Excerpt: The House on the Corner

“All ashore for Watkins Landing, Kneelytown, Gardener, and La Fontaine!”

Erasmus Shaunessy looked down at his great-niece. “Siobhan. This is where we get off.”

The child looked up at him. She was thin, and small, and pale. Her huge blue eyes gazed at him solemnly. Her carrot-red braids hung down to near her waist, and a smattering of freckles dusted her nose and cheeks. Once more he regretted the months she had spent in the convent school, but it had been his sister’s wishes that he care for the child after her death. As a Catholic priest, faithful to Rome, he didn’t feel he could keep the child with him in the rectory. It wouldn’t look right. So she spent three long months at the convent, mostly alone and shunned by both the other students and the nuns. Her braids hid the tips of her ears now, but there, her ears quickly became common knowledge. She had roses in her cheeks before she went there, even despite his sister’s death. When she left, she was a pale shadow who spoke little and stayed away from people.

Now he had to fulfill the terms of his sister’s will. Siobhan was to wait for three months in Eire, as the attorneys tried to find her mother and bring her back to care for her. If, at the end of the three months, Keeley Shaunessy had not returned, then Siobhan was to cross the ocean to the colonies and be enrolled in Madame Michaux’s school.

At least, he thought it was a school. Even as he guided Siobhan down the gangplank, careful not to touch her, he wondered. It had been a long journey by airship, one that he’d rather enjoyed, if truth be known. And on landing in New York, the trip up the Hudson by steam-driven paddle wheeler to this spot. This beautiful spot. The air was crisp and clear. The sky a perfect shade of blue, with only a few streamers of cloud to mar it. The trees were vibrant reds and yellows and oranges; they set off the white clapboard buildings near the wharf to best effect. The people here bustled about, greeting each other as some came off the boat and others came to meet them.

“Reverend Shaunessy?” James, the purser for the trip, approached him. “The wagon to La Fontaine is over here.” He pointed to a wooden carriage, its steam engine huffing little white clouds through the shiny black funnel. “Hoy! Young Duff!”

The blond who sat atop the carriage, securing packages, waved. “And what is it now, James?” he shouted back.

“Passengers and their luggage for La Fontaine!”

“Aye, and thanks!”

James turned to Erasmus. “He’ll take you there quickly and safely.”

Siobhan had a thoughtful frown on her face. She looked up at James. “No horses?”

James smiled at her. “No horses, Miss Shaunessy. Young Duff, aye and most of the other carriers around here, use steam engines to get where they’re going. Fast as or faster than a horse, and they don’t need rail, either, thanks to Dr. MacLeod.” He reached out a hand to pat her shoulder, then stopped, and drew his hand back, hoping it was unnoticed. “Don’t you worry, Miss Shaunessy. You’re safe as houses.”

Erasmus held out his hand. “James, thank you much for your help during this part of our journey. I’m sure we would have been lost without you.”

James took it and shook it once, firmly. “You’re very welcome, Reverend. Have a good trip to La Fontaine.”

“We shall.” And with that, Erasmus guided his great-niece to the waiting coach, where their luggage was already being loaded.

As they walked along, Siobhan asked, “Why did James call you ‘Reverend’?”

Erasmus took a moment to think about his answer. “Well, the priests of Eire are beholding to the Catholic Church, that which is in Rome. The priests of Anglica are beholding to the pope in Westminster, but there are many who own no pope at all, and quite a few left Anglica to come here, to New Anglia. The people who own no pope call their priests ‘pastor’ or ‘reverend’.”

“It sounds funny,” Siobhan said, screwing up her face. “They all sound funny.”

“We’re the ones who sound strange to them, child.” He glanced up. They were nearly at the coach. “And strange sounding or not, we are all Britannia.”

By this time, their luggage had been stowed on top, and the young giant – for near giant he was – had descended from his perch. “You’re going to La Fontaine?” he asked, glancing from one to the other.

“Aye, we are.” Erasmus started to pull his purse from the depths of his coat. “How much...?”

Young Duff put up a hand. “We’ll settle things when we get there, if it’s all the same to you.” He glanced back at the coach. “I’ve got a full load heading up that way, and I’ll be stopping at Kneelytown to let some passengers out. If one of you would ride up front, with me, I’d be grateful.”

Before Erasmus could offer, Siobhan had tugged on his sleeve with her gloved hand. “Please, uncle, let me.” She stared up at him, and he saw in her face an pleading eagerness that he hadn’t seen since they’d left Eire. Then he realized why; by sitting up front, she would be avoiding the crush of people within the coach, and the disastrous consequences of brushing up against someone by accident.

He nodded. “You may, child. But hold on tightly.”

She returned the nod, short and curt. “I will.”

Young Duff smiled. “Let me give you a hand then, young lady.”

She shook her head, and passed behind Erasmus, neatly evading the young man’s proffered hand. “I can do it myself.”

As she climbed up the foot holds into the covered outer carriage, Erasmus took Young Duff aside. “Whatever happens up there, don’t touch her.”

The young man scowled, clearly scandalized, “I would never...”

Erasmus put up a hand. “I don’t mean it that way. I mean don’t let your skin touch hers, except in dire emergency. There are... things that happen when she is touched. She has... fits.” It was never easy to try and explain his great- niece to others.

The giant’s scowl softened into a thoughtful look. “Are you going to the House on the Corner?”

The priest shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Madame Michaux’s. Everyone around here calls it the House on the Corner or just Corner House.”

Erasmus relaxed a little. “Yes. Yes. That’s where we’re going.”

Young Duff looked satisfied. “All right. I understand now. No touching, except in emergency.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Looks like my new assistant driver is ready to go. You’d best get in.”

Glancing beyond the young man, Erasmus saw Siobhan sitting primly in the outer carriage, hands folded in her lap. There seemed to be a hint of color in her cheeks, and for the first time since they had left Eire, he had hope that this journey was what she needed. God only knew if this school – this Corner House – would be the same.

The carriage wound up the road, passing houses and churches, shops and fields, woods and pastures. Siobhan sat silently, taking it all in, hands primly folded in her lap. They stopped at the town square in Kneelytown, pulling up in front of a granite building. “That's the town hall,” Young Duff explained to her. He gave her a wink. “The mayor likes to know about everyone's comings and goings. If you look up at that center window...” Siobhan turned her head and peered upward. She thought she saw a curtain twitch, but wasn't quite sure.

Roughly half the passengers got out here, and Young Duff suggested she move inside the coach. “It's getting pretty chill out here,” he explained.

“I like it.” They were the first words she'd said to him, and he smiled at her accent. “The air is fresh.”

“All right. If that is you want you want.” He swung himself back into the driver's seat, let the engine chug up to full steam, then released the clutch. They eased away from the wooden sidewalk, and bumped along the cobblestones.

“So, tell me, why do you like it?”

He was careful to look ahead, trying to sound as if he were merely curious. But the students at Corner House were usually very interesting children, and he wanted to know what she could do, why she had fits if someone touched her. He wasn't so interested that he was going to experiment; he'd said to the preacher that he wouldn't.

“The air is fresh, and doesn't smell like cows and chickens.” She kept looking around. “It doesn't smell like a smoky city either. Or of starched clothes. Or incense. Or... there are so many things it doesn't smell like.”

“Well, we're not near a farm, or a laundry, or a smokestack, though sometimes my old Bess here can smell that way. There are lots of places here in the colonies that would smell that way, if you were to visit. New York town does, or so I've heard.”

She wrinkled up her nose. “It did, a little. We weren't there long. Just come off the airship and went to the docks.”

“In a hurry to get here?”

She shrugged. “My uncle was. He doesn't like traveling and wants to return to his parish as soon as he can.”

They were quiet for a while, and at last she looked up at him. “Why are you called 'Young Duff'? Is there an old Duff?”

He laughed, a hearty near roar. “Now that's a good question.” Pausing for a moment, he nodded. “Yes, there's an old Duff. He's my father. And there's an Elder Duff; that's my grandda. Finally, there's the Ancient Duff, who is my grandda's da.” He chuckled. “And pretty soon there'll be a new Duff... if my wife has a boy child.”

Her eyes grew wide. “That's a lot of Duffs!”

“Yup. We're one of the longest lived families in the county.”

“Do you have a first name?”

It was the driver's turn to make a face. “Yes, but I'd rather be called 'Young Duff'.”

The houses had thinned out as they traveled, and the woods had spread out on both sides. The birds that had twittered in the fields, swooping boldly in front of old Bess, had largely thinned out. They were replaced by cawing crows and the occasional scolding jay. The coach was climbing upward at good pace, but didn't slow much. Duff checked the dials on the board before him, and fed more fuel into the burner. Old Bess made a chugging noise, and a whistle blew, the sound swallowed up by the surrounding trees. Suddenly, they passed an old church, made of stone. It had gone through a fire and the roof had fallen in. The graveyard was overgrown, and some of the headstones had broken or cracked. The girl beside him drew in a sharp breath, and huddled in her seat. Her face grew paler than before.

“What's wrong, child?”

She didn't hear him for a moment, then she shook her head violently. “Nothing,” she whispered, dragging her gaze from the church by looking down and slightly away. Young Duff stared hard at the church as if just noticing it for the first time,. He tried to drag the circumstances of its demise from the recesses of his memory so he could relate them to the frightened girl.

“That's St. Matthew's,” he said slowly, testing out the words on his tongue to see if they fit. “Yes, St. Matthew's. It was a Roman church, like those your uncle tends. One night, during... services, I guess you'd call them...”

“Mass.” Her reply was whispered. “It's called Mass.”

“Ah, I'd forgotten that, or never known it, perhaps.” He wasn't eager to flaunt his ignorance. “Well, anyway, during this Mass, an altar cloth caught fire and went up like that!” He snapped his fingers. “Everybody got out, they said, except the reverend. But the church was gutted, and no one dared build it back up.” He leaned over a little. “Some people say it's haunted, while some say that the little men got to it.”

By this time, they'd cleared the church, and it was swallowed up by the concealing trees. Siobhan looked up in spite of herself. “Little men?”

“Yes, the little men.”