take my hand... (backstory)
Feb. 13th, 2017 11:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deaths_head"She's a very nice girl, my Sara Lee."
Thirty year old Josiah Cole smiled softly, never looking up from his work as the quiet drawl of sweet old Mrs. Porter filled his ears.
"Reckon she is, ma'am."
"Don't sass me, Josiah Cole: I caught you lookin'."
Josiah rolled his lips together, focusing a little harder on the rigid limb he was busy kneading with a strong, sure touch so he could fold it into place. Irish skin went red, especially around the ears, as he failed to hide his blush.
"I meant no offense, ma'am. Didn't realize you was there, else I'd have minded myself." He paused, then looked up from his work to the stately old woman who stood across from him. "But she is a very nice girl...and I don't just mean that sweet face or big blue eyes of hers."
Mrs. Porter scowled at him, but it lasted all of a minute before she dissolved into friendly chuckles. "Well, I can hardly do much about it, approval or not, can I?"
Josiah smiled, but his heart ached as he looked away from Mrs. Porter, and back to the corpse that lay on his table, naked as a newborn and set into rigor once again.
Even in all the indignities of death, Mrs. Porter was still a handsome woman.
"I still don't think it's right, you bein' here for the embalming." he warned while he continued to work at the muscles of Mrs. Porter's body, breaking the stiffness of death so he could manipulate her into place for the procedure, and later for the dressing. "There ain't a thing about this that's pretty, and I don't care to upset you, ma'am."
Mrs. Porter huffed at him, waving off his concern with one hand. "It's fine, Josiah. Don't mind an old ghost--truthfully, I feel precious little connection to it at all. It's...not all that different from a worn out old dress, far past mending. I don't need it anymore, you're doing this for Sara Lee and her husband. I could give two hoots 'bout that old thing."
Glancing up, Josiah's clear grey eyes sparkled with mirth as he shot her a look of mock incredulity. "Mrs. Porter! The mouth on you, and here I thought you were a lady."
"Boy, hush your mouth and get some clothes on my sorry carcass! I may not care about it anymore, but I'm gettin' sympathetic chills just lookin' at the poor dear..."
With a laugh, Josiah returned to the task of breaking through the rigor mortis so he could work with the corpse in front of him.
"So how come, Josiah Cole?"
"Beg pardon?"
"How come you never came to call on my Sara Lee? Before she married Howard Leary's boy, I mean. You been sweet on her since before your momma and daddy died, God rest 'em. A mother knows--and I talked it over a time or two with Katherine, bless your sweet momma's heart. We always thought you two would be the most handsome couple. She's a tall girl, and strong, and you bein' such a rugged thing...babies with her blonde hair and your grey eyes, oh they would have been gorgeous..."
Josiah worked the arm beneath his hands just a touch harder, testing the muscles as they slowly yielded, letting him bend the arm at the angle he needed to start embalming. "Sara Lee Porter was always kind to me, even when folks looked at me sideways, it's true. Your daughter, she..." He trailed off, losing himself a little in thinking about her: pigtails and freckles, sharing sweets with him and baby Zeke when they were small, milk and honey complexion when she was grown and asking him to sit next to her at Sunday services.
"Howard Leary makes a good, honest living with his work." Josiah explained after a long moment and a wistful sigh. "Silversmith's make decent wage, and there's respect there. Sara Lee...when I look at her, it's like I'm standing in the sun, and when she smiles at me or says good mornin'..."
It made him feel bright and warm inside. It made him forget the ghosts, like sweet Mrs. Porter, who came to call over his embalming table, or the dark dreams that compelled him to visit those just before their time, to talk with some delicacy around their affairs so he could help when the end came just a few short days later.
He finally shook his head, resting the corpse's arm on the table and looking up at Mrs. Porter's spirit.
"She made me forget I'm an undertaker's son, ma'am...and I'd do her a disservice if I let myself forget that." he replied simply. "She lives in the light, and I live in the dark. She ain't made for my world."
"Love remakes folks, boy." Mrs. Porter huffed, circling around to stand before him. "You love someone enough, you can be reborn. And life in a graveyard is still a life, you know! It may seem strange or unseemly to some, but I sit here watchin' you with my sorry hide, and bein' so sweet and respectful--I'm sure other souls have come here and been grateful for that respect."
Josiah lowered his gaze, and a moment later ice touched his cheek, urging his head upwards. Mrs. Porter's hand was nothing he could feel, only chill as her spectral skin met his. She was long dead, but the kindness and affection in her features threatened to shatter him.
"Some would say the devil got hold of you for talking to the dead and knowing when the end comes, Josiah Cole, but you mind an old woman: the greatest gift I ever got was the visit you paid me, warning of the rain. I got to see Sara Lee before my heart gave out thanks to you...I used the time I had left wisely, and I died easier for it. Else I'd have stayed home and that storm would have kept me in for the rest of the week I had...you may be an angel of death, but you are no less an angel. Never you forget that, you sweet young man."
Josiah shut his eyes, throat closing up with emotion as he tipped his head into the chill against his skin. Impulsively, he reached up to clasp that spectral hand...
And marveled when he felt skin under his fingers--cold, waxy, but very much real.
"Souls that linger here in my parlor...they're always afraid of the light outside." he rasped, pausing to clear his throat and compose himself as he slowly let her go and looked her in the eye again. "I always tell 'em, and I'll tell you, ma'am...you ought not be scared. You go to the light, you go to your reward."
Mrs. Porter smiled, then sniffed dismissively. "I'm not afraid--too old for that. No, I think I'll stay. Wait here until a nice young man can escort me proper. Otherwise, what would people think? An unchaperoned woman, strollin' around on her own like that! What kind of hussy do you take me for, Josiah Cole..."
That got a smile and a laugh out of him, and with a chill swat against his backside, he let the ghost of the old woman herd him back to his work for a few hours. He embalmed her, washed the body, dressed her in her Sunday finery and tucked her neatly into the casket that would be her new home, and he did it all with her motherly approval.
Only then did he realize that a few hours had turned into a day and a half, and that it was storming outside. Thunder, lightning, and a howling wind blew open his shutters when he returned to the portion of the parlor that was his home.
And it was only when he moved to shut them again that he saw the man walking towards his door, his silhouette as tall and as broad as Josiah's.
A man with hair as red as blood...as red as Josiah's own.
Thirty year old Josiah Cole smiled softly, never looking up from his work as the quiet drawl of sweet old Mrs. Porter filled his ears.
"Reckon she is, ma'am."
"Don't sass me, Josiah Cole: I caught you lookin'."
Josiah rolled his lips together, focusing a little harder on the rigid limb he was busy kneading with a strong, sure touch so he could fold it into place. Irish skin went red, especially around the ears, as he failed to hide his blush.
"I meant no offense, ma'am. Didn't realize you was there, else I'd have minded myself." He paused, then looked up from his work to the stately old woman who stood across from him. "But she is a very nice girl...and I don't just mean that sweet face or big blue eyes of hers."
Mrs. Porter scowled at him, but it lasted all of a minute before she dissolved into friendly chuckles. "Well, I can hardly do much about it, approval or not, can I?"
Josiah smiled, but his heart ached as he looked away from Mrs. Porter, and back to the corpse that lay on his table, naked as a newborn and set into rigor once again.
Even in all the indignities of death, Mrs. Porter was still a handsome woman.
"I still don't think it's right, you bein' here for the embalming." he warned while he continued to work at the muscles of Mrs. Porter's body, breaking the stiffness of death so he could manipulate her into place for the procedure, and later for the dressing. "There ain't a thing about this that's pretty, and I don't care to upset you, ma'am."
Mrs. Porter huffed at him, waving off his concern with one hand. "It's fine, Josiah. Don't mind an old ghost--truthfully, I feel precious little connection to it at all. It's...not all that different from a worn out old dress, far past mending. I don't need it anymore, you're doing this for Sara Lee and her husband. I could give two hoots 'bout that old thing."
Glancing up, Josiah's clear grey eyes sparkled with mirth as he shot her a look of mock incredulity. "Mrs. Porter! The mouth on you, and here I thought you were a lady."
"Boy, hush your mouth and get some clothes on my sorry carcass! I may not care about it anymore, but I'm gettin' sympathetic chills just lookin' at the poor dear..."
With a laugh, Josiah returned to the task of breaking through the rigor mortis so he could work with the corpse in front of him.
"So how come, Josiah Cole?"
"Beg pardon?"
"How come you never came to call on my Sara Lee? Before she married Howard Leary's boy, I mean. You been sweet on her since before your momma and daddy died, God rest 'em. A mother knows--and I talked it over a time or two with Katherine, bless your sweet momma's heart. We always thought you two would be the most handsome couple. She's a tall girl, and strong, and you bein' such a rugged thing...babies with her blonde hair and your grey eyes, oh they would have been gorgeous..."
Josiah worked the arm beneath his hands just a touch harder, testing the muscles as they slowly yielded, letting him bend the arm at the angle he needed to start embalming. "Sara Lee Porter was always kind to me, even when folks looked at me sideways, it's true. Your daughter, she..." He trailed off, losing himself a little in thinking about her: pigtails and freckles, sharing sweets with him and baby Zeke when they were small, milk and honey complexion when she was grown and asking him to sit next to her at Sunday services.
"Howard Leary makes a good, honest living with his work." Josiah explained after a long moment and a wistful sigh. "Silversmith's make decent wage, and there's respect there. Sara Lee...when I look at her, it's like I'm standing in the sun, and when she smiles at me or says good mornin'..."
It made him feel bright and warm inside. It made him forget the ghosts, like sweet Mrs. Porter, who came to call over his embalming table, or the dark dreams that compelled him to visit those just before their time, to talk with some delicacy around their affairs so he could help when the end came just a few short days later.
He finally shook his head, resting the corpse's arm on the table and looking up at Mrs. Porter's spirit.
"She made me forget I'm an undertaker's son, ma'am...and I'd do her a disservice if I let myself forget that." he replied simply. "She lives in the light, and I live in the dark. She ain't made for my world."
"Love remakes folks, boy." Mrs. Porter huffed, circling around to stand before him. "You love someone enough, you can be reborn. And life in a graveyard is still a life, you know! It may seem strange or unseemly to some, but I sit here watchin' you with my sorry hide, and bein' so sweet and respectful--I'm sure other souls have come here and been grateful for that respect."
Josiah lowered his gaze, and a moment later ice touched his cheek, urging his head upwards. Mrs. Porter's hand was nothing he could feel, only chill as her spectral skin met his. She was long dead, but the kindness and affection in her features threatened to shatter him.
"Some would say the devil got hold of you for talking to the dead and knowing when the end comes, Josiah Cole, but you mind an old woman: the greatest gift I ever got was the visit you paid me, warning of the rain. I got to see Sara Lee before my heart gave out thanks to you...I used the time I had left wisely, and I died easier for it. Else I'd have stayed home and that storm would have kept me in for the rest of the week I had...you may be an angel of death, but you are no less an angel. Never you forget that, you sweet young man."
Josiah shut his eyes, throat closing up with emotion as he tipped his head into the chill against his skin. Impulsively, he reached up to clasp that spectral hand...
And marveled when he felt skin under his fingers--cold, waxy, but very much real.
"Souls that linger here in my parlor...they're always afraid of the light outside." he rasped, pausing to clear his throat and compose himself as he slowly let her go and looked her in the eye again. "I always tell 'em, and I'll tell you, ma'am...you ought not be scared. You go to the light, you go to your reward."
Mrs. Porter smiled, then sniffed dismissively. "I'm not afraid--too old for that. No, I think I'll stay. Wait here until a nice young man can escort me proper. Otherwise, what would people think? An unchaperoned woman, strollin' around on her own like that! What kind of hussy do you take me for, Josiah Cole..."
That got a smile and a laugh out of him, and with a chill swat against his backside, he let the ghost of the old woman herd him back to his work for a few hours. He embalmed her, washed the body, dressed her in her Sunday finery and tucked her neatly into the casket that would be her new home, and he did it all with her motherly approval.
Only then did he realize that a few hours had turned into a day and a half, and that it was storming outside. Thunder, lightning, and a howling wind blew open his shutters when he returned to the portion of the parlor that was his home.
And it was only when he moved to shut them again that he saw the man walking towards his door, his silhouette as tall and as broad as Josiah's.
A man with hair as red as blood...as red as Josiah's own.
