Free The Awakening by Heather Graham

memorial, dedicated in 1992, the four-hundred-year anniversary of the events, was a peaceful place. Trees shaded the stones, set in their space adjacent to the Old Burial Point.
    Then they entered into the graveyard. There would always be something a little eerie about a graveyard that was so old. The trees, casting off their autumn colors, cast down branches that appeared like skeletal fingers. The sky was gray; the breeze was chilly and seemed to encompass the visitor. The day was dark.
    Fascinating. Megan loved it.
    Finn seemed distant again, despite the fact that he was talking, joking, staying with her . . . touching her with his usual affection. But he seemed to be distracted, as if he were making a deliberate point of behaving normally, curling his fingers around hers, or casting his arm about her shoulders.
    â€œIt’s really a great old place,” she said softly.
    â€œAbsolutely,” he agreed.
    â€œCome on—I’ll show you the hot spots,” she teased. She knew the graveyard well, and didn’t need to refer to a guide to find the stone for the man who had been a Pilgrim on the Mayflower, or the Hathorne grave—she showed Finn the spelling, telling him that Nathaniel Hawthorne had changed the spelling of his name, probably for a bit of disassociation. There were other intriguing graves, that of a man with a number of his wives buried nearby, and sad stones with skeletons and old funerary art that indicated the graves of babes. They read sayings to one another, and at one point, Megan laughed, and lay down before a stone with a very peculiar design in it, tossing up a handful of autumn leaves. Finn seemed uneasy then, his features taut, as he came to her, pulling her to her feet.
    â€œMegan, you shouldn’t lie there like that.”
    â€œWhy?” she asked, startled, laughing as she shook fallen leaves from her hair. “What—do you think that I’m going to get sucked into a grave, or something?”
    He shook his head. It was exactly what he’d been feeling, even if he hadn’t given the thought full form. He wasn’t going to laugh and tell her that of course he wouldn’t be thinking anything so ridiculous.
    â€œSky is getting really dark,” he told her. “Does it snow this early here?”
    She shrugged. “It can snow. I don’t think it will. The darkness too much for you?” she teased.
    He glanced at her, a curious look in his eyes. “Scared? This is hallowed ground, right? No suicides or hanged criminals in here, I’m willing to bet.”
    She angled her head, studying him. “None that I know about.”
    He nodded kind of absently, running his fingers through his dark hair. “Hey, should we head into either of the museums on this street?”
    â€œI don’t know about you, but I’m starving now.”
    â€œLunch, um. Yep, sounds good to me.”
    His arm around her, they left the cemetery, heading down to the waterfront. There was a new place just opened and Morwenna had given it a good recommendation. She didn’t mention to Finn that her cousin had suggested it.
    She was relieved to see that the restaurant had been decorated in a way that emphasized Salem’s maritime history. There was charming, shiny wood everywhere. Ships bells and trophy fish adorned the walls. The curtains were beige with soft blue crustaceans abounding upon them. There was enough light in the place to read the menus, and they had been led to a pleasant table with a window that looked out on the water.
    â€œTerrific so far,” Finn said. He leaned closer to her. “Now, if only the food is good!”
    â€œClam chowder and scrod,” she said.
    â€œScrod.”
    â€œWith butter and bread crumbs. Delicious. You’ll love it. It isn’t as good anywhere in the world as it is in Salem.”
    â€œYou know, New Orleans does offer some darned good seafood.”
    â€œNot scrod the way you can