Chapter - 02
Nine Years Ago, 1903, Pine Ridge, America
A young man, barely twenty, with striking blue eyes and handsome features hidden beneath a layer of dirt and sweat, was busy tending to the chores on his family's farm. His scrawny frame belied the strength in his lean muscles, honed from years of hard labor. He wore a faded, checkered shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing sun-kissed, calloused forearms. His trousers, once a deep blue, were now a patchwork of repairs, frayed at the hem and stained with the grime of the farm. A battered straw hat shielded his face from the relentless sun as he hummed a soft, nameless tune to himself.
He started his day in the chicken coop, a modest wooden structure filled with the soft clucking of hens. The floor was scattered with straw, which he meticulously replaced with fresh, dry bedding. With gentle hands, he coaxed the chickens aside, checking for eggs beneath them. He carefully collected the warm, brown eggs in a wicker basket, making sure not to miss any. His touch was practiced, avoiding startling the birds.
He cleaned the feeding troughs, scraping away the remnants of the previous day's feed and filling them with a fresh mixture of grain and corn. The chickens gathered around eagerly, pecking at the new supply. The young man smiled, a rare moment of contentment crossing his features as he watched them. He refilled their water containers, ensuring they had enough to drink in the sweltering heat.
Next, he moved on to the sheep and goats, a small flock of half a dozen each. The barn was filled with the soft bleats and occasional headbutts of the curious animals. He began by brushing their coats, removing dirt and loose wool. Milking the goats was his next task. He washed his hands thoroughly, then cleaned the udders with warm water and a clean cloth. Settling onto a small wooden stool, he positioned a metal pail beneath the first goat.
Once the milking was done, he transferred the milk into clean jugs, setting them aside for later processing. He checked the water troughs, refilling them from a nearby pump, and ensured the feed bins were topped up with a mix of hay and grain. He inspected the animals for any signs of illness or injury, his keen eyes missing nothing. Satisfied that all was well, he gave each of them a final pat before heading back towards the house.
When he got to the house, Jacob Turner paused for a moment to take in the sight of his home. It was a modest, one-story building with weathered wooden siding and a tin roof that had seen better days. The house had three small bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living area that doubled as a dining room. The front porch sagged slightly under the weight of age and use, but it was a spot where the family often gathered in the evenings.
As Jacob stepped onto the porch, the screen door creaked open, and he was greeted by a gruff voice. "Oi, bastard, you finally done with those animals? Quickly get going to town. And make sure to bring me a newspaper," his uncle barked from inside.
Jacob didn't flinch at the harsh words. He was used to his uncle's rough demeanor. "Yes, Uncle," he replied simply, his voice steady.
"Jacob, make sure to bring these vegetables as well," called his aunt, a woman in her forties with lines of hard work etched into her face. She handed him a crumpled piece of paper with a list of vegetables they needed.
As Jacob took the list, he noticed his younger cousins bustling about, getting ready for school. The two boys, aged eleven and thirteen, were arguing over who would get to sit by the window on the school wagon, while their sister, just six years old, tried to braid her hair with determined concentration.
Jacob smiled at the familiar chaos. "Have a good day at school, kids," he called to them, ruffling the boys' hair as he passed.
"Bye, Jacob!" they chorused back, their faces lighting up with affection for their older cousin.
Jacob quickly changed his shoes, swapping his worn work boots for a pair of equally worn but more presentable shoes. He didn't bother changing out of his sweat-soaked clothes, knowing there was no time to spare. He grabbed his hat and set off down the dusty path that led to town, the morning sun already climbing high in the sky.
As he walked, Jacob reflected on the ten years he had spent living with his uncle and aunt. He had been only ten years old when a cholera outbreak had swept through their small community, taking his parents with it. His uncle had taken him in out of a sense of duty, but the man had never been particularly kind or loving.
His uncle was a hard, stern man who saw Jacob more as free labor than as family. From a young age, Jacob had been put to work on the farm, doing the most menial and grueling tasks. While his cousins played and went to school, Jacob toiled from dawn until dusk, ensuring the animals were fed and the crops were tended.
Recently, his uncle had insisted that Jacob find a job in town to bring in more income. Despite his already heavy workload on the farm, Jacob complied, taking up a position at the local newspaper office. His wages, however, went straight into his uncle's pocket, leaving Jacob with nothing to show for his hard work.
The road to town was a well-trodden dirt path flanked by fields of crops and wildflowers. Jacob walked briskly, his long legs eating up the distance as he fell back into his humming, the tune now serving as a steady rhythm for his journey.
As he neared the outskirts of town, the dirt path gave way to cobblestone streets lined with small shops and businesses. The grocery store with its vegetables and fruits on display, and the aroma of fresh bread that wafted from the bakery. Jacob nodded to the familiar faces he passed, receiving a mix of polite nods and curious stares in return.
His destination was the small, bustling newspaper office that served as the town's lifeline to the outside world. The building was a modest brick structure with large windows that let in plenty of natural light. The sign above the door read 'The Daily Tin' in bold, black letters.
As Jacob entered, he was greeted by the familiar smell of ink and paper. The office was a hive of activity, with workers rushing about, setting type, and operating the printing presses. Jacob's job was that of a general laborer, assisting with whatever needed doing—from carrying heavy stacks of paper to fetching supplies for the printers.
"Morning, Jacob," called out Mr. Harris, the elderly typesetter who had taken a liking to the young man. Harris was in his sixties, with silver hair and a kind face etched with deep lines of experience. He was the one who had taught Jacob to read and write, taking time out of his busy days to help the boy with his letters.
"Morning, Mr. Harris," Jacob replied, giving the old man a nod as he made his way to the back of the office, where a pile of freshly printed newspapers awaited distribution.
"Got a busy day ahead," Harris said, watching Jacob lift the heavy bundles with ease. "You ever think about putting that strength to use in another line of work?"
Jacob smiled ruefully. "Not much choice in the matter, sir. Gotta do what's needed."
As he worked, Jacob's mind often drifted to the lessons Mr. Harris had given him. The old man had been patient and encouraging, teaching Jacob not only how to read and write but also instilling in him a love for stories and knowledge. Jacob cherished those moments, feeling a sense of pride in his growing literacy.
Despite his grueling schedule, Jacob always made time to visit the small reading corner in the newspaper office, where Mr. Harris had set up a modest library of books and periodicals. Whenever he had a spare moment, Jacob would immerse himself in the pages of a book, escaping the harsh realities of his life for a little while.
Today was no different. After delivering the newspapers to the local businesses, Jacob found a few minutes to sit down with a book Mr. Harris had lent him—a well-worn copy of 'The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn'. He read voraciously, losing himself in the tale of adventure and freedom.
The hours flew by as Jacob moved from one task to another. By late afternoon, he had completed his work at the newspaper office and headed back to the general store to pick up the vegetables his aunt had requested.
With the vegetables and newspaper in hand, Jacob continued his errands. He made his way to the post office, where he picked up a few letters for the family. He glanced at the addresses, noting the neat script of distant relatives and a few local correspondences.
By the time Jacob returned home, the sun was dipping below the horizon. He handed the newspaper to his uncle and the letters to his aunt. "Got everything you asked for," he said.
His uncle grunted in acknowledgment, already absorbed in the newsprint. His aunt gave him a tired but grateful smile, patting his arm. "Thank you, Jacob. Now go clean yourself up and get ready for dinner," she said, her voice gentle.
Jacob nodded and headed to the small bathroom to wash off the sweat and grime of the day's work. As he splashed cool water on his face, he caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror—young, yet burdened with the weight of responsibility. He dried off and joined his family in the kitchen, ready to face whatever the rest of the evening might bring.
Dinner was a modest affair, as it always was. The family gathered around the wooden table in the small, dimly lit room. The meal consisted of simple fare: bread, vegetables, and a stew that simmered on the stove, filling the room with its savory aroma. Jacob's cousins, Tommy and Ben, sat fidgeting at the table, while little Lily, waited patiently with her bright eyes fixed on the food.
As they ate, Jacob's uncle began his usual tirade. "You were late again, boy," he growled, not even looking up from his plate. "Can't even do a simple job without wasting time."
Jacob kept his head down, focusing on his food. "Sorry, Uncle," he murmured, not wanting to provoke further anger.
"Sorry doesn't cut it," his uncle snapped, slamming his fist on the table. "You think this farm runs itself? You have to be more punctual, got it."
Jacob remained silent, taking the berating in stride. It was a familiar routine, one he had long since learned to endure without letting it bother him too much. His aunt cast him a sympathetic glance, but she, too, was wary of drawing her husband's ire.
After dinner, Jacob helped his aunt clean up and get the younger children ready for bed. Tommy and Ben, full of energy, resisted at first but eventually settled down with Jacob's gentle coaxing. He read them a short story until their eyelids grew heavy and they drifted off to sleep.
Lily, the youngest and dearest to Jacob's heart, clung to him as he tucked her into bed. "Big brother, will you sing me a song?" she asked, her eyes wide and hopeful.
Jacob smiled, a rare softness in his expression. "Of course, Lily," he said, sitting on the edge of her bed. He began to hum a lullaby, the same tune he often hummed while working. Lily's eyes fluttered closed, and a contented smile played on her lips as she drifted off to sleep.
He watched her for a moment longer, feeling a deep sense of love and protectiveness for his little cousin. She was adorable and sweet, her innocence a stark contrast to the harshness of the world around them. She called him "big brother," and in many ways, he felt more like a brother to her than a cousin.
Back in the kitchen, his aunt was finishing the last of the cleaning. She looked up as Jacob entered. "Thanks for the help, Jacob," she said softly. "You're a good boy."
Jacob nodded, feeling a warm rush of gratitude for her kindness. "Goodnight, Aunt," he said, heading to his small bedroom at the back of the house.