The Swan House Read Online Free PDF

Trixie, and her hair was a beautiful snow-white, and she wore a bright lavender suit that almost matched her eyes. I always thought of Grandmom as really classy and so full of life. But today she seemed frail, almost gaunt.
    Granddad was a big man, a former football player at Georgia Tech. He had a rather timid personality in social settings, but everybody said he was a genius at business where he dealt with the most intimidating men with a firm hand. That morning Granddad didn’t look timid or tough. He looked broken.
    The only thing I could think of saying was “Daddy’s alive!” They stared at me pitifully.
    â€œPoor child,” Grandmom mumbled, pressing me into the lavender suit so that I could smell her perfume.
    â€œIt’s true, Frank and Jennie,” Trixie confirmed. “JJ just called.” She bit her lip and blinked back tears. “He and Sheila decided to take different flights.” She cleared her throat. “He saw the whole thing.”
    â€œGood Lord,” Granddad whispered, and Grandmom gave a whimper that must have been a mixture of incredible relief and unimaginable sadness.
    People started coming right away to the house to check on us, and Ella Mae and Trixie and Grandmom and Granddad faithfully stood guard, receiving them graciously and protecting us from all but a very few of those who came to offer their condolences. The conversations seeped up the stairs to Jimmy’s bedroom where Jimmy and I were sitting crouched by his radio, and they always went the same. People in tears, Trixie explaining that Daddy had survived, the relief and then the pain when it was confirmed about Mama. All I wanted to know was when Daddy was coming home. But for that I would have to wait again.
    Trixie came upstairs around noon with a tray of sandwiches. Her eyes were all puffy, and she sniffed and explained, “The street looks just like a parking lot, cars lined up for a mile in each direction, and I heard some women whisper that it’s like that all over town, in front of every house who had someone on that plane.”
    When Jimmy and I peeked out the windows, we couldn’t believe it. It did look like a parking lot with a bunch of people coming to a church service, walking all dressed up toward our front door. Only they weren’t carrying Bibles but covered casseroles and tins of cookies. I pressed my face against the cool windowpane. I felt dizzy and weak and hot, like I had a fever.
    Ella Mae came up at two and whispered, “Chil’un, it’s yore preacher here with his wife. You’d best come on down.”
    â€œI can’t,” Jimmy sniffled. “I don’t want to see anybody, Swan. Not a soul. You go down there. Please.”
    And so I did. We were Episcopalians, and Grandmom and Granddad and Daddy and Mama went to the Cathedral of St. Philip right up the street from us. The cathedral, which had recently been rebuilt, was a magnificent building constructed of what was called Tennessee quartzite—a pretty yellow-hued stone. It sat up on a hill on a small promontory that jutted out, not into water, but into Peachtree Road just as the road veered right, so that you couldn’t help but notice the beautiful cathedral as you drove by. Jimmy and I usually went to church on Sunday mornings, although we’d slacked off the past few weeks with Mama and Daddy gone.
    Walking slowly because my head felt so light and my ankle was still sore, I made it to the bottom of the staircase. Dean Hardman was there, extending his hand. “God bless you, Mary Swan. What an awful tragedy.”
    Mrs. Hardman gave me a warm hug. “We’re so sorry about your mother,” she whispered with a voice that had real compassion in it. Trixie had already told me that almost twenty people from our church had died in the crash. I wondered how many families Dean and Mrs. Hardman had already been to visit. I felt sorry for them.
    But I had nothing to say at