Chapter 2

Felicity Joplin was hard at work in her attached kitchen, making several loaves of bread to share with the patients at the hospital where her husband, Dr. Wallace Joplin, worked. Alongside her, the housekeeper, Sadie, the daughter of a man Felicity’s own father had helped rescue along the Underground Railroad twenty years previously, helped prepare the dough. Even though Felicity could’ve left this task to the hired help, she enjoyed baking and often prepared the family meals herself.

“I’m just sayin’,” Sadie continued in her usual manner, “I think telling the boy so much about spooks at his age is gonna turn him soft, that’s all. He’s a’scared of everything.”

Felicity used the back of her hand to wipe a bead of sweat off of her brow. It was a nice spring day and the windows were open, but with the fire going, it was still hot in the kitchen. Sadie’s insistence that she was damaging her son’s psyche by telling him the truth also seemed to be raising her core temperature. “As I’ve explained,” Felicity began, attempting to keep her voice calm and even, “Wallace and I believe it is best for our children to know the truth as young as possible. Telling them untruths is no way to raise respectable citizens who value honesty and have high moral constitutions.”

“I ain’t saying lie to them,” Sadie continued, kneading a loaf with practiced hands, “but that boy is scared of his own shadow. And he’s got a mouth on him, too. He’s likely already told half his Sunday school class about his uncle who can’t die and things that go bump in the night.”

A soft chuckle escaped Felicity’s lips. “I doubt that. James and Marjorie have both been instructed to keep our family secrets to themselves. I don’t think he’s told anyone.”

“Hmmm,” Sadie replied, and Felicity braced herself for a story that would prove her wrong. “I was down at the market t’other day and ran into Hallie—she works for the Thrashers, over on Beacon.”

“Yes, I know,” Felicity assured her, adding some flour to the loaf she was working on.

“She told me the little Thrasher boy came back from church tellin’ his whole family about the insides of a chicken—all the parts and what they do. Said your boy was tellin’ the whole world all about dissecting that chicken Dr. Joplin butchered. Your boy is a talker, Mrs.”

The image of James’s excited face as her husband had walked him through the internal workings of the fowl came to mind, and Felicity couldn’t help but smile. As good of a physician as her husband was, she was certain her son would be even more talented. He took such interest in learning about anatomy and all other areas of science.

Her memories momentarily took her away from the kitchen, and it wasn’t until Sadie cleared her throat that she realized she hadn’t replied. “Telling his friends about an exciting scientific discovery isn’t the same as spreading information we’ve assured him needs to stay secret.”

“Well, all I know is, he’s woken me up every night since you told him makin’ a fuss about shadows and noises outside of his window.”

Felicity’s eyebrows raised as she looked at Sadie, the bread momentarily forgotten. “I wasn’t aware of that.”

“Yes’m. I tell him it ain’t nothin’ to be a’feared of, but I don’t think he believes me.”

Inhaling deeply, Felicity digested this new information. Sadie had been against telling the children the truth all along, but when Marjorie had asked why Uncle Culpepper looked as young now as he did in his portrait dated 1852, she and Wallace had decided to be forthcoming with their daughter, who was nearly eleven. It wasn’t long before they determined James needed to know the truth as well, even though he was only six. They thought they could explain things in a way that would make him understand he was in no danger, but that their family was different, special.

After a lengthy pause, Felicity said, “I will speak to James when he gets home. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Umm hmm,” Sadie replied, but Felicity knew that sound well enough. Her friend and hired help was not agreeing with her.

The women continued with their task in silence for a few moments, and Felicity reflected on Sadie’s words, wondering what she might say to James to calm his fear. He was a young boy, and most of them were prone to vivid imaginations. Her child was no exception. Surely, another assurance by his parents that there was nothing to be afraid of would put his nightmares to rest. She resolved to speak to Wallace about it as soon as he got home.

The thought had only just formulated when the back door came bursting open. Sadie nearly dropped the bread pan she was placing over the fire, and the scoop of flour Felicity had been about to pour into the loaf she was making ended up on the counter.

“Mother!” James shouted, slamming the door behind him and securing the latch. “Mother, help! I’ve seen one of them!” he proclaimed, rushing across the room and ramming his head into her flour-covered apron.

“James, calm down,” Felicity insisted, prying him off of her so that she could stoop to his level. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“On the way back from Timmy’s house! I saw one of them, lurking in the alleyway, down the street, near Mrs. O’Neal’s place.”

“Saw one of what?” Felicity asked, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what he had to say.

“You know, Mother. A Vampire! It was standing in the shadows, making a menacing face at me. I saw it’s long, sharp teeth, Mother!”

Before Felicity could even begin to comfort her frantic child, a peel of laughter rang through the air from the direction of the adjoining dining room. “Jamie!” Marjorie, Felicity’s oldest child, called. “You can’t be serious! You don’t actually think you saw a Vampire in broad daylight on Chestnut Street, do you?”

James pulled himself out of Felicity’s arms and turned to face his newest assailant. “It wasn’t on the street, Largey Margie! It was down the alley. And yes, I did see it you old, fat sow!”

“James!” Felicity scolded. “We do not call each other names in this household.”

“She’s always calling me names!” he retorted. “Like sissy pants and baby Jamie.”

“You are a baby,” Marjorie continued, crossing her arms. “You’re frightened of your own shadow.”

“Am not!” James shouted back, though the look on his face seemed to show otherwise.

Before he could call his sister another name, Felicity stood. “Marjorie—go finish your schoolwork. Where is your governess?”

The sound of rushed footsteps on the stairs answered that question, as Ms. Whipple came down in a hurry, likely to investigate the noise. “Miss Marjorie, I said you may come to the kitchen for a piece of fruit and a drink, not to upset the entire household.”

Marjorie uncrossed her arms and clasped them behind her back at the stern voice of her governess before the middle-aged woman with the sharp nose even appeared from the stairwell. “Yes, Ms. Whipple,” Marjorie replied, any trace of insolence gone from her voice.

“Go along then,” Ms. Whipple insisted, jabbing a finger in the direction of the kitchen. Marjorie obliged immediately, her downcast eyes not daring glimpse her brother or her mother, and Felicity kept her arms wrapped around James who was fighting tears.