June 7th, 1984

Many people have faced loss in many different forms. The death of a loved one can be a hard thing to accept, especially at a young age. I'm only fifteen, and Harper's only twelve. Our parents perished in a plane crash only a few nights ago.

They were in New York on a business trip, and they weren't supposed to come back for another week or so. But apparently they were flying in early for Harper's birthday on the tenth. Our Aunt Virginia brought us the sad news earlier today.

I'm still stunned. It took me hours to calm down and stop crying. So much is going to change now. Aunt Virginia and Uncle Luther live in town, and Clara has lived with us for years since her mom died and she never knew who her father was. Now, I suppose, Grandaddy will have to look after Harper, Clara, and me.

And then there are thoughts of who will run the company. I've been trying to keep my mind focused on these more clinical thoughts, like what will happen to the company and to the estate. It helps to distract from thinking about them. That just hurts too much.

Harper is taking this all horribly hard. She didn't cry, though - she just kind of shut off. She sat on the sofa in the living room, just staring out the window with a blank face, while I broke down in tears. By the time I was able to pull myself together, she had run off outside.

I immediately went to go check on her. I had a strong idea of where she would be, and I was right. She had run off to the cemetery we have. The cemetery contains centuries of Thorntons, buried in graves with sentimental headstones or locked up in the crypt. There's also a statue next to a grave we don't usually talk about.

The cemetery is peaceful and quiet, but also irksome. Most times a thin layer of fog surrounds the graves and the Spanish moss trees cast eerie shadows. There aren't many places to be alone in Thornton Hall, as there are usually maids everywhere and family members lurking around. But the cemetery is a place where Harper and I have found is nice to go to to be alone.

So I found her there, crouched under a tree that had a particularly thick trunk. She was by Rosalie Thornton's gravestone - that's Clara's mother. She passed away when Clara was only five years old, never telling a soul who Clara's daddy was.

Harper was tracing her finger lightly along the engravings on the gravestone. Without looking up at me, she said, "We're just like Clara now. Alone...orphans…" A single tear slipped down her cheek.

I rushed over to her and crouched down next to her. Fog was rolling in, and night was beginning to set, making the cemetery not the most comfortable place to be.

I placed my hand on her shoulder. "We're not alone, Harper. We have each other, and Clara. And cousin Wade, and Grandpa Jackson, and so many more people. We Thorntons have an abundance of family, doll."

She just ignored me and continued tracing. "Where will we put them?"

At first I was a little confused as to what she meant, but then it hit me: she was wondering where our parents - Roger and Marianna Thornton - would be placed in the cemetery. Then, just like that, she got up and ran back into the house. I got up and followed her back.

Now I'm up in my bedroom. I feel too close to mother and father's room, knowing it's empty now and forever will be. I do find I will miss them terribly, but I fear for poor fragile Harper, as this event is already appearing to hit her hardest.