Fall of 1876

The air smelled distinctly of manure as people and carts bustled around the crowded city marketplace. Sellers shouted over one another as they advertised their fruit and wares. The pitiless sun glared onto the asphalt. But for the six year-old boy in a dusty white button-up that melted into the crowd, a shadow loomed over those streets that day. As much as he wanted to be in awe of the immense buildings stretching to the sky, he knew something was wrong.

"Sit here and don't move," his mother ordered, shooing him towards a tiny gap on the curb. In a chain followed his two little sisters, equally curly-haired but oblivious. As they sat down beside him, their father fumbled with a wooden stool behind, placing a sign on top. The words were simple enough for even the boy to read as he turned his head.

"CHILDREN FOR SALE - CHEAP"

His heart dropped down to his feet. Staring forward, he blinked his large eyes while his sisters continued to cheerfully play with a doll. Why were his parents doing this? Didn't they love them? He wanted to say something to his mom and strained to look behind him. But somehow she disappeared. He stayed where he was, not daring to break her orders, while questions kept racing in his mind. Before he could get any answers, however, a horse came to a stop beside the curb. His sisters squealed with delight, distracted from their game. But he shrank back, remaining silent.

The next thing he knew, a knobbly finger pointed at him. "I'll take that one," A gruff voice said. His father then reappeared and the two men exchanged some words. Then the stranger reached down for the boy's shoulder and pulled him roughly to his feet.

"Back of the cart and don't go touchin' anything," He grunted, pushing the child forward. Trembling, he scrambled up the wood, grabbing onto the railing for support as the cart began to move. Peering over the top, though, he tried to get one final look at his sisters. Yet the crowd moved quickly, obscuring any trace of his family and their reasons for doing what they did.

A numbness washed over him and the world seemed to blur. Deep down in his heart, he knew he'd never see them again. How was he supposed to feel, then? Should he be crying? Eventually, the town began to thin away. The polished street was replaced with gravel. The clamor was replaced with more occasional voices amidst the gentle birdsong. His mind, on the other hand, was no less cloudy than before.

A strong smell of vegetables filled the cart, however, and when he turned around he saw sacks and barrels, many stuffed with seeds. Temporarily forgetting about his family, the boy inched his way to the front. Houses were even sparser ahead of them, and a little lower was a tattered tan hat on the head of the driver. His gray hair reached all the way down to his shoulders and the stench of cigar smoke was powerful. After a moment, the boy cleared his small throat.

"Hello. Where are we going?" He meekly asked. The man didn't even budge, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

"Farm," He eventually grunted, leaving the boy with more questions than answers. Sensing that the other didn't want to elaborate, though, he shifted closer to the railing.

"My name is Samuel Tilley." He tried to smile, hoping that the man would turn and see, but instead he got the back of a bony hand.

"I don't care, boy." The words came out like a hiss, and Samuel stumbled back to the end of the cart, eyes wide. Not daring to provoke the man further, he sat down on the wood. Out of the blue, he remembered his mother again. She would've never said something so cruel. And yet she had given him up like he meant nothing. For the first time since leaving them, his lip started to quiver and he felt a sob rise in his throat. Before anything could come out, however, the cart came to a gradual stop. When the farmer came around, Samuel hurriedly jumped off of the step. His first instinct was to shrink away, but the older man busied himself pulling out the sacks. Eventually, a heavy bag of cabbage was dropped in his arms. After readjusting his hat, the farmer picked up his own load and began leading the way towards a rickety wooden gate.

"Samuel," He soon rasped, much to the boy's surprise, "Did your family ever own chickens?"

"No," He admitted, "They never owned anything..."

The world went silent except for the pair of footsteps in the dirt. Even the birdsong seemed to pause. At last, the farmer sighed.

"Then we have a lot of work to do."