The House On the Hill

Chapter 1: Ben

                                                                                        Chapter 1

                                                                    Oxford, England  September 2, 1887

             I strolled down the busy street, taking in the sight of locals out to do their Sunday shopping when it happened. Mr. Thomas Fields ran down the street as fast as his stubby little legs, who have seen a library chair more often than a running track, could carry him. His sandpaper voice calling out my name:

"Dr. Lacy!"

I turned around at the sound of my name.

"Dr. Lacy! Dr. Lacy!"

"Thomas old boy!" I exclaimed as his pudgy frame grew ever closer, "Lacy is the name my patients  use. Please, call me James." I chucked a bit at the sight of him trotting toward me and as he skidded to a stop in front of me, I guided our local postmaster, and my personal friend, to a bench nearby so he could catch his breath. I couldn't help but laugh inspite of myself.

"Thomas, my friend!" I was finally able to get out. "Why in the world are you running down Broad Street in the middle of the day?" But, my laughter died away as Thomas's bright red tomato of a face turned as stone cold as a tombstone. "Thomas, what is wrong?"

"A telegraph came in today." he said, still a little out of breath "It was urgent and it is about Ben."

All humor died away at once. Ben was my grandfather, Benjamin Lacy, and he had come down with pneumonia five days ago. Things had not been looking well for him lately.

"I am sorry James," Thomas said, placing his hand on my shoulder. "He is gone."

I was overcome with grief. Ben has been my favorite relative since I was three. He has showed me the world through books and even took me on small "adventures" when I was little. Ben encouraged me to get out there and do what I wanted to do. If I wanted to abandon my family's wealth and start a new life on a small farm, he would be right there, helping me pick out a good crop. Ben was my world when I was small. I would spend summer after summer at his manor in Carterton, exploring the surrounding woodlands and fields. But, he also encouraged me to learn and explore the world of words. I spent hours in my grandfather's library, listening to Ben's voice read me into worlds of magic, adventure, and mystery. Ben was 50 years old.

"Your father sent you instructions," Thomas went on, "He wants you to go out to Carterton for Ben's funeral on the 7th."

I was not sure what to say. My heart ached and felt as it a piece had been torn out. I looked up at Thomas, my friend from childhood, and was thankful not to have to go through this alone.

"Thomas old boy, when does the first  train to Caterton leave?"