About the Book
The dead won’t bother you
if you don’t give them permission.
Boston, 1844.
Tabby has a peculiar gift: she can communicate with the recently departed. It makes her special, but it also makes her dangerous.
As an orphaned child, she fled with her sister, Alice, from their charlatan aunt Bellefonte, who wanted only to exploit Tabby’s gift so she could profit from the recent craze for seances.
Now a young woman and tragically separated from Alice, Tabby works with her adopted father, Eli, the kind caretaker of a large Boston cemetery. When a series of macabre grave robberies begins to plague the city, Tabby is ensnared in a deadly plot by the perpetrators, known only as the “Resurrection Men.”
In the end, Tabby’s gift will either save both her and the cemetery—or bring about her own destruction.
Boston, 1844.
Tabby has a peculiar gift: she can communicate with the recently departed. It makes her special, but it also makes her dangerous.
As an orphaned child, she fled with her sister, Alice, from their charlatan aunt Bellefonte, who wanted only to exploit Tabby’s gift so she could profit from the recent craze for seances.
Now a young woman and tragically separated from Alice, Tabby works with her adopted father, Eli, the kind caretaker of a large Boston cemetery. When a series of macabre grave robberies begins to plague the city, Tabby is ensnared in a deadly plot by the perpetrators, known only as the “Resurrection Men.”
In the end, Tabby’s gift will either save both her and the cemetery—or bring about her own destruction.
About the Author
Hester Fox is a full-time writer and
mother, with a background in museum work and historical archaeology. Most
weekends you can find Hester exploring one of the many historic cemeteries in
the area, browsing bookshops, or enjoying a seasonal latte while writing at a
café. She lives outside of Boston with her husband and their son.
Author Links
Author Website: http://hesterfox.com/
Twitter: @HesterBFox
Instagram: @trotfoxwrite
My Thoughts
The Orphan of Cemetery Hill by Hester Fox takes readers back to Boston in 1844 where Tabby Cooke (12) has run
away with her sister, Alice from Amherst.
Their aunt and uncle have been taking advantage of their powers and
treating them terribly. The girls could
not take it any longer and escaped to Boston.
Alice tells Tabby to stay on the church steps while she searches for
lodgings. Unfortunately, Alice does not
return, and Tabby seeks sanctuary in a cemetery. Tabby can communicate of the dead which is
something she does not intend to tell a soul.
While hiding in the cemetery, Tabby witnesses two men stealing the newly
buried. One night a gentleman stumbles
in and needs help with a wound while he hides from someone to whom he owes funds. Tabby helps him and wonders if she will ever
see the gentleman again. Eli, the
cemetery caretaker, takes in Tabby and she helps him with his chores. Twelve years later, Tabby is watching a
burial and there is the man again. Caleb
Bishop is burying his father and the weight of his new responsibilities weigh
heavy on his shoulders. He finds himself
captivated by Tabby and she finds herself wanting to assist him with a
problem. That means, though, using her
gift and trusting Caleb with her secret. Trouble is on the horizon and Tabby’s gift
will either save her or be her undoing.
Excerpt
Boston, 1844
Tabby’s legs
ached and the wind had long since snatched her flimsy bonnet away, but she kept
running through the night, her thin leather shoes pounding the cobbled Boston
streets. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to get
somewhere safe, somewhere away from the bustling theaters and crowds of the
city. Every time someone shouted at her to watch where she was going, or ask if
she was lost, she was sure that they were one of her aunt and uncle’s friends.
Would they drag her kicking and screaming back to Amherst? Tabby shuddered. She
wouldn’t go back. She couldn’t.
Her weary feet
carried her up a hill lined with narrow houses, and gradually she left behind
the streets choked with theatergoers and artificially brightened with gas
lamps. After cresting the hill, she paused just long enough to catch her breath
and survey her unfamiliar surroundings.
It was quieter
here, the only sounds the groaning of ships in the harbor and the distant call
of a fruit hawker trying to sell off the last of the day’s soft apples. Going
back down into the heart of the city wasn’t an option, yet a wrought-iron gate
blocked her way any farther, forbidding pikes piercing the night sky. Pale
headstones glowed faintly in the moonlight beyond the gate. A cemetery.
Tabby stood
teetering, her heart still pounding. Dry weeds rustled in the thin night
breeze, whispering what might have been a welcome, or a warning. Behind her was
the land of the living with house windows glowing smugly yellow, the promise of
families tucked safe inside. In front of her lay the land of the dead. One of
those worlds was as familiar to her as the back of her hand, the other was only
a distant fairy tale. Taking a deep breath, she shimmied through the gap in the
gate.
She waded
through the overgrown grass and weeds, thorny branches snagging at her thin
dimity dress and scratching her. Panic gripped her as she heard the hem tear
clean away; what would Aunt Bellefonte say if she found that Tabby had ruined
her only frock? Would she smack her across her cheek? Would Uncle lock her in
the little cupboard in the eaves? Aunt Bellefonte isn’t here. You’re safe,
she reminded herself. As she pulled away to free herself, her foot caught in a
tangle of roots in a sunken grave bed and she went sprawling into the dirt. Her
lip wobbled and tears threatened to overflow. She was almost twelve years old,
yet she felt as small and adrift as the day she’d learned that her parents had
perished in a carriage accident and would never step through the front door
again.
This wasn’t how her first day of freedom was
supposed to be. Her sister, Alice, had planned their escape from Amherst last
week, promising Tabby that they would get a little room in a boarding house in
the city. Alice would get a job at a laundry and Tabby would take in mending to
contribute to their room and board. They would be their own little family, and
they would put behind them the trauma that their aunt and uncle had wrought,
making a new life for themselves. That had been the plan, anyway.
When she and
Alice had arrived in the city earlier that day, her older sister had sat her
down on the steps of a church and told her to wait while she went and inquired
about lodgings. Tabby had dutifully waited for what had felt like hours, but
Alice never returned. The September evening had turned dark and cold, and Tabby
had resolved to simply wrap her shawl tighter and wait. But then a man with
red-rimmed eyes and a foul-smelling old coat had stumbled up the steps, heading
right toward her. Tabby had taken one look at him and bolted, sure that he had
dark designs on her. She had soon become lost and, in a city jumbled with old
churches, hadn’t been able to find the right one again.
Another thorn
snagged her, pricking her finger and drawing blood. She should have taken
shelter in the church; at least then she would have a roof over her head. At
least then Alice would know where to find her when she came back. If she came
back.
Tabby stopped
short. Toward the back of the cemetery, amongst the crooked graves of
Revolutionary heroes, stood a row of crypts built into the earth. Most of them
were sealed up with iron doors and bolts, but one had a gate that stood just
enough ajar for a small, malnourished girl to wriggle through.
Holding her
breath against the damp musk, Tabby plunged inside. Without any sort of light,
she had to painstakingly feel her way down the crude stone steps. Lower into
the earth she descended until she reached the burial chamber.
Don’t invite them in. As she groped around
in the dark for a resting place, Tabby tried to remember what her mother had
always told her. Memories of her mother were few and far between, but her words
concerning Tabby’s ability remained as sharp in her mind as words etched with a
diamond upon glass. The dead won’t bother you if you don’t give them
permission, if you don’t make yourself a willing receptacle for their messages.
At least, that was how it was supposed to work.
The only other
thing she had learned regarding her gift was that she should never, ever tell
anyone of it, and the lesson had been a hard one. She couldn’t have been more
than six, because her parents had still been alive and had sent her out to the
orchard to collect the fallen apples for cider. Their neighbor, little Beth
Bunn, had been there, picking wild asters, but she hadn’t been alone; there was
a little boy Tabby had never seen before, watching the girls with serious eyes
from a branch in an apple tree. Tabby had asked Beth who he was, but Beth
insisted she didn’t know what Tabby was talking about. Certain that Beth was
playing some sort of trick on her, Tabby grew upset and nearly started crying as
she described the little boy with blond hair and big green eyes. “Oh,” Beth
said, looking at her askance. “Do you mean to say you see Ollie Pickett? He
used to live here, but he’s been dead for three years.” That was how Tabby
learned that not everyone saw the people she saw around her. A week later she
had been playing in the churchyard and noticed that all the other children were
clustered at the far end, whispering and pointing at her. “Curious Tabby,” they
had called her. And that was how Tabby learned that she could never tell
a soul about her strange and frightening ability.
But even in a place so filled with death, the
dead did not bother Tabby that night. With a dirt floor for her bed and the
skittering of insects for her lullaby, Tabby pulled her knees up to her chest
and allowed the tears she’d held in all day to finally pour out. She was lost,
scared, and without her sister, utterly alone in the world.
Are you ready to read The Orphan of Cemetery Hill? The Orphan of Cemetery Hill is available from Amazon, Harlequin, Indiebound, Barnes & Noble, Books-A-Million, Walmart, Google, iBooks, and Kobo. You can find Hester Fox's other novels here. Thank you for joining me today. Tomorrow I featuring Chance of a Lifetime by Jude Deveraux and Tara Sheets. I hope that you have a perky day. Take care, stay safe, and Happy Reading!
Kris
The Avid Reader
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