It contained his final notebooks and several papers Eleanor had recently returned to me after the legal matters involving the property had concluded.
Most were practical.
Insurance records.
Old maps.
Receipts from contractors.
But beneath them lay one final item.
A drawing.
It showed Hawthorne Ridge as Thomas had envisioned it.
The main house.
The orchard.
The stone building.
Several little cottages placed gently among the trees.
I stared at it.
My heart stopped for an instant.
The drawing looked almost exactly like the Hawthorne House Project.
Except Thomas had made it years before I’d ever thought of creating a refuge.
I turned it over.
On the back, in his handwriting, were the words:
Leah always says she wishes she could open her home to people who have nowhere else to go.
Maybe one day she’ll realize she can.
I pressed the drawing against my chest.
And began to cry.
