Chapter one (or part of it, as it were)
Chapter One
American journalist Gail Mohk strode from the boarding dock of the passenger ship. It was late winter and a chill ocean wind blew from the north. The young author stuck held on to his hat before it could escape and ride on the wind like a man riding a wild bronco, and his stiff white fingers held onto his luggage. He braced himself from the crowd as the multitude moved to and fro. It was loud; too loud for the quiet nature of one who captures his environment, scenery, life, and happenings through words.
Gail Mohk had received, almost a year prior to that day, a letter from a well to do family inviting him to use their house and its well known history for a work of fiction. He, after considering for a time, accepted. It took him not quite two months to travel from his home in Bristol, Virginia to Liverpool, in England. The weather was faire, for most of the voyage, and the people healthy. There was, though, a rather nasty collision with a storm of great ferocity. For five days it shook the ship to and fro, such brutality did that storm hold that one of the crew, in the line of duty, was lost overboard. The sea took him to its nadir and kept him as its own, letting his body rot in the depths as his reward for faithfulness to his career as a midshipman.
Gail hadn’t known the fellow well, but knew well enough that he had a family waiting for him to return with the voyage back to America. He thought often about the man and his family; he had been told the man had a wife, and a small child. What would become of them? What would they do? Would the woman take her child and belongings and sell their house, and move back with her parents if they were alive? Would she have to work hard as a servant in a rich family’s house? Would she maybe open her own shop as a tailor? What would become of the child? Would he become an uneducated lad, stealing to help his mother and he survive the cruel world? Or would he become a sophisticated man with a diamond studded staff and a black top hat that would have his own office in a bank and be head of the city council? What if he enlisted in the military, or become a shipman? All of these thoughts passed through his mind throughout the voyage, and as he found his way to the streets of the city of Liverpool.
He stopped inside of a shoppe to buy a small bag of dried fruit and nuts, and asked for directions to the train station since he was there. The shoppekeeper explained to him the way to the station, and the Gail was able to resume his journey.
The sun had risen to its zenith, and was beginning its descent. The author looked at his pocket watch and saw that the minute hand was not too far past two of the clock. He bought his ticket and boarded the train as soon as the conductor called out, “All aboard!”
‘What a boring phrase,’ Gail thought, taking his seat. He put his luggage bag under the seat and pulled out a sketch pad and charcoal pen from his pack and began to sketch various objects of interest; the conductor, a flower on a lady’s hat, a tree that he could see clearly from the window, some grass, a piece of dried fruit. Really, he liked to draw anything he could. Drawing, though not his expertise, was really his favorite past time. His mother had been a prestigious artist in a town in Charlottesville, and his father, though not known for his work, had loved to sketch things that caught his eye as ‘pretty’ or ‘interesting.’ Indeed, Gail had grown up watching his parents draw or paint, and he had grown interested in the art. As he grew older, though, his interest grew towards another profession, writing.
Gail started as the train whistle blew and the train jerked forwards a little. Again the train jerked, and then again. Soon the train was moving faster, lamp posts flashed by the window, blurred by the speed of the train going at a marvelous speed of fifteen miles per hour. Behind him, Gail heard a child cry from the smell of smoke, and the mother tried to, with the best of her ability, quiet the child. He sighed and rubbed his temple, “It’s going to be a long ride.” He settled himself into his seat and watched the scenery as it seemingly flew by without a care or worry in the world.
To be continued.........
American journalist Gail Mohk strode from the boarding dock of the passenger ship. It was late winter and a chill ocean wind blew from the north. The young author stuck held on to his hat before it could escape and ride on the wind like a man riding a wild bronco, and his stiff white fingers held onto his luggage. He braced himself from the crowd as the multitude moved to and fro. It was loud; too loud for the quiet nature of one who captures his environment, scenery, life, and happenings through words.
Gail Mohk had received, almost a year prior to that day, a letter from a well to do family inviting him to use their house and its well known history for a work of fiction. He, after considering for a time, accepted. It took him not quite two months to travel from his home in Bristol, Virginia to Liverpool, in England. The weather was faire, for most of the voyage, and the people healthy. There was, though, a rather nasty collision with a storm of great ferocity. For five days it shook the ship to and fro, such brutality did that storm hold that one of the crew, in the line of duty, was lost overboard. The sea took him to its nadir and kept him as its own, letting his body rot in the depths as his reward for faithfulness to his career as a midshipman.
Gail hadn’t known the fellow well, but knew well enough that he had a family waiting for him to return with the voyage back to America. He thought often about the man and his family; he had been told the man had a wife, and a small child. What would become of them? What would they do? Would the woman take her child and belongings and sell their house, and move back with her parents if they were alive? Would she have to work hard as a servant in a rich family’s house? Would she maybe open her own shop as a tailor? What would become of the child? Would he become an uneducated lad, stealing to help his mother and he survive the cruel world? Or would he become a sophisticated man with a diamond studded staff and a black top hat that would have his own office in a bank and be head of the city council? What if he enlisted in the military, or become a shipman? All of these thoughts passed through his mind throughout the voyage, and as he found his way to the streets of the city of Liverpool.
He stopped inside of a shoppe to buy a small bag of dried fruit and nuts, and asked for directions to the train station since he was there. The shoppekeeper explained to him the way to the station, and the Gail was able to resume his journey.
The sun had risen to its zenith, and was beginning its descent. The author looked at his pocket watch and saw that the minute hand was not too far past two of the clock. He bought his ticket and boarded the train as soon as the conductor called out, “All aboard!”
‘What a boring phrase,’ Gail thought, taking his seat. He put his luggage bag under the seat and pulled out a sketch pad and charcoal pen from his pack and began to sketch various objects of interest; the conductor, a flower on a lady’s hat, a tree that he could see clearly from the window, some grass, a piece of dried fruit. Really, he liked to draw anything he could. Drawing, though not his expertise, was really his favorite past time. His mother had been a prestigious artist in a town in Charlottesville, and his father, though not known for his work, had loved to sketch things that caught his eye as ‘pretty’ or ‘interesting.’ Indeed, Gail had grown up watching his parents draw or paint, and he had grown interested in the art. As he grew older, though, his interest grew towards another profession, writing.
Gail started as the train whistle blew and the train jerked forwards a little. Again the train jerked, and then again. Soon the train was moving faster, lamp posts flashed by the window, blurred by the speed of the train going at a marvelous speed of fifteen miles per hour. Behind him, Gail heard a child cry from the smell of smoke, and the mother tried to, with the best of her ability, quiet the child. He sighed and rubbed his temple, “It’s going to be a long ride.” He settled himself into his seat and watched the scenery as it seemingly flew by without a care or worry in the world.
To be continued.........