Afterword
One of my inspirations for this novel is a story my mother told me. In the fall of 1918, when she was twelve years old, the Spanish Influenza came to America. Before the flu ran its course in the spring of 1919, more than thirty million people had died worldwide. People likened the flu to the bubonic plague. Some thought the world’s entire population would be wiped out.
In Boston, New York, and Philadelphia, people died by the thousands. There was no cure. Coffins were in short supply. Bodies were stacked in morgues waiting for burial. Streets were clogged with horse-drawn hearses. Funeral bells rang all day. Schools closed, department stores closed, theaters closed. It was unlawful to spit in the street. Handkerchiefs were required. Although flu masks did not prevent the flu’s transmission, many people wore them anyway.
When World War I ended on November 11, 1918, soldiers and sailors brought an even more virulent strain of flu home with them.
My mother and her friends lived in Baltimore. That fall, they walked past many houses with black funeral wreaths on their doors. A wreath announced an occupant’s death. At that time, most families kept their dead at home for a few days before they were taken away for the funeral and burial. The coffin and its occupant were on display in the parlor. Friends and relatives visited to express their condolences. The family provided refreshments.
One of my mother’s friends came up with the brilliant idea of posing as acquaintances of the dead, visiting the home to express sorrow, and then partaking of the refreshments. Free cake. Free candy. Free punch. Although my mother was afraid of seeing a dead person, she went along with her friends and ate her share of sweets.
Then came the day the girls looked into a coffin and were horrified to see one of their classmates. They hadn’t known she’d died. That was the end of the visitations and the free sweets.
In 1919, my mother herself came down with the Spanish Influenza. She became ill on a streetcar ride with her mother and father. By the time she got home, she had a high fever. She spent several weeks in bed, and when she recovered, she was thin and weak, too tired to do anything. To build up her strength, her parents took her to Pen Mar, a resort near the Maryland–Pennsylvania border, where she spent the summer convalescing. By August, she’d regained her energy and strength, and came home eager to see her friends.
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About the Author
MARY DOWNING HAHN is the author of thirty-five novels, including the best-selling ghost stories Wait Till Helen Comes, The Old Willis Place, and most recently Took. Her books are wildly popular and have received more than fifty child-voted state awards. One for Sorrow was inspired by stories about her mother’s childhood at the time of the Spanish flu pandemic during World War I.
Mary lives in Columbia, Maryland.
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One for Sorrow Page 19
