The Suspension of William Worthington

By Megan McKenna

Will is just 12 years old in 1886 when he loses both parents to scarlet fever. His Aunt sends him to Litchfield, Connecticut, where he will be the new ward of his mysterious Uncle William--rumored to suffer under a strange curse which has made him age unnaturally. On his journey, Will meets a group of young passengers whose lives will soon be inextricably entwined with his own.
When Will inherits his Uncle's estate, he obtains a wealth he could never have dreamed of, and a strange pocket-watch that is the key to his Uncle's unusual fate. Will uses his newfound power to explore the wonders of nature, the secret lives of the townspeople, and occasionally, to satisfy his own desires. He finds himself in two separate battles—a life and death struggle with a dangerous man in town bent on destroying him, and a struggle for his very soul as he wrestles with the question: Who are we when no one is watching?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667849935

Book preview

Chapter 1—Orphaned

I was born on October 21, 1856 in Lexington, Virginia. It was a town proud of its’ heritage—founded in 1778, and the home of Virginia Military Institute and Washington & Lee University. The old red brick buildings marched up and over the rolling hills, people gathered in the village square, several chapels dotted the town, holding it down like pins in a map, securing their various flocks. Through town a hurried little stream called Woods Creek wound along streets and under stone bridges, in and out of the edge of the forest like a shy creature. The Maury River ran a deep. slow course to the north, and sleepy farmlands stretched out in each direction, cows scattered over each rise.

My father, Henry, was a clerk in a gentleman’s clothing store. He had intense, vivid eyes which seemed to take in everything around him all at once and in great detail. Embarrassed by several crooked teeth, he rarely spoke or smiled and grew a meticulous beard & moustache. He was a man entirely obsessed with his appearance—not in a vain, arrogant way, but in an intensely self-aware and self-respecting way—and held those around him to the same exacting standards. There seemed to be no end to the nips, tucks, and adjustments he needed to make to my wardrobe, and I can remember that as a small child I was constantly and impatiently seeking to wriggle away from his slender, perfecting fingers. But he was a kind, soft-spoken man, and other than being a little overparticular, I could find no fault with him.

My mother, Mary, worked at home, mending and altering ladies’ apparel. I am ashamed to say that like most children, I took my mother for granted. I saw her not as an individual unto herself, but only in her relation to me. She woke me in the morning, prepared my food, washed and mended my clothes, cleaned our home. I never appreciated these simple luxuries until I was without them, had never realized how silently she smoothed out the details of my life until I was left to handle the raw, frayed threads on my own.

My fondest memories of her were in the evenings, when she would read aloud from the Bible as we sat by the fire. I listened with rapt attention, amazed that such horror and violence could be spiritual. My favorite stories were the ones with danger and drama—Noah and the ark, David and Goliath, Moses leading the Israelites through the Sea. I had never seen the sea. The sound of her voice would carry me along on journeys I had not planned, and when her voice stopped, I felt wakened as if from a dream, and could not remember where I had been. To this day, I can remember the sound of my mother’s voice. But no matter how hard I try, I cannot remember the details of my mothers’ face. It’s as if I only ever looked at her from a distance.

I was nearly twelve when my parents died, within two months of one another, of cholera, which had spread through the town of Lexington that year like wildfire. At the first signs of their illness, I was sent to live with my Aunt Martha and her terrible hoard of children in Abingdon, VA, a journey of about two days by carriage. Everyone had hoped this would be a temporary arrangement. However, after the death of my parents, when my orphanhood was quite certain, my Aunt quickly began to seek an alternate situation for me. This decision was due in part to the fact that she had limited space and funds, and, perhaps in greater part, to the unspoken fact that she couldn’t stand me.

Finally, it was decided that I be sent to Connecticut to live with my Uncle William, the namesake whom I had never met. All I knew about Uncle William I had heard from my mother—that he was extremely wealthy and accomplished, but had for many years been suffering from a strange ailment, which she described as a kind of premature aging. They had sought professional help at the first signs of his illness, but he eventually gave up on any hope of a cure, and was now avoiding medical professionals and society as a whole. I had no say in the matter. I could only listen silently as my future was decided for me.

***

Well he can’t stay here, said my Aunt. He’s a strange child… unsettling, if you ask me.

I could hear her shrill, briny voice from the other room. She made no attempt to whisper. I sat in the window-seat of the children’s playroom, attempting to read but finding it difficult to focus. My male cousins were out playing and had courteously invited me not to join them. So, I had been left at home with my three female cousins. Susan, who was about my age, sat at a desk in the corner, drawing in her school notebook. Jane, about five, sat on the floor, playing with her dolls. The baby, Beth, toddled about the room, grabbing random objects, sucking on them, and banging them together in that focused, nonsensical way babies have.

The voice of my Uncle Nathan came low and calm, sounding more like a hum: Martha, dear, he’s your own nephew…

Well he’s William’s nephew too. That old skinflint sits up there in his mighty house without so much a thought as to the rest of us—me here toiling away and already got seven children to feed and keep alive.

Well, he does send you a little money, doesn’t he? He does try-

Precious little. It’s spare change to him. No… he can do his part. Let him see what a strain it is to care for a child. Let him see what it really costs.

He’s never even met the boy, said my Uncle, gently. What if they don’t get on?

Never met him? What difference does that make? Not likely that anyone who had met him would remember the occasion. Just like his father… never could remember a single thing that man ever said or did worth repeating.

Now Martha, don’t be unkind…

Unkind? she shrieked. Haven’t I given that boy a roof over his head for two weeks? I’ve done my Christian duty by him. You mark my words, Nathan, if he was to stay here, he’d spoil the lot of ours. None of the children like him, anyway.

I looked up from my book to see the oldest girl, Susan, smiling wickedly at me from across the room. I pretended to continue reading.

I don’t know dear, my Uncle continued. Connecticut’s an awful long way away…

So much the better, my Aunt said coldly.

Suddenly baby Beth seized upon my shoe and began to gnaw on the cold, leathery sole. I attempted to push her off as gently as I could, but she screamed loudly and began to cry.

My Aunt flew into the room in an instant.

What have you done, you brute? screeched my Aunt, glaring at me.

He pinched her, I saw! shouted Susan, rising from her desk and marching towards us. Didn’t he, Jane?

Sure did, said Jane. Pinched her real hard.

How dare you!? shouted my Aunt, whisking the crying baby from the ground.

I didn’t! I pleaded. I only stopped her from sucking on my shoe…

Liar! shouted Susan.

Baby pincher! joined Jane.

You go back to your work! my Aunt shouted at Susan.

Susan pretended to be hurt, but I noticed a faint smile as she sat back at her desk.

And as for you, my Aunt spat, whipping round to glare at me, we’ll be rid of you soon enough. You can pack your bags tonight after dinner. Tomorrow you’re on the first train to New England.

My Aunt left the room haughtily, slamming the door behind her.

You’re in for it, said Susan, without looking up.

I tried to ignore her and go back to my reading.

Uncle William is the meanest old man that ever lived, she continued spitefully.

That’s not what I heard, I answered.

Says who?

My mother.

Psh! Your mother’s dead, what does she know? He’s the meanest, most wicked person there ever was, and he’s going to make your life miserable.

Hmmm, reminds me of someone else I know, I mumbled, turning back to my book.

Plus, she continued, I hear he’s cursed.

Nonsense, I said, using a word I had heard my father speak many times, and trying desperately to sound much older than I felt.

He is though, said Jane.

Shut up Jane, said Susan.

I don’t believe in curses, I said.

You’ll see, Susan smiled, he’s old and wrinkled and he smells like a rotting corpse, and he sleeps in a coffin.

And why is that? I asked condescendingly.

Because he could die at any moment.

I don’t believe you, I said calmly. Have you ever even met him?

Of course not, stupid, he lives a thousand miles away.

So then, how do you know what he looks and smells like? I asked.

Because Mother visited him, and I heard her tell Father everything. She said that he looked like he could be her grandfather, even though he’s her younger brother, and Mother is still beautiful.

My Aunt was many things, but beautiful was not one of them.

Just you wait… said Susan, he’ll probably curse you too.

***

As I packed my bags that night after supper, I thought of the journey ahead. I knew that Susan was a liar, and that I could only trust her words so far. But I also knew that there was a bit of truth to her story. Cursed or not, though, I couldn’t imagine anything being worse than my current situation. That night as I lay in bed, I suddenly missed my parents in a new and aching way, and I began to cry. For the first time since my parents’ death, I mourned them. I missed their calm presence and their goodness, knowing now that I had taken them for granted. I missed the assurance of knowing there was someone near who loved me. Most of all, though, I mourned the fact that from now on, I was alone in this world.

Chapter 2—A Journey

The next morning, my family saw me off at the train station. My Aunt pinned a note to my jacket with my name, age, and destination, as if I were a child. Her last words to me were, I do hope you’re less trouble to your Uncle William than you’ve been to us. Quite touching.

Uncle Nathan picked up my suitcase and gestured for me to follow. But before I left I turned back to my Aunt and her hoard of brats.

Thank you for your hospitality, I said. I hope someday to return the favor.

My Aunt sneered at me, clinging roughly to her screaming baby.

Several of my cousins made faces at me, and as I turned to leave, I smiled, aware of the possibility that I might very well never see any of them again.

Well, son, said my Uncle, as we approached the platform, I hope your journey is safe and you find your Uncle William to be a good and kind guardian.

Thank you, Uncle Nathan, I said.

I’m sorry to see you go, and that’s the truth. But perhaps it’s for the best.

Yes, sir.

Nathan! my Aunt screeched, get a move on, the children haven’t had their breakfast!

Coming, my dove, my uncle called to her, smiling at me, a twinkle in his eye.

It made me wonder, does he know how miserable he is?

I found my seat on the train and looked out the window to where my family stood. My Aunt thrust the baby into my Uncles’ arms and was screeching about something. She noticed one of the boys picking on Susan and sharp as a whip, without missing a step, she reached over and smacked the boy on the back of his head. ‘I’ll never understand it,’ I thought to myself, ‘how the love that seems so beautiful in stories, could be so plain and ugly in real life.’

The journey to my new life would take 2 days--one and a half by rail, and 6 hours by carriage. Of course, as a child, a journey of this length seemed impossible. It was as if I were traveling around the world, rather than a few hundred miles through eastern America. I had been instructed not to talk to strangers on the train and not to be a nuisance, so I tried to sit still and occupy myself with bouts of reading, sleeping, and looking out the window. Lunchtime was a welcome reprieve. My Aunt had neglected to have breakfast ready when we left, so I hadn’t eaten since the early dinner the night before. I gobbled up the sandwich and milk that was provided with such gusto that the kind woman who brought it to me quickly offered me another. I ate half and wrapped the other half to put into my coat for later.

We made stops in Alexandria, Baltimore, and Philadelphia. They were busy, crowded, dirty places, and I was grateful that they were only stops and not my destination. The rest of the ride was quite beautiful, so that I found myself not wanting to read or to sleep, but eagerly looking out the window for what new surprises lay in store—here, a great mountain, the largest and craggiest I had ever seen; there, a rolling pasture of cows; here, a deep forest with trees so thick, there was barely a crack of sky to be seen; there, a small country town with old people who waved and children who ran excitedly alongside the train.

Any one of those towns could have been my new home and would have shaped me into a completely different person than the man that I became. But my destination was beyond those places, and my new life would be far stranger and more mysterious than even I, with all my imagination, could have dreamed.

***

When we stopped in New York, four young people boarded the train--two young men, and two young women. I could tell they were only five or so years older than myself, but they were acting and speaking to seem much more mature. Perhaps, like me, it was their first time traveling on their own, that is, without the company of adults, who would have seen right through their pretentions and put them in their place. As it was, they were without chaperones, which must have been quite exciting and liberating.

One of the young women, a small, pretty woman with a pointy nose and bright green eyes, approached me with overexerted enthusiasm.

My goodness, look at this handsome young man! I declare, you look just like my little brother, when he was your age! The spitting’ image. Are you traveling alone?

Yes, miss, I answered shyly.

Gracious me, she exclaimed, putting her hand to her chest, we simply must sit with this young man, Caroline.

Her friend, Caroline, though not as pretty, smiled at me in a warm and patient way, and I liked her instantly.

My name, continued the pointy-nosed girl, is Susan Elizabeth Walker…

‘Of course her name is Susan,’ I thought, ‘no wonder I already don’t like her….’

She continued, And this is my dear friend, Caroline Kingsley. We’re traveling to attend the Ladies’ Academy in Litchfield.

I’m going to Litchfield too, I said, sounding so eager that I surprised myself and became a little embarrassed.

You are? Well isn’t this a small world? Are you attending school as well? You look awfully young to be sent away to school…

I’m not so young, miss, I’m twelve.

Oh, pardon me, she said, smiling to her friend in a mocking way.

Caroline didn’t turn to acknowledge her impish smile, but kept her eyes on me and smiled in a steady way that made me feel as if she were on my side.

So, are you visiting relatives? Susan continued.

No miss, not visiting.

Well, aren’t you a mystery? Susan laughed. Am I going to have to keep guessing, or what?

Maybe he doesn’t feel like talking, said Caroline. He was probably having a perfectly lovely journey until we sat down, disturbing his peace…

Well, I’m sure I hadn’t considered that, said Susan, slightly insulted. Would you like us to leave, young man?

Suddenly the two young men approached our booth. One was quite striking, with curly brown hair that sort of swished to one side, dark eyes, and a sharp jawline. The other, a pink-cheeked young man with blondish-brown hair and kind of shrunken countenance, stood nervously at his side. The striking one spoke first—

Pardon me, ladies, would you mind if my companion and I join you and your young friend, here? The other booths seem to be quite occupied now that we’ve taken on so many new passengers, and we do prefer to sit together…

It’s up to our young friend here, said Caroline, smiling at me in a way that would make me agree to anything.

Over the next half hour, I learned that the young men, Charles (the striking) and Ernest (the shy) were also travelling to Litchfield. They would be studying law under the honorable Tapping Reeve, an intensive course that shortened the term from five years to only eighteen months. It was immediately evident to me that my traveling companions were in for a bit of romantic trouble. Susan clearly adored Charles, who couldn’t stop staring at Caroline, who kept trying to pry information out of the squirming, awkward Ernest, and who knows what he was thinking…

Finally, they stopped talking and diverted their attention to me.

But we haven’t heard a peep from your young friend over here, said Charles. What’s your story, my boy?

He isn’t a boy, Caroline corrected. He’s twelve years old.

My apologies, my good man, said Charles, smiling in that same mocking way Susan had smiled earlier.

We were just trying to get to know him when you boys showed up, said Susan.

Is that so? exclaimed Charles, then he’s not traveling with you?

I can travel on my own just fine, I said.

Of course you can, my good man, said Charles. I only meant that you seemed so… comfortable with these ladies I thought perhaps you were their chaperone.

Susan laughed in an obnoxiously eager way, and I felt my face grow flush.

What’s your name, my good man? asked Charles.

William, I answered shortly. William Worthington.

William Worthington… he mused, what a strong and confident name!

And romantic, said Susan. Really, it’s quite dashing…

And what brings you to Litchfield, young sir? asked Charles.

My parents died, and my Aunt doesn’t like me, so she’s sending me away.

The smiles melted off their faces and they stared at me in shock. All except Caroline, who reached across to me, putting her hand on mine, and smiled tenderly.

I’m sorry for your loss, William, she said. How insensitive we’ve been, laughing and joking while you sit here in your grief.

Charles cleared his throat, Yes, do forgive us, young man.

We’ll take good care of you in Litchfield, said Susan, feigning motherly concern. Won’t we, Caroline?

Yes, said Caroline, we will.

I knew Susan’s word wasn’t worth the air it was made of, but I believed Caroline’s short promise without a doubt, and it comforted me greatly.

We got off the train in Hartford, where a carriage waited to escort the five of us to Litchfield. The driver was a gruff, portly man with a ruddy face and quick, bumbling sort of manner of movement. I didn’t speak during the journey, but the rest of my small party had picked up their earlier jollity and flirted shamelessly as they contemplated the new lives ahead of them. And though I didn’t show it, their good spirits were contagious. From the moment I learned I was being discarded to New England, I had been determined to hate it. I was sad at the thought of leaving my boyhood home and my friends, and frustrated by the fact that I could be tossed about with no say in the matter. But the further I got from all that was familiar, the more my bad feelings dissipated, and slowly they began to be replaced with something like anticipation. And upon entering that corner of America, I knew it would forever be my home.

It was still October, just a few days after the celebration of my birthday, which I had solemnly celebrated with my Aunt and horrible cousins, with mealy chocolate cake that clung to your insides. The air was crisp and sweeping, the leaves were aflame and trembling on the trees as we passed, and the sweet, warm smell of pies and ciders and crackling fires drifted through the city that day. Even the sounds—the leaves crunching under