Catherine Tudish, "A Thousand Souls: A Novel in Stories"

 

Catherine Tudish is the author of the novel American Cream and the story collection Tenney’s Landing. She has taught writing and literature at Harvard University, Dartmouth College, and the Bread Loaf School of English. She now lives in a village in central Vermont, where she teaches a community writing workshop at the local library.

About A Thousand Souls: A Novel in Stories, by Catherine Tudish
The fourteen stories of A Thousand Souls interweave the lives of three generations in the remote village of Neptune, Vermont, as they inevitably touch the outside world. Even as their loyalties and traditions are tested through times of loss, betrayal, and discovery, these characters embody an abiding connection to place. Sharply observed, wry, and deeply tender, these stories resonate with both the intricacy and cost of interconnection as the years pass, and ordinary lives take unexpected turns.

You can read more about A Thousand Souls on the publisher's website here. Below, you can read an excerpt from the title story. 

From A Thousand Souls

My name is Stewart Prime. I drive a rural mail route, which gives me a lot of time to think. Lately I’ve been thinking about how a tiny thing—a worn-out gear, say, or a word misspoken—can change a person’s life forever. It’s hardly a new topic with me. The turning point of my life came early, not long after my sixth birthday, when my mother and father and older brother Henry died in the collapse of a carnival Ferris wheel. They happened to be in the seat at the very top when things went wrong. Others were injured, but no one except my parents and my brother was killed. I was in the hospital at the time, recovering from a tonsillectomy. Henry had promised to win a prize for me at the pitching booth and bring it to my hospital room. I don’t know if he won a prize or not. They might have gone on the Ferris wheel before playing any of the games. 

*

For some time after the accident, I met my family in a dream. I would walk outside in the early morning to find my mother and father and brother waiting for me on the cool grass. The sun would be rising behind them, and in that gauzy light I could see they were angels with beautiful wings, like the angels in the church window. As I got closer to them, they would take off their wings and lay them gently on the ground.

“Why are you taking off your wings?” I would ask, fascinated by the pearly whiteness of the feathers.

“It’s the only way we can be with you, sweetheart,” my mother would say.

“We don’t mind,” Henry would add, casting a wistful glance behind him.

When my father smiled at me and opened his arms, I would know it was true. They had come back to me. I couldn’t help it, I cried for joy.

*

I must have been about nine when I understood, even while I was dreaming, that the angels were not real. My family was never coming back.