Last week, I talked about working on a backstory scene and how it helped me add depth to my characters. I also mentioned sharing an actual in-progress-backstory scene. Well, what follows is the scene. Before you read it, however, you might like a little context: my next Gothic romance project is set in Upstate New York, 1872, involving ghosts and a haunted mansion. I wondered why would the head of the house be so secretive? And why would a ghost linger? So, I did a little research about the area. Turns out, forty years earlier there was a devastating cholera epidemic in New York State. The disease wiped out families and forced people to move to escape contagion. Local people called it the Black Cholera or the plague. Given the atmosphere of fear and confusion, I felt like it was plausible some people might take advantage of the situation for their own gain, which became a kind of ‘origin story’ for the character, Jacob Vanbronks. I might turn this piece into its own story one day, but for now, it’s part of my prep work for the next Gothic romance. I hope you enjoy it!
1832
The old woman answered the knock on the kitchen door of the Vanbronks mansion. The winter air felt wet and damp, and a gust nipped at her nose. Snow’s coming soon. With a shiver, she clutched her shawl closer around her shoulders.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Moffat.”
“Eh? Who knocked?” Mrs. Moffat squinted, and a man came into focus. With his dark, wide-brimmed hat and stiff cravat, he looked familiar, but the details of his face were murky. “Be that you, Reverend Brill?”
“Indeed. First, I’m here to deliver these comestibles.” He thrust a little woven basket into her arms.
She peered at it, cocking her head one way then the other, as he leaned close and whispered, “Tell me, how is the Vanbronks boy doing? Past the crisis?”
Her attention remained on the basket, inspecting the contents, but she murmured, “Aye. The boys be fine. Almost up and about.”
“Boys? I thought the Vanbronks only had one son, Jacob.”
“Seems his young friend, Tom, was visiting when the plague broke out, Tom told me…” She scratched her chin. “Leastways, I think it was Tom. Those two are a couple of peas in a pod, and my eyes ain’t so good.”
“Well, all young scamps look alike,” the Reverend chuckled.
“Maybe. He told me he fell as sick as Jacob, and that Mrs. Vanbronks sent word to his family as was tenant farmers, but learned they was killed from the sickness. Since there was no other place for him to go, the Vanbronks let him stay.” She shook her head and sighed. “It be her last act of kindness before her and her man took dead from the plague.”
The Reverend sniffed. “They weren’t churchgoers and rarely came to the village, all the same, I’ve been praying for their immortal souls.” He swept off his hat, pressed it to his heart, then closed his eyes and bowed his head. “God’s will be done. The Black Cholera is a trial to us all.”
With awkward fingers, Mrs. Moffat held a wrapped bundle to her nose. “Bah! Can’t smell a thing! It be like nothing works no more. My hands have the rheumatism and shake, and my eyes is cloudy now, and I can’t make head nor tail of these.” She poked her fingers at the bundles.
“Bread, salt pork and cheese. Will it be enough? Are there others here besides you and the boys?” He poked his nose around Mrs. Moffat’s bulk, peering into the kitchen.
She let out a harsh laugh. “Just the boys and me. The servants run away long time ago, bad luck to them. Afraid to catch it, I suppose.” The Reverend blinked and took a step backward as she continued, “Mrs. Vanbronks was a kind soul, who did me nice when my man died, and I wanted to return the favor when I heerd the boy was taken poorly. I be an old woman and my time is soon anyway.”
“A reward in heaven awaits you for caring for young Jacob, when no one else would come near.” He cleared his throat and puffed out his chest. “And your deliverance is at hand. The bank has entrusted me with a message to give to you. They have appointed a guardian who will arrive tomorrow or the next day at the latest. Now that you have confirmed that young Jacob is better, I’m confident the guardian will relieve you right away.” He held his finger alongside his nose. “The bank also imparted that Jacob is a very lucky boy. His inheritance is, shall we say, quite considerable, making him the richest young man in the county.” He winked, then placed his hat on his head.
“You ain’t leaving? There’s a chill, and you be welcome to come inside and sit by the fire.”
“No.” With eyes wide, he shook his head and stepped back farther. “I mean, er, my parish duties call. But remember, the Lord loves you!” With a slight bow, he scampered to his horse and cart.
The old woman hefted the basket and turned into the kitchen. She concentrated, head bowed, listening. No sounds from them two, so they must be asleep, and sleep is what they need to get stronger. She chewed her lip. When they wake up, they’ll be hungry, so I best look at what the Reverend left to eat. She made her way to the rocker by the fire, settled comfortably, and placed the basket on her lap to examine the contents. The fire burned warm and bright, and the down pillows, which lined her seat, cushioned her old bones. She let out a deep sigh of contentment as her eyes eased closed.
“Mrs. Moffat?” Everything was dim, then a flaxen-haired boy swam into blurry view. “Wake up, Mrs. Moffat. Wake up!”
With a snort, she jerked forward, sending the contents of the basket spilling onto the floor. “What’s that? Who? Now look what you’ve done.” She pushed herself onto her feet with a groan, screwed up her face and peered around the kitchen. The shadows had lengthened, and only embers glowed in the fireplace. Rested longer than I planned. “Who be there? Where be you?”
“I’m here, Mrs. Moffat. You’ve been sleeping a long time and it’s night, Mrs. Moffat.”
“Eh? Tom?”
“No, Mrs. Moffat, it’s me, Jacob. You’re just waking up and you’re all confused.”
“Eh?” She pushed her gray, flyaway hair back and squinted, but it was no use. Combined with the darkness in the room, the dingy shadow, which obscured everything she looked at, cast her view of the lad into greater darkness. She gnawed at her lip. Is that Jacob’s voice or Tom’s? “Say again? Is that you, Jacob? You feeling hungry?”
“Yes, Mrs. Moffat, thanks to you, I’m much better, but I’m worried about Tom. He was resting and he’s taken a bad turn. Something’s wrong. Come quick.”
She sucked in her breath. The plague be like that. One day a person shines all bright, the next struck down for good. She clucked her tongue and lumbered to the little room off the kitchen, where she had washed the floor and walls with vinegar and then arranged the beds for the boys. As she entered, the sour smell stung her nose and throat and sent her coughing. Still, it was good medicine against any illness, no matter how much Tom complained about it. She expected to hear him carping now. Instead, the room was silent, except for the whisper of a candle guttering in its holder.
Arms outstretched, she turned right, where she had put Tom’s straw mattress, and slipped her hands under the down coverlet. Her fingers latched onto his feet. Ice cold. She pulled back, then lightly probed her way up to the top of the bed. “Tom? Speak up, Tom. Can’t hear you, boy.” Her hands found his cheek, smooth and chilled. She bent low over his mouth.
At once, the old woman straightened up. “Jacob? Where are you?” His hand found hers and squeezed. The trusting tenderness of his touch forced tears into her eyes, and she had to swallow hard to keep herself in control. She didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to add to his burden of sorrow, but she had no choice. “You have another cross to bear, boy. Your friend, Tom, be dead. I know he seemed better, yet the sickness works in mysterious ways and has taken him, like it did your ma and pa.”
“My friend is gone?” His small, slender form hunched into Mrs. Moffat’s ample hip, and he wound his arms around her waist, buried his face, then sobbed. She sighed. If Mrs. Vanbronks were here, she would comfort him, and I can do no less. She gently stroked his back. “There, there.”
She nudged him toward the kitchen. “I’ll be taking care of what needs to be done, never you mind. Meantime, you consider that maybe it be for the best. Tom be poor and alone, while you’ve got a visitor coming tomorrow or the next day with big news. The Reverend said you be a very lucky boy, rich and all.” She frowned at the fire. “Rich is as rich does, but right now, you need some food to keep up your strength. Let me build the fire, Jacob, while you find the bread, pork and cheese the Reverend brung. It all fell on the floor when you waked me. Your eyes is better than mine, so go along with you and find them.”
The boy scooted ahead of her into the shadows, and she moved to the fireplace and crouched, her knees popping like ice cracking in the water barrel. She busied herself with the tinder and blew on the embers, which sent flames flaring. With a satisfied sigh, she called over her shoulder. “Find them eats, yet?”
“Yes, Mrs. Moffat.” The boy handed her the food.
“My! You found them as fast as can be. The Reverend is right. You be lucky, Jacob.”
As she turned away to prepare their dinner, a stiff smile twisted the lad’s face. He stepped back, shrouding himself in shadow, but his eyes glittered as he whispered, “My luck took a little help to turn, but it’s true, I’m lucky and rich, too.”
“What was that, Jacob? Are you there? Jacob?”
“What?” He caught his breath, drawing a shaky hand over his brow, then cleared his throat. “I mean, I’m here, Mrs. Moffat. Jacob is here.”