Somber Island

By T. Lynne Tolles

Phoebe MacIntire, who is a servant to her father and sisters in her own house in Scotland in 1857, is an ordinary girl, with no big dreams for the future. But when her father up and sends her to Newfoundland to be the lifelong servant to Lord Jacobs, she finds her life gets turned upside down when she stumbles on a 120 year old mystery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T. Lynne Tolles
• Release date: Dec 3, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452465180

T. Lynne Tolles

T. Lynne Tolles can be found most days, juggling one of two cat muses and a laptop, tripping over an ancient Newfoundland dog and washing a never-ending pile of laundry. When life doesn’t get in the way, she writes paranormal romances for new adults. Her passion for witches, ghosts, and vampires together with a light-hearted wit are reflected in her loveable characters and the adventures of mystery they unravel to find their happily ever after.

Book preview

Chapter 1

She watched as an insignificant raindrop hit the already splatter-filled window. First the raindrop went slowly to the right and joined with another drop, then turned its direction to the left and travelled a little faster as it made its way to another waiting drop and headed right again. The drop meandered this way down the pane, gaining speed and volume as it went. The young woman watched the raindrop do its tiny dance all the way down to the windowsill where it puddled and joined more raindrops and drip, drip, dripped down into the waiting flowerbed below.

The hidden bulbs in the soil would germinate from these raindrops. No one but she knew they were hibernating below, waiting for the warm sun of spring to make them burst forward with life.

Phoebe, the youngest of three sisters, felt as insignificant as the raindrops. Her sister, Francine, was the beauty and first daughter to Gilbert MacIntire, and his pride and joy. She would marry someone of means and Mr. MacIntire would be set financially in his old age. His second daughter, Faith, was not as pretty as her older sister, but she knew her place and would make a fine wife to a hard working pillar of the community. It was Phoebe that was the problem, the thorn in Mr. MacIntire’s plans. She was plain, she was odd, and she had been a sickly child.

Mrs. MacIntire had died giving birth to the premature girl. When Phoebe was six, she contracted polio and nearly died. Mr. MacIntire paid expensive doctor bills for many months and constantly reminded Phoebe of the debt he had incurred. Though she did not die from the disease, it left her with a bad limp. Mr. MacIntire knew Phoebe would never marry anyone with means and so he treated her as a slave in her own home.

The other girls were given lovely dresses and sent to the finest parties; after all, they were his future—an investment, so to speak. But Phoebe was shunned to the basement, where she had a tiny cot and befriended the mice. She cooked and cleaned and did all the chores in the house as Francine and Faith were paraded around like shiny baubles.

Phoebe really didn’t mind, though. She found the whole thing to be a silly facade, where her sisters were just puppets on a string for their father’s greedy agenda. She actually felt sorry for her sisters. At least Phoebe was not the object of his attention, unless something was amiss with the household. No. It was good not to be seen or noticed. She felt safe in her ordinary, inconspicuous haven. It was venturing out into the world that she hated, such as when she would need to visit the marketplace.

In the 1850’s, being an unmarried, plain woman with a disability was like being marked with a scarlet letter. They might as well have put her in the stocks and thrown rotten food at her. The children teased and taunted her. The young women snubbed her and whispered as she walked by, and the gentlemen, well, they just laughed and joked behind her back.

She hated being out of her element. She knew every inch of her garden and of her home. She had cleaned it, primmed it, and had lovingly taken care of all its needs, and in return it gave her sanctuary from the cruelty of the outside world.

But that would all change with one small envelope. The flowery calligraphy addressing her father mocked her. The noble red wax seal scoffed at her. When she had set it on her father’s desk that afternoon she had thought it quite beautiful and wondered what secrets it held inside. She thought nothing more of it until she had cleared away dinner, cleaned the dishes, and settled on her cot with a book in the dingy, dank basement with a tiny candle. Above her cot was a window where she watched the trickling raindrops as they wiggled their way down the pane of glass to her waiting bulbs.

She had just opened her book when she heard heavy footsteps in the kitchen above her and the stomp, stomp, stomp of her father’s heavy feet on the stairs to the basement. She set her book next to her as his face came into view. He was holding an oil lamp and descending the stairs rapidly, his stern face fixated on her. Though his brows were furrowed, he wore a most peculiar smirk as if quite pleased with himself.

What is it, Father?

You need to pack your things. You will be traveling tomorrow morning for Newfoundland.

Why? What’s wrong?

Nothing is wrong. In fact, all is perfect. I have arranged for you to be a servant to a wealthy gentry.

You did what? Why?

"How dare you question my generosity? This is in your best interest. I can’t marry you off, so I’ve made other arrangements. You will get free room and board and I will receive your wages. It’s positively ideal.

A carriage will arrive in the morning. Make sure you take everything. I don’t want to see a trace of you come tomorrow evening.

But Father…

I don’t want to hear another word about it. Get busy.

Chapter 2

Apprehensively, she packed a bag. Everything she owned fit into the small carpetbag. An ivory comb that had been her mother’s, two dresses, two sets of stockings, four books, three hair ribbons, and a brush. She also grabbed her knitting needles and three rolls of wool she had set aside for something to make—she didn’t know what, but she would have plenty of time to think about it on the ship. She laid her coat atop her bag and sat on the bed.

How would she ever survive? Newfoundland was on the other side of the Atlantic from Scotland. She would never see her home again, or the bulbs outside the window bloom. She was leaving the only safe haven she had ever known. Tears welled up in her eyes and she felt a tightening in her chest as she began to sob. In a matter of minutes, her entire world was crumbling around her.

The horrid envelope that had brought the news of this catastrophe lay on a table where her father had deposited it when he had come down to tell her the news. She opened the letter and read its contents. No new information was found in it except for a name—Nathaniel Jacobs.

Sleep did not come easily that night as nightmare after nightmare roused her from any slumber she could attain. She dreamt of the cruel men and women in the marketplace now donning sailor suits. Her father was the captain of the ship and yelled orders as the others laughed and taunted her.

Before dawn there was a loud knock at the door and Phoebe went to open it. The gentleman on the doorstep leered at her as she put on her coat and grabbed her tiny bag. She was hurt and disappointed that no one in the house had come to see her off. She closed the door behind her and looked back only once at the upstairs windows to see if anyone had awakened to wave goodbye, but there were no lights on and no sad faces grieving her departure.

The gentleman opened the black carriage door for her as she stepped in and sat on the hard seat. The driver climbed to his seat atop the carriage and made a clicking sound with his tongue to which the horses responded by moving forward.

It was still raining and the wheels of the carriage made a squishing sound as the horses had to pull even harder for the carriage to be released by the mud. It was a horribly bumpy ride for two hours or more until they arrived at the docks. The carriage stopped and Phoebe heard a large thump as the driver jumped down from his perch and opened the door for her. Seeming impatient, he didn’t offer his hand. Before she could ask him where she was supposed to go, the driver was back atop the carriage and leaving.

Phoebe could see a large ship called the ‘Celeste’ tied to the docks. Planks led up to its deck and many people were coming and going, presumably loading items for the voyage. An important looking man with a notepad in hand stood at the bottom of one of the planks and she headed for him.

Without looking up the fellow said, Yes?

Uh. Is this the ship that is sailing to Newfoundland?

Yes.

I’m supposed to be sailing there, but I don’t know where to go or who to talk to.

Do you have a ticket?

Um. No. I was just told to get on the boat.

Well, you can’t get onboard without a ticket, Miss.

Oh. Um. Could someone be holding a ticket for me? Is there someone I should ask?

Still not looking at her, he said most impatiently, Your name? At the same time, he was waving to someone carrying a large trunk over to another plank to the ship.

My name is Phoebe MacIntire.

He flipped through his notebook mumbling, MacIntire, MacIntire…yes. Everything has been arranged for you. You will be in steerage—bunk 2.

And where might that be? she asked apologetically.

He sighed heavily and said, Up the ramp, on to the deck. Turn right and head down the ladder. The bunks are numbered and your supplies are tied to the floor next to the bunk.

Thank you, she said meekly and hesitated for a moment before she followed the fellow’s instructions and headed up the plank. She made her way across the deck and down to steerage and found her bunk. It seemed she was sharing her bed with another young, single woman who looked almost as frightened as Phoebe felt.

They both sat on the straw-filled mattress watching the others file in like sardines. Families of three to six were sharing bunks. There were a few young men, a couple of other single women, but most were families. There were probably fifty of them in all. The ship itself had four masts and looked like she had seen some serious weather. Phoebe had no idea how long a trip to Newfoundland would take or what she would find if she survived the trek.

A list of rules was nailed up for the steerage passengers by what looked like an officer of the ship. Less and less people moved into steerage and there was lots of running around on deck. Within an hour the ropes were untied from the dock and a whistle blew somewhere followed by a man’s voice bellowing, Weigh anchor! Apparently, they had set sail.

She sat there like a statue, trying to take in all that was happening to her and around her. So much had changed in just fourteen hours. Who would have guessed the odd, simple girl with a limp from a small town in Scotland would be traveling across the ocean, never to return. The whole thing seemed like a bad dream and it only kept getting worse.

* * *

The first few days on the ship were nauseating. Phoebe seemed to get her sea legs quicker than some of the others, but it was the smell of others not having as much luck that was repulsive. She wasn’t sure how she survived the smell, but somehow she did. In an attempt to purify the air from the stench of sickness and the smell of the toilets, a crew member would come down and cleanse the air with the steam from chlorine and vinegar.

The passengers in steerage were not allowed to converse with any of the officers. Job assignments were allocated to passengers who were healthy and able to work. Each passenger had his or her own ration of food and was allotted a certain amount of water per day.

Rainwater was collected for all kinds of washing. Phoebe found that most was not used for hygiene. The majority of those affected by illnesses were the elderly and the small children. The worst days were when the seas were rough or they were hit by a storm. On these days, the steerage would be closed off from the deck, allowing no light. Lighting was not allowed during this time because of the fire danger and so she would sit in pitch-blackness, with people getting sick around her and the air vents closed off so that the ship would not take on any water. It was absolutely horrid. Phoebe would lay on her bunk next to her bunkmate with her pillow over her nose and mouth to filter the stench a bit.

It took fifty-three days to get to their destination at St. John’s and out of the fifty steerage passengers that got onboard in Scotland, only forty-one would be stepping off the ship. According to the sailors, it was their best mortality rate to date. Often an outbreak of cholera, typhoid fever, chicken pox, or dysentery would take out a third or more of the passengers. The voyage was one that she hoped she would never have to take again and she was glad to see land once more.

Huge black dogs swam to the ships, toting four inch round ropes. The ropes and the dogs would be brought on board and the ropes tied to the boats. Since the coastline was treacherous here, these ropes and dogs were used to pull the boats safely into dock. Apparently, these huge dogs, as big as small bears, were good at fishing out seamen who had fallen overboard too. Phoebe watched them, amazed.

Once docked, a young sailor deposited Phoebe’s rations trunk next to her. She had no idea what was next on her journey and waited a long while. She was cold, dirty, hungry, and she was sure she smelled horrific. The gas lighter had come around lighting streetlights here and there. A black carriage steered towards the docks and stopped right in front of her.

A man dressed in black from head to toe descended from his perch atop of the carriage. There was not an inch of him that was not covered in black, aside from his eyes of stormy blue. A raspy, rather scary voice asked, Miss MacIntire?

Phoebe wasn’t sure if she should say yes. She was scared to even move, but when her stomach growled, she opted to swallow her fear and answer. Yes, she said shyly.

He nodded and grabbed her trunk. Although Phoebe knew it was heavy, the man tossed it onto the back of the carriage as if it was a feather.

Tiny oil lamps were hung, one on each side of the carriage. The dark man opened the carriage door for her and extended his hand to help her in. She climbed in and sat down as he closed the small door. She wondered how long the ride would be, but she was scared to ask. Like a monkey, he agilely climbed the carriage to his seat and tugged on the reins. The horses began to trot.

There was a tiny oil lamp in the carriage and she was thankful for its warm light. As she looked around, she found a small burlap sack on the seat next to her, seemingly intended for her. She opened the bag to find a bit of soft cheese and some bread. She eagerly ate the small meal and tried to make herself comfortable on the hard bench seat. With her carpetbag as a pillow, she lay down and found that despite the bumpy ride, she fell fast asleep.

She wasn’t sure how long she had slept before the

Reviews for Somber Island

[jacquietalento · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This story is a nice hint with the works of Cinderella and Beauty and the Beast kind of feel. Ms. Tolles is a master when it comes to her writing and I am one of her major fans with her works. Phoebe has been sent away to work as a housemaid for Nathaniel. Her father feels she will never marry since in his own eyes she’s damaged goods. But Phoebe finally fits in and starts to have feelings for her master even though she has awful dreams that should steer her away from the home she now lives in. There’s something deep inside of Nathaniel. He isn’t sure he can involve Phoebe in it but will she take no for an answer? What a great story.