Somewhere in the World

Prologue

Somewhere in the World

Somewhere in the world

something is happening

which will make its slow way here…

Somewhere a slow quarrel

has begun, a few overheated words

ignite a conflagration,

and the smell of smoke

is on its way;

the smell of war.

But somewhere something is happening

against which there is no planning, only

those two aging conspirators Hope and Luck.

--Linda Pastan, “Somewhere in the World”

Prologue

Milton

1838

“We have nothing?” the young lad asked incredulously, staring at his mother in shock.  They stood in the well-furnished parlor of their home—of what had been their home for as long as he could remember. It would not be their home for much longer.

His mother pressed her lips together, her face cold and expressionless with her effort to contain her grief and rage. She must not let her son see how truly shaken she was. He had enough to carry on his young shoulders at this moment.

“That is not quite true,” she replied carefully. “We have a small sum of money and this house—but the debts are enormous, John.”

She moved away from him, unable to look at his stunned face a moment longer. Her stiff black skirts and petticoats rustled as she moved stiltedly about the room, touching the shining mahogany surface of a table here, the silken upholstery of a chair there. Everything will have to be sold, she thought with a pang of regret before she turned to face her son once more.

“We will have to sell the house and most of our furnishings, and find rooms in which to live. I will share a room with Fanny, and we will set up a cot in the main room for you; that is as much we can manage at this time.” She hesitated for the briefest moment before she continued, “But you will have to leave school, John, and find work.”

He stared at her. Leave school? No longer read the classics or learn Latin and mathematics? For one as keen at his studies as he was, who opened every book as if it were a grand adventure or held the answer to the mysteries of the cosmos, leaving school was an inconceivable idea.

One glance at his mother’s leaden expression of guilt and grief, however, made him swallow his protests and tamp down his selfish complaints. His father—her husband—was dead. George Thornton had taken his own life, leaving behind a mountain of debt that toppled upon his family, threatening to crush them.  Someone must earn money so that they might make their way in the world once more and begin to repay some of what was owed.

John squared his shoulders. “I will go among the shops today, Mother, and see what work is available. I will also visit Dr. Goddard to tell him that I will no longer attend his class.” Placing his cap upon his head, he walked to the door, hesitated, and turned. “Do not worry, Mother, we will be all right,” he declared firmly, with much more optimism than he felt. “I will find work.”

She smiled wanly as he departed. With a son such as he, how could all not be set right?

~~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~