The Gravesavers Read Online Free PDF Page A

But on the evening of March the eighth, 1873, our family’s destiny changed forever.

    Ashton-under-Lyne, 1873
    “Can’t we eat supper without him?” Thomas was three years older and a head taller than me. And whining like some big baby. “I’m starving,” he grumbled.
    Lovesick was more like it. Soon as he’d slopped up the last bit of supper, belched, brushed his teeth and combed his hair, he’d be off like some panting puppy. Lickety-split, up the road, two lanes over to a red-brick row house identical to ours he’d run, straight into the waiting arms of his girl, Rebecca. My big brother, a regular Romeo! Lot of bother, if you asked me. Then again, I was only twelve. According to Thomas, it was just a matter of time before I understood real passion.
Pa-shun.
Sounded to me like a rash you caught that made you itchy. Since he’d been seeing her, he was nothing but a pain and twitch.
    “Mum?”
    Our mother was peering out the window, lost in a heap of worry.
    “Where have you got to now, Patrick Hindley?” she muttered.
    “Mu-um?”
Thomas looked at me in exasperation. “Do you think she even hears me?”
    I shrugged.
    “I heard all right, and you know better. Eat supper without your father? Not in this house.”
    Thomas groaned and began drumming his fingers on the tabletop.
    “Let off!” I said. “I’m trying to write neat as I can.” He drummed louder and faster.
    Mum rapped his shoulder with the ladle. “For heaven’s sake, Tom, get up here and make yourself useful. Stir the stew!” She pushed him to the stove.
    When she turned back to the window he imitated her frown so perfectly I burst out laughing.
    “And what’s so funny?” she snapped at me.
    “Nothing, Mum. Sorry, Mum!”
    “Get your head back in those books, then, or you’ll be sorrier still whereonearthisthatman?”
    Sometimes Mum talked whole nights without taking a breath.
    “Ow!” It was Thomas.
    “Serves you right,” said Mum without even looking over her shoulder. “For making fun of your mother and sneaking a taste.”
    She really did have a second set of eyes in the back of her head.
    Thomas’s eyes watered with pain.
    “Oh poor Tom-tom,” I teased. “Maybe Becca will kiss it better.” I made loud smooching sounds. He looked ready to throttle me.
    “Back to the books,” Mum ordered, but giggled despite herself. “Thomas, your face is as red as thoseembers in the fire. And John, some fine day it’ll be you.”
    “Not likely,” I muttered.
    “The stew’s burning, I think. Maybe we should eat it?”
    Thomas was persistent; I’ll give him that.
    Mum shooed him away from the stove and he sat back down beside me.
    “Suppose Dad’s at the pub? We left the mill together and he
was
acting kind of strange,” he whispered.
    I shook my head. Our father was not a drinker. Besides, I knew where he was. But I’d been sworn to secrecy.
    “Then where could he be?” Thomas leaned in closer. “There’s been some trouble at the mill, you know. Talk of strikes.”
    “It’s okay, Tom. Really, it is,” I said.
    “You know where he’s got to, don’t you?”
    I nodded but held my finger up to my lips. “It’s a surprise,” I wrote out and slid the paper over to him.
    A thumping of feet at the door then, and Dad burst in the room like a gust of wind. He smelled like clean night air mixed with tobacco and ale. Mum sniffed the air suspiciously. She arched one eyebrow and put her hand on her hip.
    “He
has
been drinking,” hissed Thomas.
    Dad’s eyes were full of fun, his cheeks as red as if he’d just been slapped. When he took off his hat, his thick black hair stood on end like a rooster’s comb. Mumreached out, smoothed it down and smothered the urge to laugh. His voice blared like a trumpet.
    “Look, Mare, I did it! Look here, one-way tickets for us all!” He started to sing in his deep Irish off-key voice as he jigged towards her.
    Thomas sat bolt upright. “What’s that again?”
    Mum’s mouth opened in