Joshua raked his fingers through his hair and then rested his palm on the back of his neck. He knew he should say something comforting to everyone—tell them that he would be okay. That they would all be okay, from now on. But he just couldn’t gather the strength. In fact, he suddenly didn’t think he had the strength to be around anyone, anymore.
So he turned abruptly on one heel and began trudging down the riverbank, toward the embankment. He ignored the calls of his friends and family members; he ignored the pleas of his little sister, who’d started to tag halfheartedly behind him.
Joshua let his mind go dark and angry, let each step tear into him like a knife. By the time he reached his truck, he wanted to punch something. Or maybe jump off of something tall. He wasn’t really sure which option sounded best right now.
He yanked open his truck door so hard that it squealed in protest. He’d almost dived inside, ready to drive off at a ridiculous speed to some unknown location, when a faint scent made him stop.
This wasn’t the trace of the campfire that he’d noticed the night before. Nor was it the tangy, metallic smell of the ruined bridge, or even the muddy odor of the river. Instead, this scent was sweet—a strange mix of nectarines and flowers.
Joshua jerked away from the truck, searching. Nectarine was her scent, he knew. Before she Rose, he would catch it every now and then when they were close to each other. But no matter how hard he searched, he didn’t see her; didn’t see anything but a destroyed bridge, a broad river, and an empty forest.
And Joshua didn’t want to see any of those things right now. In fact, he’d nearly decided that he never wanted to see those things again, for as long as he lived, when something white in the nearby tree line caught his eye.
Tiny white dots, scattered throughout the forest. They were sparse at first, but as he watched, they began to spread fast, taking over the tree line near the road and then moving along on both sides of the riverbank like sudden, inexplicable flurries of snow. Defying natural law, the tiny, fragrant white flowers consumed the river valley.
The vines on which they grew wound their way up tree trunks and across branches, over rubble and wreckage, spilling a gorgeous scent into the air. Within a matter of minutes, the valley was full of exquisite, sweet-smelling flowers.
Honeysuckle.
Joshua didn’t know he’d started laughing until he heard people calling to him from the riverbank below. They sounded alarmed, as if they thought he’d finally cracked up. So he wiped his eyes (since he’d apparently started crying, too) and yelled down to his family and friends.
“I’m all right. I’ll be all right.”
And to his utter amazement, he realized that what he’d just said was true. Or it would be, someday.
Because he knew who sent those flowers to him, and he knew what they meant. They were a sign that her soul had survived. Seeing those flowers, Joshua knew that she’d made it someplace good, with her family. That she still loved him, and one day, after he’d lived a long, full life, he might get to see her again.
That he might get to love her again.
And so, on the morning of what should have been Amelia Ashley’s birthday, the river valley that had once housed High Bridge changed for Joshua Mayhew. For the first time in many years, it seemed beautiful to him.
For the first time in many years, it was beautiful.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To my editors, Barbara Lalicki and Andrew Harwell: you have cheered, guided, and watched over me. I’ve become a better writer because of you, and I will be eternally grateful. The same goes for the entire team at HarperTeen and EpicReads. How is it possible that so many rock stars work in one place?
To my agent, Catherine Drayton, who I can always trust to be honest but also encouraging. I know I’m in good hands with you! And to foreign rights agent extraordinaire, Lyndsey Blessing—thank you for keeping an eye on my books across many borders.
To the most beautiful child and loving husband a woman could ever want. Wyatt and Robert, you are my angels, and I will love you both forever. In the immortal words of Bryan Adams, everything I do, I do it for you.
To my mother, Karen Stine, who is simultaneously my guardian angel, Jiminy Cricket, and best friend. I love you so very much.
To my father, Dennis Stine, thank you for every fairy tale, fantasy, horror story, and fable you read to me, from the crib days until the night that I insisted I read them myself. Without them, I wouldn’t be the well-adjusted weirdo I am today.
To Jinx Hudson, thank you for making me one of your own.
To Melissa Allgood and Kris Beery, the sisters I met as an adult but will keep for the rest of my life.
To Amy Plum, Josephine Angelini, Tessa Gratton, Natalie Parker, and Anna Carey: oh how I love my Wenches of Wereboar. Duck in a Can for you all!
To Beth Prykryl, Andi Newby, Jason Brown, Krissy Carlson, Tony Andre, and so many more: your support and friendship mean more to me than you can know. To Matt Berery, thanks for giving me one job that allows me time to do another. To Dave Luke, because he asked.
And finally, to my brilliant, kind, enthusiastic readers—thank you, thank you, thank you! I’m so glad you’re on this journey with me.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
TARA HUDSON lives in Oklahoma with her husband, son, and a menagerie of ill-behaved pets. You can visit her online at www.tarahudson.com.
After receiving her law degree, she began writing to entertain her girlfriends. They read her story about a ghost girl who awakes in a cemetery and wanted to know more. This short piece inspired the Hereafter trilogy, which culminates in Elegy.
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CREDITS
Cover photo © 2013 by Getty Images/Asia Images and Shutterstock Images
Cover design by Oceana Garceau
COPYRIGHT
Elegy
Copyright © 2013 by Tara Hudson
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hudson, Tara.
Elegy / by Tara Hudson. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
“A Hereafter novel.”
Summary: “Faced with an impossible choice between the forces of Light and the boy she loves, ghostly Amelia decides to take her afterlife into her own hands... and fight back” — Provided by publisher.