him and I saw his shoulders relax. I felt for him. I wouldn’t want to be raising me alone.
    I got ready for bed and got the letter out again.
    Before I started reading I paused to think of Mick standing in the graveyard, smiling at me. I wondered if he was really cute or I was just desperate. We weren’t around boys much at Hillsboro. Sometimes they threw us together with the Loyola boys at a lame dance, where we all stood on opposite sides of the room. Two or three couples would venture to dance right before it was all over. The more sophisticated girls would actually get phone numbers or e-mails. The rest of us sat near the refreshments and gossiped or mocked.
    The point is, I was boy-experience impaired. And I might have been giving Mick some qualities he didn’t possess. But then I remembered his smile and I knew I wasn’t entirely making it up.
    The memory of him made me feel strong. So I took a yoga breath and read.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â 
    September 27
    Dear Noah,
    English class was boring today. We had a quiz and spent the rest of the class reading silently. I admit that I stole looks at you but you never noticed. It’s just as well.
    Sometimes when I look at you, I imagine us getting acquainted and even going on dates. I’d love it, but it’s not going to happen. And that’s why I keep writing. My whole life I’ve been watching the happy children, accepting that I can’t be one of them.
    And, then, knowing what I know about you.
    So back to where I left off. Well, I left off in several places. I left off at the history of me and my father, as well as the history of Union Grade right after Reconstruction. I suppose history of the place should come first.
    Imagine the shape this town was in right after Reconstruction. That brings us up to the late eighteen hundreds. The South was defeated, in spirit and economy, but Reconstruction was over and Union Grade was trying to establish itself again. The industries were trying to find foot, the slaves were freed and trying to figure out how to live, the battle-worn families were trying to reclaim their dignity, defeated and terrified and suddenly poor.
    Now let’s travel a bit down the road to Hadley Creek, an area that fared a bit better in Reconstruction. Somehow, the farmers held on to their land—rumor had it they made deals with the devil or worse, with the carpetbaggers.
    Let’s start with Mom’s side. The rich side.
    The Brodies of Hadley Creek.
    Meet my mother’s father, my maternal grandfather, Grandpa Will Brodie, of remote Scottish descent. He was born to a wealthy landowner, a gentleman farmer, John Brodie. Will was the youngest of several sons and was impatient to have his portion of the land handed down. He somehow earned the money and bought his share of the farm as well as a brother’s share.
    This was a deal with the devil, by