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Authors: Deborah Hopkinson
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TEN
The Coffin Men
A little while later, we saw the first coffin cart rolling toward us. It had come for Mr. Griggs.
Betsy and Bernie were with their mother. Dilly lay inside the shop, curled up in the shadows, almost as if she were waiting for Mr. Griggs to appear and take up his scissors and needle again. When she heard the horse and cart, she rushed to the doorway to bark at the men.
“Quiet, girl,” I ordered.
“Hold my horse’s head, will you, laddie?” asked one of the men, who had orange hair so like Nasty Ned’s I wondered if they were related. He was so cheerful it was hard to think of him as a coffin man.
The men lifted a wooden coffin out of the back of thecart. They carried it past us, and we could hear them struggling to get it up the stairs. They came stumbling back down a few minutes later. A shiver went through me as I watched them load the long box into the cart. You could tell it was heavier now.
“Poor Mr. Griggs,” Florrie said, tears filling her eyes. “He was the first, I guess.”
The man with the orange hair overheard her.
“This poor man might’ve been the first, but it won’t be long before we’re cartin’ folks off by the tens. We’re headed over to Peter Street now.” He climbed into the cart and took up the reins. “Word is that whole families were struck sick last night.”
“Might be hundreds before it’s over,” the other man remarked, scrambling up beside him. “Nasty business, especially in this heat. I’ll be sweatin’ like a—”
At that moment a girl came rushing toward us, waving her hands. “Wait!”
“What is it, lass?” asked the friendly driver.
“Come and take them away, will you, sir?” she begged, breathing hard. “My mum’s gone. My big sister too. Please, sir. Please come.”
I wondered how many people had been watching the coffin men from their windows. Even before the cart had turned the corner, more houses began to empty out. The cobblestonesrang with the trampling feet of wild-eyed mothers and fathers, hauling toddlers by the hand, with bulging pillowcases of clothes tossed over their backs.
“But where can they go?” said Florrie, stepping back into the tailor’s doorway so as not to get hit by a woman with a basket of bedding on her hip.
“Anywhere away from here.” I shrugged. “Maybe they have relatives or friends somewhere else in London, or even the countryside.”
“I’m not afraid to stay,” Florrie declared. “Are you, Eel?”
“Not me. I’m strong.” I tried to sound confident.
But Florrie’s face had gone white and she tapped her foot nervously. “I’d better head home, though. Mum will be worried.”
I watched her run off, her braids bumping against the thin fabric of her dress. “Florrie!”
She stopped and looked back at me.
“You be careful now, Florrie Baker,” I called. I wasn’t sure how to put the feeling I had into words. “Be careful, on account …”
My face turned red. Florrie grinned. “On account of we’re friends, silly.”
As she ran off, I said to myself, “Be careful ’cause you’re grand, Florrie Baker.”
The grandest girl I know
.
I stood alone, a small knot of fear in my stomach. No one was safe from the cholera. Not Florrie or the Griggses or the Lewises or Rev. Whitehead. Or me.
I wasn’t scared so much for myself. But if I got sick, what would happen to Henry?
But how did you stop the cholera from getting you? If it was poison in the air like everyone said, there was nothing I could do. We all had to breathe. And I’d been breathin’ the same air as Mr. Griggs.
It must be a matter of luck, then. Or something else. I had no idea. And looking at the folks streaming past me, I didn’t think anyone else did either.
A few minutes later, a man down the road waved to get my attention. “Here, boy! I’ll give you a penny if you help me load this cart I borrowed to take my family out of here.”
I sprinted over, glad of the money. Next Friday would come
The Coffin Men
A little while later, we saw the first coffin cart rolling toward us. It had come for Mr. Griggs.
Betsy and Bernie were with their mother. Dilly lay inside the shop, curled up in the shadows, almost as if she were waiting for Mr. Griggs to appear and take up his scissors and needle again. When she heard the horse and cart, she rushed to the doorway to bark at the men.
“Quiet, girl,” I ordered.
“Hold my horse’s head, will you, laddie?” asked one of the men, who had orange hair so like Nasty Ned’s I wondered if they were related. He was so cheerful it was hard to think of him as a coffin man.
The men lifted a wooden coffin out of the back of thecart. They carried it past us, and we could hear them struggling to get it up the stairs. They came stumbling back down a few minutes later. A shiver went through me as I watched them load the long box into the cart. You could tell it was heavier now.
“Poor Mr. Griggs,” Florrie said, tears filling her eyes. “He was the first, I guess.”
The man with the orange hair overheard her.
“This poor man might’ve been the first, but it won’t be long before we’re cartin’ folks off by the tens. We’re headed over to Peter Street now.” He climbed into the cart and took up the reins. “Word is that whole families were struck sick last night.”
“Might be hundreds before it’s over,” the other man remarked, scrambling up beside him. “Nasty business, especially in this heat. I’ll be sweatin’ like a—”
At that moment a girl came rushing toward us, waving her hands. “Wait!”
“What is it, lass?” asked the friendly driver.
“Come and take them away, will you, sir?” she begged, breathing hard. “My mum’s gone. My big sister too. Please, sir. Please come.”
I wondered how many people had been watching the coffin men from their windows. Even before the cart had turned the corner, more houses began to empty out. The cobblestonesrang with the trampling feet of wild-eyed mothers and fathers, hauling toddlers by the hand, with bulging pillowcases of clothes tossed over their backs.
“But where can they go?” said Florrie, stepping back into the tailor’s doorway so as not to get hit by a woman with a basket of bedding on her hip.
“Anywhere away from here.” I shrugged. “Maybe they have relatives or friends somewhere else in London, or even the countryside.”
“I’m not afraid to stay,” Florrie declared. “Are you, Eel?”
“Not me. I’m strong.” I tried to sound confident.
But Florrie’s face had gone white and she tapped her foot nervously. “I’d better head home, though. Mum will be worried.”
I watched her run off, her braids bumping against the thin fabric of her dress. “Florrie!”
She stopped and looked back at me.
“You be careful now, Florrie Baker,” I called. I wasn’t sure how to put the feeling I had into words. “Be careful, on account …”
My face turned red. Florrie grinned. “On account of we’re friends, silly.”
As she ran off, I said to myself, “Be careful ’cause you’re grand, Florrie Baker.”
The grandest girl I know
.
I stood alone, a small knot of fear in my stomach. No one was safe from the cholera. Not Florrie or the Griggses or the Lewises or Rev. Whitehead. Or me.
I wasn’t scared so much for myself. But if I got sick, what would happen to Henry?
But how did you stop the cholera from getting you? If it was poison in the air like everyone said, there was nothing I could do. We all had to breathe. And I’d been breathin’ the same air as Mr. Griggs.
It must be a matter of luck, then. Or something else. I had no idea. And looking at the folks streaming past me, I didn’t think anyone else did either.
A few minutes later, a man down the road waved to get my attention. “Here, boy! I’ll give you a penny if you help me load this cart I borrowed to take my family out of here.”
I sprinted over, glad of the money. Next Friday would come
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