The Night the Stars Fell

By Kyle Roesler

Fourteen-year-old Francis Olmsted is dealing with some issues. He has been mourning the loss of his mother for a few years and can’t accept his new step-mother into the family, no matter how nice she is to everyone. His feelings about a new girl in the neighborhood are significantly confusing – and he doesn’t even know her name. And his health isn’t good. He’s known to his sister and four brothers as their sickly brother.
Then, in the early morning of November 13th, 1833, Francis’ life was changed forever. He was awakened by his father, Yale Professor of Natural Philosophy Denison Olmsted, saying something wonderful was happening. The entire family bundled up, went outside and saw the most spectacular sight: a constant stream of shooting stars raining down like a waterfall. Thus began six weeks of excitement and transformation. A scientific investigation of meteor showers employing a Nineteenth-Century version of crowdsourcing! Overturning ideas that had stood since the golden age of Athens! A project for the entire family! And, perhaps most importantly, a sweet first romance.

Best of all, it is all based on a true story, with references to first-hand observers of the phenomena such as Abraham Lincoln and the real lives of the Olmsted family.

This book was written for Middle-Grade readers who are interested in Science, Technology, Engineering and Math (STEM), early American History and/or what life was like for teenagers nearly 200 years ago.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kyle Roesler
• Release date: Jan 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9798215478653

Kyle Roesler

Kyle G. Roesler, who used to write using the pseudonym Mary Jane, began his writing career as a columnist for "The Muddraker", the student-run newspaper at Harvey Mudd College. He then spent a number of years writing screenplays before turning his attention to writing novels. He published "Fate" in 2001 and "Saba" in 2009.

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THE NIGHT THE STARS FELL

by

Kyle G. Roesler

SMASHWORDS EDITION

PUBLISHED BY:

Kyle G. Roesler on Smashwords

Copyright: © 2024 by Kyle G. Roesler

ISBN: 9798215478653

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Cover design by: Kyle G. Roesler

Cover Photo: Joseph Waggoner-Karl Jauslin. Work first published by the Seventh Day Adventist Church. Image has been digitally stretched by the Cover Designer.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

Fact vs. Fiction

Cornelia’s Quick Quiz

References

About the Author

SAMPLE CHAPTER FROM THE Navel of the World

Dedication

This book is dedicated to Mark Littmann and Todd Suomela, two gentlemen and scholars who wrote a scientific paper that sparked my interest in this topic. Gentleman, I thank you.

Part 1 – Identify the Problem

Prologue

I stroll peacefully on a beautiful beach. Everywhere I look the view is breathtaking. A few miles to the east, the cone of an extinct volcano some British sailors call Diamond Hill sits at water’s edge. No artist could draw it with more elegant lines. To the north, it looks like the lawn of the Yale College quad has been stretched over cliffs, peaks and ridges running the length of the island. To the south is nothing but the blue of the Pacific with row after row of waves rolling towards me. To the west, the feathery sand stretches on for miles.

It is a scene Daniel Defoe would delete from Robinson Crusoe for fear of being criticized for having an over-active imagination.

It is too perfect to be believed – or well described – and yet here I am, on Waikiki Beach, Oahu, the Sandwich Islands. Thick stands of palm trees separate the flour-like sand from the volcanic mountains. A passing cloud provides a brief welcome rain and then rushes on to other islands over the horizon. Even during the rain the sun shines fiercely, baking the world in a way completely unknown in my foggy hometown.

We, the crew of the ship North America, have been here in the Sandwich Islands for weeks and will soon depart to continue hunting. Whale oil is extremely valuable, providing the incentive to sail from New England to tiny Oahu in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I am not dressed in my long breeches, wool jacket and dashing cap, as I would be if I were with other members of the ship’s crew. In this tropical heat, I am dressed more like a local. I am protected only by my underclothes, and all the more comfortable for it. I am not completely alone here, though. Several natives are in the water, a handful of men fishing in the shallows and someone surfing on a long wooden board. This surfer drifts over the waves that constantly push in from the sea. He is here with his family. The man stands on his ten-foot-long board and a woman with three young boys splash in the surf and wave to him. All radiate absolute delight, making the most of this day the Creator has provided for us. I smile as I walk past.

When I feel a bit warm, I sit on a comfortable rock in the shade of a palm tree and take it all in. I hate to leave. I feel so healthy here, my lungs clear, my breathing free and easy. I probably should never leave. But, leave I must and will. My family and my future await back home in Connecticut. With a smile, I realize I’m not in a mood to imagine my future but to revisit my 20 years of life. Memories I had stored for years leap to my consciousness. I think of a time less than a decade ago when nothing made sense to me. I can still remember feeling like I would be stuck in that in-between state until the end of the world, and I was right. I just didn’t realize the end of the world was so close at hand.

Inspired by watching the surfing family and my memories, I take out my journal and start to write. "A mother’s love. A father’s protection. A family bound together through mutual respect and interest. These are aspects of people everywhere. Here, half way around the world, the central role of family is obvious in these good, jolly and tan people born and raised on the Sandwich Islands. It makes me think of the night years ago when events conspired to teach me the meaning of the word ‘family’ and to bring my father, my siblings and my new mother together.

But, I am jumping to my conclusion when I should simply tell my tale from its heart-stopping beginning to its heart-warming conclusion. It all started when my father woke me up in the middle of a cold November night…

Chapter 1

The sound of someone climbing the stairs awoke me. The bedroom door opened and my father, carrying a lantern, rushed into the room I shared with my four brothers. Francis, Francis, wake up! Father insisted as he shook my shoulder.

It was either late at night or very early in the morning. I felt like I had just fallen asleep. But, the sky seemed as bright as dawn through our closed curtain. Had we all overslept and were late for our chores and school? No, it still felt far too early to wake up, and my father’s anxious expression indicated something more than oversleeping was going on. Father, what is it? Is something wrong? I asked while rubbing my eyes.

No, nothing is wrong, he replied, smiling. "Something is wonderful. Wake up your brothers and sister, make sure everyone dresses warmly and meet me out front. As quick as you can, now! I will go wake up Julia." He then rushed out of the room so quickly that I wondered if he had really been there at all.

It was early in the morning on November 13th, 1833 and I was fourteen years old. I could see that some of my brothers were awake already. John, one year younger than me and sleeping against the wall in our shared bed, said, Did Father say something is wonderful?

Yes, I replied.

What could be wonderful in the middle of the night?

I don’t know, but we better go find out. Wake up Lucius, will you? I’ll get the other two.

It was warm under the covers but the air in our room bit at my nose. Getting out of bed took a great effort. After two deep breaths, I threw back the blankets and hurried to put on my clothes. Thanks to the mysterious light shining through the curtains, I easily found my pants and shirt hanging on a nail near the door. But, I didn’t lock out the cold fast enough. I started coughing before I was fully dressed. That happened to me all the time. All my siblings referred to me as their, Sickly Brother. Of all the things I could be known for (their smart brother, their handsome brother), I got stuck with sickly. Oh well, at least I could stop coughing again after pulling on my woolen socks to separate my cold feet from the cold floor. Then I went to the bed shared by my brothers Alex and Den. Hey, you two, wake up. Father says there’s something to see outside.

What? Den asked, eyeing me suspiciously while keeping the covers pulled up tight to his nose.

Yeah, did Davy Crockett stop by or something? Alex asked, referring to the famous frontiersman known for wearing a cap made from the skin of a raccoon. Alex was eleven and wished he could wear buckskins and a coonskin cap every day. This was after he got over his fascination with going to sea to hunt whales. Before that he dreamed of taking a long walk through Vermont and Canada to the North Pole. His next imagined adventure could be searching for the Northwest Passage or unlocking the secrets of Antarctica, who knew?

Neither of my brothers had moved to get out of bed yet. I guessed I had a little more convincing to do. You’ll just have to get your lazy backsides out of bed to see what Father is so excited about – or who.

That sliver of hope that maybe it really was Davy Crockett was enough for Alex to launch himself out of bed. He bounced off brothers as he wrestled into his work clothes. Den, on the other hand, was still not moving. Don’t you want to see what Father has found, Den? I tried. He just yawned and stayed put. He was only nine years old, but that was old enough for him to have experienced several of Father’s adventures. Since Father was a Professor of Natural Philosophy at Yale College who specialized in Astronomy, most of these adventures featured the sky at night. We had woken up early once to see Saturn, Jupiter and Mars close together. Father had called it a conjunction. Den had called it three little dots in the sky. Another time, we were allowed to stay up late to see a lunar eclipse that ended up being completely covered by clouds. These thoughts reminded me that Father usually knew about sky events in advance. Whatever was happening now had managed to catch him by surprise. Den just stared up at me, so I told him, It’s really cold outside, so Gussie will probably make some hot chocolate.

That worked. Den slowly got out of bed and even more slowly got dressed. John shouted, Last one outside is a rotten egg! and that kept the group moving. Why, I couldn’t imagine. The threat of being a rotten egg had never gotten me to move faster, but John knew his audience and everyone kept getting ready. John was helping little six-year-old Lucius dress so I moved on to my next assigned task. I slipped out into the even colder hallway and took three steps to the small bedroom next door where my only sister Cornelia slept. I knocked on the door and it opened immediately, causing me to jump back in surprise. Cornelia, you’re awake!

The bright light woke me and then I heard Father waking you, she replied. She was already dressed and ready to go. What is happening, anyhow?

I shrugged. Father only said to come out and take a look.

Then let’s go look! she said, taking my arm as if we were adults and I was escorting her into a ball. Cornelia was twelve but she always acted years older than her actual age. She was small, shorter than me and John, and in another year Alex would be taller than her, too. Her cheeks were always rosy, her brown eyes twinkled at jokes and her black hair hung halfway down her back. She was the smartest in the family, except for maybe Father. She always got the best grades in school and tutored Lucius every afternoon. Since about the only job a smart woman could get in 1833 was to be a teacher, she said working with Lucius was good practice.

We walked carefully down the stairs in our clapboard house. By the time we stopped in the front hallway to put on our coats and winter shoes, all our brothers had caught up. Everyone was talking and pushing and pulling and laughing. We usually collided together like this each morning