new from the book: Chapter 2; October 30, 1857

read Chapter 1: Late October, 1857 here

William thought about turning back the whole ride over to Brockwayville. He thought it, dithered and pondered, but did not once turn the reins. Ambition pushed him forward. Pride, too. Without him, their little endeavor would be as cold in the ground as Black Hen. William puffed out his chest at that.

He deflated quickly, looked around to be sure no one saw. No one thinks highly of a man too proud of himself. Only twenty-one and nothing to be prideful about, anyway. William had enough sense to be able to laugh at his own self. Want to get it outta the way before she does, if I even catch a glimpse, he thought.

Uncle Junior at the livery stables gave him a beauty that morning. The kind of horse a man felt like taking when he went a-courtin’. Guess he was, in a couple of ways. William admired the horse with the sunlight rising through the trees. Some trees, anyway. Fewer than there used to be, said mama. Fewer than there were before he went Cincinnati last winter. Lord, but he saw some women there. His mind drifted pleasurably. William hauled up short, reminding himself of his vow.

No more women. Less liquor. No more trouble. I went to Cincy. I had as fine a time a poor man could have in a city, and kept Mama from hearin’ most of it. There’s something to be proud about. William threw out the kind of fine laugh he’s known for, startling the horse. She settled right back down, though, and only gave him sort of a look.

“I know, girl,” he said, patting the mare’s neck. “Penelope’s the only female fer me. Human, at least, anymore. I promised.” He’d come back from the only debauchery a man who’s been helping support his family could. The boys been determined to be men for their mama since they’s born. Cincinnati sure was fun, though. Playing around, learning, burning with ambition.

He’d come back to Brookville, spotted Penelope Clarke, and promised her he’d not feel another woman’s breasts, nor any of the other fun bits, ‘less they were hers. Well, excluding patients. And, well, he’d not precisely made that promise to Penelope, out loud, in person, or any other way. “Wouldn’t do to discuss delicate things with a delicate lady.” William said that last bit aloud.

The horse snorted. “That’s last of the flies, I suspect,” said William to her. Reassuring the mare.

new from the book: Chapter 1; late October, 1857

new opening, new tone, better story. still looking for a title.
warning: racially charged language, swearing

Henry swung in a wide arc over the creek, whooping and hollering. He left go and fell through the water to land directly on his ass. He came up sputtering, like the water was deep enough to drown, which it was, but it was not precisely deep enough that he’d gone under.

“Damnation, that water’s cold.” He raised his voice to be sure it carried to the boys waiting on the bank, making a fuss of splashing and wringing out his shirttails. No one bit. They knew he’d take the bet before they made it, and he knew he’d wrestle any one of them. No one suggests Henry wouldn’t grab that timber pulley rope and jump the crick without expecting him in the air ‘fore they’re done.

All of them had tempers, as anyone would tell you all the North Fork boys had. Barely did Charlie need to roll his eyes towards John before Henry jumped him. John couldn’t challenge both to shoot a running rabbit before they were arguing over whose shot killed it.

Most everyone thereabouts had a temper or some gumption or something that made them come to the hills and ridges and hollows of Western Pennsylvania. Sure, people started settling Brookville at the turn of the century. Henry’s momma had come with her daddy near as soon as anybody else, but even fifty or so years later with the trees coming down and more than a handful of doctors or barbers and lawyers and newspapers in the town proper, it was on the frontier of the East.

They sent their share of lumber and game down the North Fork and the Redbank to the Allegheny at the junction of the three rivers in Pittsburgh, and made men rich. Or they came for the land, and some said there was maybe coal in the hills, too. No matter why or how, people came from all over America and tried to have a life and family.

Eyes down on the rocks, Henry reached out a hand for a friendly pull up the bank or his gun, didn’t much matter which. “You fellers had best not’ve run off with my boots.” He grabbed air.

finally ready – editing the book

about a year ago, I completed the first draft of a still untitled novel. It felt like I’d be ready to edit in a couple weeks and have things ready to be shown off impossibly soon. It’s been over a year, and the grammatical edits of that shaky draft are half-finished, buried in the depths of my desk.

The sun is metaphorically shining, though. I’ve been working on the “When Sheets Attack!” series, and sadly anticipating the end of some of my favorite television. That television was one of the things that nudged me along the path of a novel based on the history of my little town. I’m ready for re-writes now. Plotting will be changed. Facts will hew more closely to the historical ones, and focus has shifted. The fascination lies far less with the autopsy than the reverberations though the lives of the men involved. It is time the text reflected that.

first draft complete: a teaser

I feel like exclamation points. Lots and lots and lots of exclamation points. Instead of using them, there are pedicures and champagne, and the first pages of the first draft of the tentatively titled “The Worst Laid Plans,” a novel loosely based on a true story of grave robbing doctors in rural Western Pennsylvania in 1857.

“Before God, I am exceeding weary.”
Augustus Bell swallowed his whiskey and slid the glass down the bar.
“Are we about to argue the relative demerits of patients before and after the prescription again?” he asked the man who had spoken. “If so, I require another drink.”

Swinging the door securely closed behind him, the new arrival nodded his confirmation to the bartender. Downing his first quickly as his companion sipped, he signaled for another and sighed.

“The Widow Barnett arrived this afternoon, interrupting an appointment, demanding to know why half the town’s doctors appeared hungover yesterday.”
Bell shifted his eyes, searching for listeners.
“Do you think she suspects?”
“That we’re all raving drunkards and desperately looking for excitement? Absolutely.”
“No,” Bell said, “Do you think she suspects?”
“That only a few of the town’s unmarried doctors are behaving as appropriately as expected while squiring young ladies? Absolutely again.”
“Heichhold, you test my patience. Do you think she knows we have performed sustained physical labor in the previous thirty-six hours?”

Heichhold gave his chin a nod to thank the bartender for prompt service and used the opportunity to make his own scan for eavesdroppers.

“Harriet was delightfully robust in manner this afternoon.”
“You vex me. And, do not allow anyone to hear you call her Harriet. You are on thin enough ice with your ingratiating manners and constant demands for a dance.”

“Don’t be on about dancing again, fellows.”

William McKnight sidled up to the bar, somehow drifting through the cold wind without the slamming door that had followed the entry of all previous patrons.

Nick was ready with a whiskey poured, wondering like all the others how the town had come to this. He had never seen such grim faces, nor heard the whispers so loud. The various townsfolk shared the gossip they traded like currency all through the afternoon.

new from the book #13

the end is near. celebratory champagne is calling my name.

“Simmons felt as though he’d been startled out of his boots. ‘Not so loud, Heichhold,’ he hissed. ‘In any case, what are you doing at a temperance lecture?’
‘Simply passing through, thought you looked as though you could use a drink.’
An elderly lady who looked as though she well knew the taste of lemons glared. ‘I am sorry ma’am,’ Heichhold said, ‘but my friend here has stolen my girl, and I am desperate to get her back. You see, she’s a Methodist and has nothing to do with liquor, while he carries on like a sailor six nights a week.’
At this, the old lady began to smile. Heichhold was sure he had won her over. ‘I knew your Aunt Minerva, young Augustus Pierce. Take your stories to the kind of a lady who will believe them and leave good people alone.'”

new from the book #12

over halfway done with the rough first draft with this chapter. hooray.

“Willie waited until he tiptoed up the stairs to his own little room before he lit a candle. In the dim light, he winced as he sat on his bed. Whatever it was in his pocket had cut his leg. He pulled it out. The tiny sharp knife had a funny angled edge on a long handle, intricately carved. Near the join of blade and handle there was a monogram. Willie squinted and tried to make letters out of the fancy script and vines. JGS.”

new from the book #11

took two days off, then did three days’ worth of writing in one. Finding great enthusiasm from pushing myself.

“Judge McCalmont looked torn. Should he stay to supervise the town, or climb the hill to see for himself, he wondered. A stately man with a florid face, gaining a bit of girth around the middle, John McCalmont took an evening constitutional that rarely passed further than two blocks from home. That was the distance until he ran into one of the many hills in town. Just this once, he figured, he would climb that hill. It was his duty. He also suffered from extreme curiosity.”

new from the book #10

ten “new from the book” posts. how delightful. & what’s more delightful? the bits holding these teasers together.

” ‘Uncle Junior,’ Willie called softly as he re-entered the house. The kitchen was unusually empty, so he cautiously made his way to the back room Arthur used as an office. ‘He’d’ve heard me come down the stairs if he’d still been in bed.’

Arthur McNutt would not have heard Willie climb down the stairs in his current condition, but Sarah Smith sheltered her boy as well she could from the evils she knew liquor possessed. Willie had no idea of the surprises in store for him. His nose wrinkled as he gently pushed open the office door. ‘It smells like a woodland still in here, Uncle.’ Willie was not as sheltered as his mother had hoped.”

new from the book #9

some days the work brings a smile to my face. Others, I continually remind myself that first drafts are just the jumping off point.

“Sending Arthur on his way, Simmons asked McKnight if there would be an autopsy that night.
‘Of course. We all decided, even and especially you. Simply be at Blood’s Ice House at eight thirty. He and I will bring the body.’
‘Instruments?’
‘Whatever you deem best. We’ll all bring our own.’
‘Are the others bringing liquor? I seem to have lost the taste for it.’
‘Haven’t we all,’ responded McKnight with a wry grin. ‘Some may. I’m not sure Hugh has yet climbed out of the bottle.’ “

new from the book #8

cut off much of the rest of my hair & the excitement has been invigorating.

“Blood made much commotion as he entered Heichhold’s small office. He knocked heavily, stomped across the wooden floor, and bellowed ‘Augustus’ with force. His enjoyment in needling Heichhold came at the expense of his own heavy head, but he bore it.”