Character Development Through Dialogue and Circumstances

In "real" life, how do we get to know people?

We spend time with them, and part of that time consists of conversation, in situations that feel natural and unstilted. We may or may not reflect on what we are observing and hearing, depending on the people involved and the unfolding events. That is what it means to "show" the reader and not "tell" them.

Consider the two excerpts from Before the Blood. One sets a plausible stage; the other provides the enlightenment.

   

  The following June brought bad news. Auntie Eleanor sent a telegram that Mama Prudie had suddenly died and insisted Lucetta and John be dispatched on the next train to New Haven. Abbott shared the news with John over breakfast the next morning.

   John choked, hastily set down his coffee, and slid the napkin from its porcelain ring.

   "You never told them?" John said, when he regained his breath.

   "No reason to tell them." Abbot sliced into his ham, raised a forkful to his mouth, noticed John's indignance, and lowered it again.

    "Fine, I did mention she was ill and under the care of New York's finest physicians." Abbott reached for the peppermill and gave his omelet a generous sprinkling. "Do you think me a scoundrel? I can't fix it; they can't fix it. It's kinder this way."

   "So I'm staying home?" John returned to his breakfast. Nurse had retired to her sister's Boston home early in the spring, so even that option was not available to him.

   "No, you're leaving tomorrow. Helsby will accompany you."

  (FYI: His tutor, Mr. Andrew Helsby from lower Manhattan, a foppish sort in corduroy jacket, well-coiffured tower of scented curls, and  homespun breeches tucked inside a sturdy set of boots...). 

   The next day, standing on the bustling terminal, John had to remind himself that the reason behind the journey was a grim one, so elated was he at freedom from Maestro's obsessive admonishments. Beside him, Helsby carried the lunch box in one hand, the large water jar in the other, and the morning edition of the New York Gazette under one arm.

   Gazing happily around him, Helsby puffed out his chest, inhaled deeply, and exclaimed, "What a perfect day for an excursion!"

   The locomotive responded with a loud hiss of steam. John glanced at his tutor. Helsby's eyes were dancing as they roamed about the platform. John couldn't understand such animation for a simple four-hour jaunt until a sudden thought came to him.

   "Ever ride on a train, Helsby?"

   Still smiling, Helsby bent close to John's ear.

   "Never." A giggle escaped Helsby lips, and he quickly masked it with a cough. "First time."

   "Well, man. pull yourself together," John whispered, looking around with a sharp eye. "It's undignified."

   But Helsby's fascination continued as they boarded the train. He bowed at everyone he passed and ran his hands over the chair fabrics once they had settled in their seats. They had barely left New York City when Helsby assumed the role of town crier.

   "Master John, listen to this. The attorney general has asked the treasury for accounts Brigham Young filed twelve years ago."

   John said nothing. He'd read that item in last night's evening edition.

   "Illegal trading with Indians, it seems." Helsby turned a page. "Railroad laborers are considering striking."

   John stifled an irritated sigh and turned his attention to the blurring tracks.

   "Wages cut again."

   "I heard."

   A rustling of paper, silence, and then Helsby's voice rang out, "Edison's done it again, invented a machine that talks."

   "I know."

   "Ah!

  

   He nudged John's shoulder and then held out the newspaper for John to see. Perplexed, John read, "Officials in Washington want to offer Sitting Bull immunity?"

   Helsby's face fell, and he impatiently tapped an advertisement.

   "This one," he said.

   John began again. "Grand concert by the celebrated Gilmore Brass Band. Every Sunday afternoon. Free admission.'" He pushed the newspaper away. "Who cares?"

   "I care. I can take my girl."

   The insult John was ready to level against the celebrated Gilmore and his Brass Band died on his lips. Domestics had a separate life outside their service to the household? The concept was one he had never fully considered. Stunned, John regarded his tutor with this fresh insight.

   "You have a girl, Helsby?

   "I do. And her father lets me see her every Sunday afternoon."

   "Well, good for you," John said with a short laugh. Imagine that. Helsby. In love. With a girl.

   "Thank you." Helsby turned another page. "'A Pictorial History of the World. Six hundred and seventy-two fine engravings.' How I long to own this book."

   "Why?"

   An image rose in John's mind of the library at home, a large room with thousands of titles. It had never occurred to John to actually buy a book. When he wanted one to read, he just walked to the west wing and selected one.

   "What do you mean, 'why?' I like to learn things. Don't you?"

   "I should think you'd want to abandon the schoolmaster's role for a spell."

   "It's not about a role. It's curiosity about the world. If I had the money, I'd send for a copy straight away."

   "So do it." John once again turned his attention to the window. "My father pays you generously."

   "I couldn't possibly, not in good conscience."

   "Why not?"

   "My pay goes to Mums. Father ran away six years ago, and she's not in good health."

   Stunned again, John faced Helsby. "You're supporting a family?"

   "Only until my younger brother is old enough for charity school. Then Mums will return to Rhode Island. She still has family there."

   "You say that so casually." John thought of Lucetta, alone in her chambers, talking to plants, and the fact that he would no longer take a trip under her care. "Won't you...?"

   "Miss her? Certainly, but it's preferable to her dying in a tenement."

   Truth, as John knew truth, was peeling back its layers to reveal another truth, stark and blunt. How astounding that beneath the worn clothes in the adjacent chair lived an actual man, one with hopes and dreams and longings and aspirations. John reflected on the financial empire Abbott had built and the musical one he was constructing. He couldn't imagine applying Herculean effort toward teaching.

  

   "But...tutoring? Why Helsby?"

   "The money, of course...and a natural aptitude for it, I suppose. Before working for your father, I actually served as headmaster for a small school in Cooperstown."

   Helsby folded the newspaper, slid it down the arm chair, and then reached for the lunch tin on the floor.

   "Well, I'm famished." Helsby opened the box and tipped it toward John. "Sandwich?"

Crest Hill studio teaches yoga to seniors

By Jeanne Millsap

Twists, contortions and magnificent feats of limbs is not just for the young. When modified, yoga possess great benefits for the over 50 crowd (like me!), too.

http://www.theherald-news.com/2014/08/15/crest-hill-studio-teaches-yoga-to-seniors/ac0guso/