Fleeing Falmouth: A Novel of Courage and Insight

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

EPILOGUE

Bibliography

Author’s Note

To my angelic wife Cheryl, who showed me the value of little things in life, although I didn’t know it at the time

To Jan Hahn, who encouraged me to write well

CHAPTER 1

Fetch the pail, will you please, Janiana asks of Charles. This one sounds like it could be with us for a while.

Yes, Mother, I know right where it is. It’s in the bedroom under that big leak, same as last storm. Charles stands up from his book to retrieve it. Charles, 12 and tall, is strong like his father. He wears freckles from the sun and toasted brown hair to match. His energy quotient is boundless.

Thank you, Charles. Janiana knows it is not easy to keep a dry house with rains as heavy as these. She does her best.

Janiana is proud of her family. She knows she is doing her best to rear the children fittingly. Charles, Sarah, and John, she knows, will grow up to be honorable citizens in Falmouth. No doubt about it. Together with Henry, their family unit is a pinnacle of moral principles in and around Falmouth.

No richer now than when first they married, at least materially, they trudge on. The children are their treasures. The children are what keep them on track.

Janiana turns her attention to John, who is reacting to noises in the sky. Johnny, my little Johnny, it will be all right. The storm will pass soon. Mama is right here with you. John opens his eyes widely and looks side to side. His 11-month-old body doesn’t allow him the luxury of running and hiding like his big sister Sarah. Sarah, now eight, is Janiana’s biggest helper. Sarah knows the routines around the farm and knows what needs to be done, and when.

Whew, sure is coming down now! declares Henry as he bolts through the door, having had to see to the animals. Don’t think I’ve seen this kind of rain for a number of years. Don’t look like it’ll let up any time soon, neither.

He shakes rain from his cap and stamps his boots on the floor flags. I hope the rain won’t wash away the seeds we put in. We get only one chance a year to farm this old rocky land.

Henry comes from good stock. Thirty-five and of medium build, he sports a shock of deep brown hair, shoulder length, and prominent cheek bones. His eyes are dark in color and protected with heavy brows. He nearly always wears a hat.

Now, now, don’t fret, Henry, calms Janiana. "We’ve seen storms before and we’ll see storms again, no doubt. Just be patient. What bad can a storm do, anyway?

Plenty, if we aren’t lucky about it. Let’s hope for the best. Henry removes his oilskin and hangs it over a chair near the fire. He selects another log and places it carefully on the dying flames where it will give off the most heat. March is usually not so stormy, best to my recollection. Usually by now the snow is long gone and the air is warmer. Usually we can plan and plant the farm like we do always. Well, anyway, we got the seeds into the grounds. Let us thank God for that small miracle.

Amen and thanks to that little miracle, responds Janiana, now rocking John in her arms, nursing him all the while. I’m so glad that we have our place here in Cornwall. Of all places we could have been born, we were born here, right here where we belong.

Janiana knows better than that. Privately, she knows that they, the Hocking family of Falmouth, Cornwall, England, are in a terrible way. They have no money for extras. They have no money for new clothes. They have no money to buy, even, enough sheep to start their own flock. What money they do have, they scrimped and saved from the sale of Janiana’s eggs and milk and butter in the town. What money they do have, they pinched from the sale of last season’s cabbages, potatoes, carrots, and onions. What money they do have, they have from a mixed history of good seasons and not-so-good seasons. They know, naturally, that they could be in much worse shape than they are in. They could be living in what Charles calls a hand-to-mouth existence. Everyone knows what that means, and no one wants to discuss its implications aloud.

Now more rain beats on the crude window as thunder divides the air; wind whips the trees in the distance. Janiana illustrates her point further. "Children, and Henry, too, we are a family. We are one unit. We rise and fall together. This year we will rise against all woe that dares come to us. Nothing will deter us from surviving this land. Yes, I know we have talked about traveling to the new America land. Yes, I know we have talked about giving up everything that is dear and

near to us here. Maybe some time, some day we may do exactly that. Realistically, that will not come to pass any time soon."

Mama, Sarah interrupts, the rain will stop soon. I know it will. She cuddles into the crook of her father’s arm. And don’t worry about this farm. We will be happy here. We will be happy anywhere we live, even if it is in America.

Why, Sarah, that is very insightful, Janiana says, bouncing John to her hip.

"No matter what happens to us, we can live with it. We will cope and we will sur»

vive.

"No, Mama, I mean we really can live in America. I know we can live there. I just know it. I think we will live there and be very happy being there. There are plenty of people moving to there, and we can be a part of them." Sarah curls up in front of the animated fire.

Ha, very funny. I can just see us now, on a ship to America, blurts out Charles. "Why can’t we stay right here in Falmouth? I happen to like it here. We have a wonderful history to study. We have a royal and gracious Queen Victoria who is trying to help people like us to make a decent living. We have such a rich heritage, what with the Cornish history and all. Besides, I have my friends here with whom I can converse and exchange ideas and things like that. I like reading the newspapers here and I like talking to the grown-ups in the village about current events. I like our history, right here in Cornwall.

He is right, responds Henry, now warm from the anewed fire. We have no reason to leave here. True, your mother and I have discussed such a move, haven’t we, dear?

Yes, we have. Janiana checks John’s wet-cloth for soiling. It is still clean.

Henry continues. Even if we were to make such a move, we couldn’t afford it. I mean, look at us. Look at us. We have nothing of value to speak of. Well, we do have the milch-goats and chickens. And old Bess and Margaret—hardly anything more than that. We would have to sell everything we own. All considered, that would not bring in so many shillings, you understand.

Yes, sir, Charles says nearly inaudibly. But couldn’t we talk to people in the town to see if there is any way to go there? What would it cost to talk with people? Every week, some people from her go to London to catch a ship to America. We can practically see the ships passing by in the Channel. I feel like we could do it, Father.

Do you think so, son?

With fresh enthusiasm, Charles now speaks his mind. Why should we be stranded on this island, when I see everyday someone giving this life up for another one? Remember last week, the day I walked down to the coast? I stood there and I did see sails over the water. It was a ship, Father, sailing into the Atlantic. It was a ship, with people on board—people from Bodmin and St. Mawes and Truro. Those places are close to here, and I do not doubt that people from all around Cornwall have made their way to London to board a ship. Father, I know we could go if we tried. Almost embarrassed by his thoughts, Charles sat down quietly.

Maybe you are right, son. Maybe we should make an effort to go. But I do not know where to begin making the plans. Janiana speaks for Henry. We have but so little savings, you understand. We do what we can. Father and I will talk about it soon.

The rain relents. A little more light shows through the window. Silence outside. The family sits quietly for a while, enjoying the peaceful sounds of nothing, save the occasional crackle from the fire on the hearth. Each is engrossed in thoughts and dreams.

Gideon rolls over, taking advantage of Charles’ attention. Gideon, a brown beagle pup, has been with Charles for only a few months, since Charles rescued him from the side of the road one day. Gideon, the runt of the litter, was just barely weaned when his mother abandoned him, in time for Charles to lay claim to him. Gideon is a quiet dog. He doesn’t bark much; he doesn’t require much, other than plenty of attention from Charles and Sarah. Gideon is a good dog for Charles. They are friends. They tell each other secrets.

Janiana continues. Charles, have you studied your lessons for this day, young man? You know how important it is to learn to read and cipher. The more you study, the better you will become in your life. Sarah, and you?

Yes, Mother.

Yes, Mama, I have.

Good. Good for both of you. It looks as if the storm has blown over. Good thing, too, if we want the crops to do anything this year’s season. I don’t know if I can remember such weather so early in the spring. Usually, we will get foul weather later on in the summer, even in the autumn. Henry, can you recollect such storms in the planting season here in Cornwall?

"Heavens, no. This is a fine how-do-you-do weather. Next thing you know, it will be drought conditions. No rain a’tall. That did happen a few years back, you know. You remember that, Janiana, don’t you? I know you do. The year was ‘52—seven years ago. We no more than got the seeds into the earth than the skies dried up. No rain, no weather that year, most of the year. Not till September. Then the skies broke open. The wind blew everywhere. It about drove us to lose

our senses, it did indeed. Crops didn’t do well that year. No, I remember that planting season well."

Janiana now takes sleeping John into the children’s room to lay him in his crib. Sleep well, my son.

Janiana Hocking is a good mother. She has always been a good mother. Janiana loves her family; she is a role model in the village Falmouth. Janiana is the type of woman who would do anything for anyone. She sets the example for integrity and honesty. She is a model citizen.

Although not overly pretty, she strikes a handsome figure. She is a tall woman, standing nearly as tall as a man. Her green eyes, best I can see them, sparkle quietly. Her chin is firm and holds up her nearly round face. Her most prominent and memorable feature, however, is her flowing auburn hair. Fact is, she takes tremendous pride in brushing her hair 100 strokes every morning and 100 strokes every night. Never mind that she toils in the fields along with Henry. Never mind that she carries, digs, pushes, and pulls as well as any man in Cornwall. Never mind that the sun, rain, wind, and blowing dust take their toll on her hair. In her thirty-one years, she has had her locks cut only twice.

Janiana is not an educated woman, although she is very intelligent. She, through her own wits, has managed to procure a fourth-grade education. Mind you, it was not a formal education, but a solid one, nevertheless. Her parents allowed her—nay, expected her—to get to the school as many days as she could. Her attendance record, although good, was not perfect. She stood out as the second-smartest pupil in her grade. First smartest was a boy named Nathan. Janiana’s determination to excel gained her a reputation of being tenacious and mildly stubborn. Many thought she would go on to become a schoolteacher. Reality over-ruled. She, like most children, was forced back to the farms and homes to support the farming and mining industries in and around Falmouth.

Let me talk of me.

My name is Edwin. I am a mouse, and I live in the walls of Janiana and Henry’s house with my wife Charlotte.

Hello.

We have six little ones in our brood. Before this litter, we had two other litters of babies. We will have a minimum of six litters in a year, with between five and 10 in each litter. We, like Janiana and Henry, have nothing, own nothing, and are nothing, at least in the overall picture. My father and father’s father lived here, in this house, before me. I am a cog in the wheel called life. However, as far as I am concerned, I am important. Please do not forget that.

Somehow, and I don’t know how, I took pity on Janiana and her family. Poor thing she is. She has to make do with next to nothing. Daily I see them struggle and stretch their means, and make something out of nothing. For what purpose? I ask. Certainly the answer is beyond my little mind to understand. All I can do is observe. And that I shall do.

For whatever reason, I am able to assimilate the noises they make with their mouths. Now I know they are talking with words. Words, formerly foreign to me, now make sense. I understand their language—witness my story. Ah, yes, it is odd for a simple wall-mouse to use words, simple words at that. I feel lucky that I was, and am, able to learn to listen to them. That makes me feel educated, even though I am not. Another way I learned the language was to study at night the newspaper scraps that Charles brought home. Such silly symbols people use to make words! My mouse-squeak language is so much simpler.

My ancestors originated in what is called Asia and spread throughout Europe centuries ago by way of ships. I am a nocturnal creature. Janiana and her family see me rarely. I live a private life. I and my family will forage for food for only short distances of no more than 20 feet from my nest. I eat but little, only three to four grams of grain and seed each day. My most annoying habit to people is my constant chewing and gnawing on something—anything—that is hard, in order to keep my molars from growing too much. I am highly curious; I explore my territory daily.

Because I eat so little each day, one might think that I am of no consequence and that I serve no purpose. Quite to the contrary is my reply. I am of consequence because my gnawing habit and my droppings and urine destroy food storage containers, clothing, and furniture. If I could not gnaw, my incisors would grow up to five inches in a year. Dread the thought. I have an advantage over my large cousin the rat in that I can wriggle my way through an opening as small as one-fourth inch high. A rat can squirm through only a half-inch opening. It’s true. I can flatten my skeleton to such a thin height by expelling air from my lungs and relaxing my muscles, then scurrying through the orifice. I think that is quite clever of me.

My lifespan is barely two years. When I am full-grown, I weigh between one-half ounce and one ounce.

I am an agile little critter. I can jump down a vertical drop 12 feet without injury to myself. I can jump up 12 inches. I can scale rough vertical surfaces and walk along thin ropes and wires. I use my long tail, which, by the way, can be as long as my body, for balance. My eyesight is very poor. I see best in dim light, although I have learned that my own eyesight is far superior to any other mouse’s eyesight. I sense that this quirk will pay me dividends in the future. To compensate for my eyesight, my sense of smell is very keen. I recognize other mice by smell, squeak, and touch. My hearing is extremely sensitive. I communicate with other mice by making very high-pitched squeaks, many of which only other rodents can hear. Humans can hear me squeaking only if they know to listen for it. My whiskers I use to sense smooth and rough surfaces, temperature changes, and wind movements.

Alas, this story is not about me; it is about my humans. I continue.

I, edwin, marvel at how i, a mere rodent, can keep up with this family. They are so much larger than i, and to hear and pass along their conversations is a minor miracle, if i dare say so myself. From where this gift of communications came, i know not. How i was chosen to be such an instrument, i know not. How i am able to use it, aye, i know not. My family is not rich or prosperous. My heritage is not one of fame—certainly, not of fortune. My ancestors are ordinary rodents, with ordinary stories to tell. My place in life, and i am not referring to my nest in janiana’s wall, is, or rather was, of no consequence. Living day to day—rather, night to night—was boring. Janiana’s family changed all of that.

CHAPTER 2

Henry stirs. I saw Mr. Greer this morning in the back field. He was as crabby as ever. Old Mr. Greer, he won’t ever change. Henry, uneasy at calling Mr. Greer by his first name, Robert, now is impatient to get back to the farmshed to finish repairing his plowshare; he paces in front of the hearth. "He was saying that Lord Collins was thinking of raising his private share of the royalty dues