The tremors of her sobs rippled through the courtyard, catching the attention of Jonathan Hawthorne, who was enjoying a quiet morning in his chair, smoking his pipe. He looked in the direction of the noise and saw his grand daughter. He furrowed his brows in disgust as he rose from his chair with the same slow, measured movement that June had come to expect from the aging patriarch. His face, weathered and lined, remained impassive as he approached her who was still huddled on the ground, her sobs echoing off the courtyard walls.
"June," he said, his voice deep and resonant, "what's all this fuss about? You're not a child anymore. It's a weekday and it's time for you to be in school. I won't raise a grand daughter who cries at the drop of a hat."
''Now, I know you've been through a lot lately, but that's no excuse for this behavior. The Hawthornes are strong, and I expect my granddaughter to be strong as well."
He stood over her, his silhouette casting a shadow over her trembling form. "Now, dry those tears and go back to your room. Get ready for school. And remember, June, the Hawthornes don't give up, no matter how hard things get."
She wiped the tears from her cheeks, her eyes red and puffy. She knew that her grand father was right; she couldn't let her emotions consume her. But deep down, she was still hurting, still reeling from Beatrice's words.
"Yes, Grandfather," she said, her voice trembling. "I'll go back to my room and get ready for school."
As she stood, her grandfather placed a hand on her shoulder, his gaze softening for a moment. "Your father may have disappointed us, June, but you're a Hawthorne. And Hawthornes are strong.
"You come from a long line of survivors, of fighters, of people who know how to pick themselves up when they fall. No matter what happens, no matter how hard things get, you keep going. You do what's right, not because it's easy, but because it's what you must do."
She nodded, the gravity of her grandfather's words sinking into her heart like a lead weight. "I'll try, Grandfather. I promise."
***
Beatrice paced the room, her heeled shoes clicking against the hardwood floor, as the housemaid arranged the scattered belongings into neat piles. The sight of June returning to the room was enough to set her pent-up fury ablaze.
"That mother of yours, she was such an ungrateful wretch!" she snapped, her hands balled into fists. "She had everything a woman could want, and yet she spurned the man who gave it to her. My brother, who gave her a vacation whenever she pleased, who treated her like a queen. And what did she do? She betrayed him. She betrayed our family by marrying that nobody, Jude Patterson. A man with no name, no money, no future." she shook her head in disbelief. "How could she be so stupid? So reckless? And now, look where it's gotten us. You're a pariah at school, and my brother's locked up in prison, all because Abigail Hawthorne couldn't keep her head on straight."
Her voice had risen to a fever pitch, her eyes blazing with rage. "And you, June, you're her daughter. You have her blood, her genes. I just hope to God you're nothing like her, or else..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "Or else this family is doomed. We're already a laughingstock, the scandal has made us a mockery. And if you don't straighten up and fly right, June, if you don't become the woman we all need you to be, then you'll be just like your mother: a failure, a disappointment, and the ruin of this family."
The accusations were too much to bear. Why couldn't her aunt see that she was a victim here too.She didn't understand why her family and her friends treated her like her mother's death was her fault.
''It wasn't my fault dad killed mum,'' she said, her voice barely a whisper.
Beatrice looked at her with amusement. So the girl could speak? ''Is it then my fault?'' she retorted, half wittedly.
''It's no one's fault.'' June replied, pulling off her clothes.
''Look at her defending her father!'' Beatrice exclaimed. ''You'd support a man who killed your mother in cold blood. You aren't a true child of this family. You wicked child.''
''I didn't support him.'' She said, even though she wanted to call her aunt a fool, who was only pretending to be mad at her sister's death. She wanted to tell her to leave her alone and go ahead to scream at the walls. She wanted to tell her that it wasn't her fault that she could never be her father's favourite.
The anger boiled in her, causing her chest to rise and her breath coming out in gasps. She reached for her bath robe and threw it over her body and turned on her heels. The sound of the bathroom door slamming shut echoed through the room, and for a moment there was silence, broken only by the click of Beatrice's heels as she turned to leave. But within the confines of the bathroom, June let the tears flow unchecked, hot and heavy down her cheeks. She stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over her, wishing it could wash away the pain, the anger, and the shame that were eating her alive.
The sound of the shower was like a symphony in her ears, drowning out the cruel words, the memories, the accusations.
''I hate them all.'' She cried.