Jeremiah Suggs: A Short Story

Jeremiah Suggs, like any respectable man of the little village known as St Giles, was a God-fearing citizen. Every morning he would rise and say a prayer to the Lord thanking him for not being taken by the devil in the night, before breaking his fast. Three times a week he would visit the village church, take his communion every Sunday and confess to his sins. But as a very noble and good man the only sin that Jeremiah had recently to confess to was that of eating an extra rasher of bacon, instead of sharing it with his wife, as he believed he had fallen to the sin of gluttony. A mere momentary lapse! Do not worry fair Jeremiah for we the reader can forgive you this mishap.

To see the man, you would only assume of him to be ordinary, in fact, ordinary to say of his social standing. By no means was he poor, nor was he rich, simply middling of comfort and not wanting. Jeremiah, as custom to him, preferred to wear modest clothing. A pair of black trousers with a leather belt that had a silver buckle and silver raven’s beak at the tip, he wore a tailored white shirt with a smart black tie and (would you believe it!) an emerald green waistcoat. Emerald green, of all the colours one could choose, how obnoxious! Befitting to the times he kept a neatly parted head of dark brown hair, the colour of mahogany and a well-trimmed moustache. Needless to say, Jeremiah was a prim and proper sort and even had the finest leather boots to prove it.

He was well known and well liked in the village. Every day on his way to work he would stop at the bakery and pick up his pre-arranged sandwich from Mr Jones, it was the same every day, a ham and cheese sandwich with some lettuce and a glass bottle of Mrs Jones’ sarsaparilla (it’s quite a popular drink in America she would have you know). From there he would buy a newspaper from the local boy who sold them on the street so that he could read it with his lunch. “Good morning, Mr Suggs.” And “Good day!” would his fellow villagers hail in passing. As you may be aware, it is customary in these small communities for everyone to know one another and to know those things of one another that one should wish the others not to know. Such is the way of village life, each a miniature state of its own where even a person from the next town along could be viewed as an untrustworthy outsider.

In the centre of the village, next door to the local police constabulary building, is the place where our protagonist works. It is a charming little building almost worthy of being called a townhouse, with two floors and cellar, fine red bricks and a small staircase leading to the black entrance door, upon which was gilded in gold the inscription “Suggs & Sons”. The business, run by Jeremiah since the passing of his father a few years ago, has been in the little village of St Giles for three generations now. Passed down from father to son since 1767. It had become quite the prominent feature of life in this quaint little village.

Of course, it is worth stating at this point that Jeremiah is the village mortician. And such a small village only requires the services of one mortician, it may seem absurd to say it, but the Suggs family had successfully managed to monopolise death.

Upon entering the building, Jeremiah, like every other morning, was greeted by Mrs Marsh. Mrs Marsh is quite a lovely young lady with long golden hair, which she always tied back, and a wit as sharp as a knife edge.

“Good morning, Mr Suggs. How are you today?”

“Quite alright, Evelyn, and how are you?” responded Jeremiah while placing his hat on the stand next to the door.

“Very well, thank you. Mr Suggs, there is a young lady waiting for you downstairs.” Flicking her pen in the direction of the hallway Mrs Marsh continued with her morning duties.

“Good heavens, how long has she been waiting?” Exclaimed Jeremiah while he quickly began to gather his paperwork from the desk at which Evelyn was sat.

“Maybe an hour now, Mr Porter brought her over this morning.”

“Ah, I suppose she’s come to fill the vacancy left by old Mr Brown. Well, I shan’t keep her waiting a moment longer then.” And with a wry smile, Jeremiah made his way down the hallway and to the door leading to the cellar.

“Oh, Mr Suggs, you cad!” Chuckled Mrs Marsh as she continued with her forms and files.

The stairway leading to the cellar was as you would expect; cold, dark and possessing of that quality one could only describe as unsettling. Although Jeremiah had tried his best to make the upstairs of his business look as pleasant and comforting to anyone as humanly possible, considering the nature of the business, one could only do so much to make the heart of the place comforting. Which to say, is nothing at all. The mortuary is an icy place, with rows of storage units for the bodies of the deceased along the back wall, a few tables in the centre of the room, wash basin and cabinets of tools and chemicals along the right hand-side and a clothes hook with aprons to the left. It was lit only by a few gas lamps, which Mrs Marsh would ignite every morning before Jeremiah arrived, she loathed to do this job as she feared that one day the dead might just simply stop being dead. Quite a chilling thought I have to say.

“And what is your name, my young lady?” In the centre of the room was a young girl, maybe around the age of 13, it was hard to say as at that age most girls tend to look very youthful, but, alas, there she was, a girl of ivory skin and midnight hair. A beautiful being to behold, and to look upon her one would be bewitching, like gazing at the moon on a starry night.

“Eden is my name. But what is yours?” She asked inquisitively, not letting Jeremiah out of her sight.

“I am Mr Suggs, or if you prefer, Jeremiah. This building is my business, but what business brings you here?” He replied, while fastening a leather apron from which he had taken from the peg on the wall.

“Mr Porter brought me, he said that you would be able to find a place for me here.”

“Rightly so, very astute is Mr Porter, he would have known that Mr Brown left us yesterday afternoon and there would be a vacancy.” Moving from the clothes pegs, Jeremiah walked to the water basin and cleaned his hands with iodine solution and began to inspect his tools.

“What is it that you do, Mr Suggs? I was brought here without even the slightest explanation.” Having been there for an hour already, Eden had time to inspect her surroundings but still was not sure of her purpose.

“I am a mortician. My job is to inspect the causes of death to a person, write a detailed report and to prepare the body for funeral rites.”

“What a ghastly job, why would anybody want to do such a thing?” With a slight look of disgust on her face, Eden looked at the body on the table.

“Well now, it has been the job I was raised to do and one which my father and his father before him had done. It is the family business one could say. But, more importantly, why would anyone do this job? It is a very important duty; all good people deserve to know what caused the death of their beloved family and friends. The deceased also need to be prepared properly so that the Lord may receive them for his judgement.” These were questions which Jeremiah had on a daily basis for most of his life, for the common man would rather think not of death in the pursuit of life, but for some, like our dear Mr Suggs, death was a normality and as such made the pursuit of life all that more wonderful and the thought of the unknown that little less intolerable.

“But what about this young girl on the table, what caused her to die?” Eden gazed back to the body on the table, it was a girl of her own age.

“A very good question. My dear I am beginning to like you; such astuteness is seldom seen. Let us take a closer examination.” Taking hold of the sheet covering the body and removing it, Jeremiah began to inspect the cadaver. The body was covered in a series of red rashes, with scabs and lacerations. It appeared to him that the victim had been trying to scratch at the infected red rashes to alleviate discomfort. The rash was also a categorical sign of an illness well known.

“It appears that, simply put, this young girl had the unfortunate circumstance to have caught the virus known as measles. Quite a nasty virus.” With a depressed sigh, Jeremiah held the hand of the young lifeless body. There was little need for further examination.

“Measles, but is there not a cure for measles? With all of the science that we possess surely it can be avoided.” Eden looked slightly outraged; she understood that science was rapidly becoming a new age marvel. After all, some towns even had electricity, and doctors were performing the most unusual surgeries.

“I am afraid that there is no cure for measles. We can reduce the risk of it spreading, and only hope that one day the scientific world will be able to create a vaccination, but sadly it is still an only too real risk in this day and age.” For a moment they both paused to reflect, it was simply a tragedy that this virus could claim the age of those so young, but an all too common reality none the less. Moving over to the chemicals cabinet, Jeremiah removed a bottle which had a thick colourless liquid inside and began to fill up a syringe with it.

“What are you doing now?” Eden asked, looking intently at the syringe full of liquid.

“This is an embalming solution, we use it to lengthen the preservation of the body until either cremation or burial. All that I must do is inject the solution into the body and allow it time to set in.” Jeremiah pierced the flesh of the corpse with the needle just above the neck and put the needle into the wash basin. He then gathered a needle and thread from his tool cabinet and began to feed the thread through the eye of the needle.

“The body is not buried at once?”

“Quite so, if the deceased has family or friends then it is customary for them to view the body before it is finally put to rest. Embalming helps to keep the body from putrefaction for a little while so that the arrangements can be made.” Jeremiah began to place the needle through the young girl’s eyelids.

“This all seems rather strange, what are you doing now?” Eden seemed a little bit out of sorts as to why Jeremiah would be sewing the eyelids shut.

“Another aspect to the final process, my dear, is to make the body presentable. It helps with the grieving process, so I am told, but also, would you want to be visiting our maker and not be looking your Sunday best?” He gave a little chuckle, completed the stitching and began to work on the right eye.

“You are quite the dab hand with a needle, Mr Suggs, would you have preferred to be a tailor instead?” Not sure if Eden was jesting or not, Jeremiah smiled and finished sewing the right eye shut.

“Eden, all that remains now is to sew the mouth closed. Do you have any last words before I do?” Mr Suggs looked intently at Eden. This rather delightful and charming young girl.

“Should I fear death, Mr Suggs?”

“I’m afraid that I can not answer that. Although I deal with the dead, I have no experience of death itself. Goodnight, Eden.”

“Goodnight, Jeremiah.”

And with that he stitched the mouth closed.

You see, dear reader, this entire conversation took place in the head of our beloved Mr Suggs. For even the most ordinary of men can have the most extraordinary of minds.