Last week of May. Albany New York.

The redheaded boy stood next to his stepfather as he watched his mother descend into the earth. She had been a sick woman for the last two years, but in the last month, she had discovered cancer, and it had been too late. She hadn’t always been a strong woman, but rather weak, so when the cancer had spread, she had no strength to fight it.

While the pastor mumbled scriptures in Latin, the young boy looked around the gravesite to see that other than the cemetery employees, only himself and his stepfather were present to bid her a final farewell. As soon as the pastor spoke his final words, the boy was swooped up into a whirlwind of emotions.

He had witnessed her sickness for two years and was relieved to see that she was no longer suffering, but he felt frantic and hysterical feelings well up inside him. He didn’t want to say good-bye, and if he had to, he never wanted to say it this way. He had never lived a day without her and now, beyond his control, she was gone. He didn’t look up at his stepfather, but only stared at his own brown leather shoes. Up until now, he had a sense of strength knowing his mother was there, that she believed in him. He worked hard every day for her, to make her happy.

Now all he felt was an unexplainable toughness that closed out the world and everyone in it. He knew he would have to go back to an empty house and live with his stepfather. Simon Jones was a man that loved Katje with his heart, and the young man knew it. Simon would never do anything to hurt her.

Suddenly, memories flashed violently before the boy’s eyes. Memories of Katje, his mother, flooded his thoughts along with distant memories of his father, who died only a year before. It was recent enough that he should still have vivid memories, but through his mother’s sickness, he soon lost touch with them and they faded into nothingness. Blinking away unmanly tears, he tried with all his might to remember life before Jonesy, before sickness and cancer had poisoned his family.

“Hey, come on,” Jonesy said a few feet behind the boy, but he didn’t turn around to face his stepfather. “Jim, I said let’s go.”

Feeling his heart already experiencing the pains, he simply lifted his head and stalked past Jonesy without looking at him. It was going to be a long night. Jonesy was the type of person that let a problem fester in his mind. There were mutual feelings of hate growing between Jim and Simon Jones, or Simon Legree as he was referred to in Jim’s mind. Since Jonesy married Katje, he had done nothing but provide mental anguish for his young stepson. But neither Jim nor Jonesy let Katje know how they felt about each other.

The ride home was tense. A driver pulled out in front of Jonesy’s dirty green car and he cursed and slammed on the brakes, but Jim kept staring out the window as if nothing had happened. Memories of his mother and father had left him, and now he had visions of Jonesy’s belt. Wincing at the pain of the memory, he thought of every crack, every red, swollen, blistering mark and how he hid that from his mother.

It had only been a month after Jonesy married Katje when he sold Jim’s horse, Black Magic. He was an enormous young, black, spirited gelding who was strong and Jim took pride in the fact that he could handle him without any help at the age of five. When Jonesy sold him to buy four other cheaper horses, Jim was crushed. He used to spend hours grooming and feeding him, all the while speaking softly to him. He didn’t dare tell his mother his feelings on the matter because he knew that they needed the money for the truck farm. But Black Magic was a part of Jim’s life, and now everything he had, from his horse to his parents, was gone. All that was left was his father's wristwatch, hunting knife, and a christening cup he had since he was born.

Simon and Jim sat facing each other through the long, quiet dinner in the cold, fluorescent lit kitchen. There was some left over split pea and ham soup and bread rolls in the refrigerator, and that’s what they ate for dinner. Their neighbors had taken pity on the family through Katje’s illness and brought dinner over every night, so there was enough food. Neither man felt like eating very much, but Jim ate his required second helping and an extra bread roll. Jonesy had a fear of the neighbors thinking that Jim wasn’t being fed enough.

Jonesy’s cigarette smoldered in the orange and green speckled ceramic leaf-shaped ashtray as he held on to the neck of his half empty bottle of cheap whisky and glared at the redhead sitting across the table. Jim pretended not to notice him and kept on eating. He was better off if he didn’t make eye contact, but just kept busy eating.

That night, Jim laid in his bed trying to come to terms with the changes in his life. After a night of turmoil, he finally went to sleep.

He dreamt of the smell of bacon and eggs and the radio playing some of the oldies that his parents liked to listen to. As he walked to the doorway, he could hear his mother singing along with Glen Miller’s “In The Mood”. There she stood, such a glorious figure, his mother. Her light golden brown hair swept up in a ponytail and her light blue eyes shining happily. She wore her favorite faded yellow dress and a white apron while the white house shoes on her feet tapped in time to the music, and she sang:

“Bop-doo-wah, she-boo-dee-doo-wop! Bop-doo-wah, bee-doo-bee-doo-wop! Bah-dah, bah-bah-dah, dee-doo-bee-doo-wop! In the mood! She-doo-bee-doo-wop, in the mood! She-doo-bee-doo-wop! Never get me started when I’m in the Mood…”

A tall husky, redheaded man stepped in through the back door and put his strong arms around his slender wife.

“Hey good lookin,’” he said as he sniffed her golden hair.

“Win, not in front of Jim,” she giggled as she squirmed away from him.

“Hey sport!” the man said to Jim. “Feel like ridin’ Blackie today?” Jim couldn’t answer. It was as if he didn’t have a voice. “That’s all right, Jimmy,” his father said when the boy didn’t answer. “You don’t have to. Why don’t you climb up to the table and eat breakfast?”

The scene playing out before him was interrupted as he heard a quiet noise coming from the bedroom on the other side of the wall from him. The slight noise of bed springs alerted him that Jonesy was waking up. Keeping his eyes closed, he lay in bed, knowing that his stepfather was coming. He didn’t move from his position of rest at all, nor did he open his eyes to stare into Jonesy’s, but he could smell the alcohol and stale cigarettes on his breath as he stood there and watched Jim sleep. Without twitching his lips, moving his eyes, or moving a finger, Jim lay there as if he were sound asleep. He kept his breathing even and convinced his body muscles to relax. Soon, Jonesy would walk away, and he would be able to go back to sleep.

Without opening his eyes, Jim knew Jonesy had gone back to his room.

Last week of May. Albany, New York—Two years later

That was two years ago. Things had just begun between Jim and Jonesy. As the days passed, Jim was tolerant of his stepfather’s temper, and routine beatings at night. Jonesy would drink until he passed out, and then wake up in the middle of the night to visit Jim’s room. Night after night, Jonesy would either hiss threats in Jim’s ear, or he would lash out and whip him with his belt. Then there were those nights when there was no telling what would happen, when all Jim’s stepfather would do was stand in the doorway, and glare at the sleeping boy with dark, unfriendly cat-like eyes.

Jim hadn’t dreamt at all that night. It was the second anniversary of his mother’s death, and Jonesy had drunk his cheap booze until he passed out. The familiar sound of bed springs in the middle of the night alerted Jim of what was to happen, but he remained still just like he had all those other times. Tonight, it would be the leather belt that would tuck him in.

Jim was up before Jonesy the next morning. He knew his stepfather had been up quite late drinking himself into a stupor, and as a consequence, would be sleeping late. Quietly, he dressed himself, gathered his schoolbooks, and headed down the dirt road towards the small town. Soon, he reached Albany High School, where he was a freshman.

“Jim, I know it’s no surprise to you why I’ve called you in this morning,” Mr. Franklin said to the redheaded young man standing across the desk from him. Without saying a word, Jim nodded, allowing the principle to continue. The tall, dark haired, middle-aged man held a brown folder in his hands as he looked approvingly at the young student. “You have worked very hard,” he started, “and you deserve this.” He handed the folder to Jim.

Jim took the folder and looked at it for a while. “Thanks, Mr. Franklin, sir.”

“Please, sit down,” Mr. Franklin gestured to the soft leather chair in front of his desk. Jim was hesitant at first. “Your teachers have nothing but praise for you. You do realize that this means scholarships, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir, I do.” Jim opened the folder to look at its contents inside.

Mr. Franklin stepped out from behind his desk and shut the office door. Jim remained still. “Please have a seat, Jim. I would like to discuss a few things with you.”

Jim’s face turned pale, but he obeyed. Gritting his teeth, he sat down in the chair, allowing the blisters to rub against his shirt as he leaned back. Jim was used to this, but it was hard to hide these things from the teachers or boys in gym class, especially in the showers, but he had managed for some time now.

Jim’s behavior did not pass by the principle without notice, but he kept silent for now. Something was truly bothering the young student, but he figured there would be a time and a place for discussing this--when a counselor was present. “Have any summer plans?” Mr. Franklin tried to ask, rather nonchalantly.

“No real big plans, Mr. Franklin, other than to work on our farm. There’s plenty to be done there, you know.” Jim knew that this was not the reason why he was called into the principle’s office so early, but decided to go along with it.

“Sounds like you have your summer cut out for you. Well, just curious.” Mr. Franklin looked at the fourteen-year-old boy as if he were trying to read his mind. “That’s not the reason why I called you in here.” He stood up and opened a file cabinet and withdrew a piece of paper, and sat back down.

“The University of New York would be delighted to take a young student, like yourself, a year early. I assume you have received this letter from them?” Mr. Franklin held up a letter addressed to “James W. Frayne- Albany, New York”, and down at the bottom was “c.c: Mr. R. J. Franklin, Principle- Albany High School”.

Without saying a word, Jim took the letter from the principle and read it. “You never received this letter,” Mr. Franklin stated matter-of-factly.

“No, sir, I didn’t,” Jim said, rather annoyed. He knew just what had happened to the letter too. “May I have two copies of this?” He handed the letter back to Mr. Franklin.

“Why sure,” he readily took the letter from him and set it aside. “Come back after school and they’ll be ready for you. Now, open that folder and view the documents inside. I think some of them might interest you.”

Jim obeyed and opened the folder. Inside was a few letters from some of his teachers. It put a small smile on his face to read the pleasant comments they had written. Also among various letters and reports, were test scores. Jim’s freckled face flushed a little with embarrassment. Each page continually showed that he had tested out of every class, giving him more credits than he needed. Classes that were required of him for next year were already behind him. Secretly, he felt like dancing around the room, but then the principle would be sure to look at him even more strangely than he did earlier when he hesitated to sit down. This meant an early freedom from that ogre back at the farm!

“May I also have copies of these papers as well?” Jim asked shutting the folder.

“Those are yours to keep, son. The school makes copies and you keep the originals.” Mr. Franklin folded his arms and leaned forward on the desk.

“Actually, Mr. Franklin, I’d rather that the originals were not in my possession as of yet,” Jim answered. “I would rather have copies in case they get lost, since it will be a while yet until I go to the University. When I need them, I’ll be sure to come back for them.”

Mr. Franklin didn’t say anything, but simply nodded and took the folder from Jim and set it on top of the acceptance letter from the University of New York. “I’ll have the copies together for you to take.” Just then the morning bell rang, signaling everyone to head to his or her first class to start the day.

That afternoon, when the final bell had rung to let everyone out of their classes, Jim headed to Mr. Franklin’s office. Upon opening the door, Jim immediately recognized Mr. Schneider, the school psychologist, and Miss Brahms, the school nurse, and instantly, he knew why they were there.

“Mr. Franklin, I’m here for the papers we discussed this morning.” Jim stalked past the nurse and psychologist and stood still at the principle’s desk.

“Jim, why don’t you have a seat?” Mr. Franklin gestured to the leather chair that Jim occupied that morning.

Jim glanced at the chair and gritted his teeth, remembering how uncomfortable it was to sit down. “I’m sorry, I can’t stay,” he answered defiantly. “I’m expected at home by five.”

“I’d be happy to drive you home, Jim,” Mr. Schneider spoke up.

Jim stared at the two adults who were obviously looking him over as if he were part of a circus sideshow. He narrowed his green eyes at the psychologist and declared, “No one’s taking me home. I came to get my school papers.” He hoped he didn’t sound disrespectful.

Mr. Franklin shrugged and handed Jim the papers he had requested. “Here you go, Jim.”

Jim accepted the papers, and promptly thanked the principle, and left. He could feel Miss Brahms’ eyes on his back, and wished that she would just go bury her nose in a medical book, or better yet, go take care of the other kids. He didn’t need her help. On the other hand, it was Mr. Schneider’s business to stare. Only he called it observation. It was easier to hide the damage, than to face everyone about it. The last thing Jim wanted to do was to show the school what was going on at home, and that he was taking it.

Since his mother died, Jim felt hardened and calloused, but weak when it came to standing up to Jonesy. It was easier to just take the beatings, than to fight them. For quite some time now, Jim had plans to run to Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson and live with his Uncle James

Next Friday came and went, and school was out for the summer. While walking home, Jim took special note of some of the dirt roads and highways that crossed the backcountry road that led to Jonsey’s farm. He had grown up in Albany, but had only spent two years on this farm. In the two years Jim walked home from school, he already had a good mental map in his head of the different roads.

That night, Simon Jones had gotten himself so drunk he passed out on the living room floor. From Jim’s bedroom, he heard his stepfather stumbling around and bumping into things. Finally, the familiar sound of Jonsey’s snoring alerted Jim. “Now’s my chance,” Jim sighed to himself. “I have to do this.”

Emptying out his canvas shoulder bag he used for schoolbooks, he started loading it with things he would need for a few days’ survival, making sure to include his letters from the school. Making a brief stop in the kitchen, he grabbed a small tin of peanuts and sneaked out the back door and down the road.

It was easy to sneak past Max, Jonsey’s guard dog, since Jim had made friends with it from the beginning. He flipped a few peanuts at the german shepherd to keep him from following, and disappeared into the shadows of the night.

He made his way down the dirt road, watching cautiously for anyone who could possibly see him. A mile down the dirt road, Jim turned left at an intersection on to a road that would lead up to the county highway that would head south down along the Hudson River.

Ten years ago—Albany, New York. Home of Winthrop and Katje Frayne.

“Uncle James lives in Sleepyside, Jim,” his mother told him at dinner one night. “Someday we should really go down there and visit him. He’s been lonely since Aunt Nell died.”

“Have I ever met Uncle James?” Jim asked his mother. He had heard many stories about his wealthy Aunt and Uncle, but never remembered meeting them. Aunt Nell was dead, he knew that, but he hadn’t heard about Uncle James.

“You remember that silver cup you have up in your room?” Win asked his son, who nodded his head. “He sent that cup to us when you were born. He and Aunt Nell had come up for a visit just a little afterwards, but I’m afraid you never saw them again.”

“How did Aunt Nell die again?” Jim asked as he stuffed a huge mound of mashed potatoes in his mouth.

“When they visited us the first time, after you were born,” Win explained, “ they wanted to arrange their wills to name us the sole heirs in their fortune and estate. They have a terrific house, you know.” Win paused long enough to eat a small chunk of his steak and sip his coffee with cream. “Katie, you remember that summerhouse we all used to sit in and chat?”

“I remember.” Katje smiled and sipped her coffee with cream and sugar. “How dreadful to hear about Aunt Nell, though. The sad part about it was that we never heard about it until we called.” She turned to her son who was finishing up the rest of his buttered corn. “They were supposedly on their way up here to have their pictures taken with us. I believe you were about two years old, or you might’ve been three, I don’t remember.” Katje laid a frail tanned hand on her son’s husky freckled arm. “They never made it up here.” Aunt Nell’s death wasn’t talked about much. From what Jim knew, she was a very sweet person, and loved little children.

Katje continued, “they were out in their summerhouse enjoying the cool summer evening before their trip the next day, taking in the beautiful sunset, when Aunt Nell was bitten by a snake. I don’t remember what kind it was, but it was poisonous, and she died.”

“But why couldn’t Uncle James take her to the hospital?” Jim asked impatiently.

“Well, Jimmy, he tried,” his father explained, “but you see, his car broke down along the country road and there was no way for him to get to town. He couldn’t leave her, so he stayed with her.”

The Frayne family grew silent as they ate. Jim thought about his Aunt that he never knew. “Are you still mentioned in Uncle James’ will?”

“Oh yes.” Win nodded while stacking his plate onto his wife’s empty one, and carrying them to the sink. “Mr. Rainsford has things all taken care of. Uncle James, you Jim, and myself are the only living Fraynes. If anything were to happen to your mother and I, you would be named as heir to Ten Acres in Sleepyside.”

“Mom, what was that about you not knowing about Aunt Nell?” Jim stood from the table and emptied the bones from his plate into the garbage, and setting it on top of the stack of plates in the sink. “Surely, Uncle James would’ve told you about her.”

Katje shrugged one slim shoulder and sipped her coffee. “No, Jim. He didn’t. A passing motorist called an ambulance, but by the time they arrived, Aunt Nell had already died. Since then, we haven’t heard much from him.” She strolled over to the sink and twisted the chrome handles to regulate the hot and cold into warm water to fill the sink. Jim and his father helped clear the table while she spoke. “We were ready for them that day, and waited through the next whole day, but we never even got a phone call. So Win called and Uncle James explained.”

“But he was very vague about it, Katie,” Win continued on for his wife. “I asked if there were any problems, and he said almost nonchalantly that they couldn’t make it because Aunt Nell died. He said it as if it was just an ordinary thing too. But I guess it was just the start of his eccentric behavior.” He looked longingly over at his beautiful wife to whom he had been married to for eleven years. “Jim, it’s hard to lose someone. Mother and Dad died very young, and that was hard to go through as well. I simply can’t imagine losing a spouse.”

Katie nodded. “A few years ago when Ma and Dad died, that was tough on me, but what was the toughest was when Betty and Will…well, when they died.” Her voice became choked and she stopped.

Jim’s dad, sensing that it might be time to leave his wife to her tears, motioned for Jim to follow him out to the stables. Jim loved the smell of the small humble stable that kept three horses: Black Magic, Philippe, and Starshine.

“Hey, Blackie, what’chya doin’ boy?” Jim crooned to his horse. Win stood back and organized the saddle soaps and brushes on the shelf. The tack was all neatly hung and the saddles shined. Black Magic nuzzled Jim’s neck and then sniffed out his pockets, hoping for a possible tidbit. “Sorry, Blackie. No nums for you right now.”

“He smells dinner on you, Jim,” his father grinned. “You’re a sloppy eater, you know.”

Jim looked down at his white shirt noticing a drop of gravy. “Maybe he thinks that I am dinner,” he laughed. He wiped the gravy off with his forefinger and held it out to Black Magic, who happily licked it off and then nuzzled for more. Jim grinned at his horse. “Have you no pride?”

“Not that one, Jim.” Win stalked over to the black gelding and softly patted him on the nose. “He might hold his head up high, run like a spirited ghost, but don’t let that fool you, son. He’s just a big baby at heart.” At his comment, Black Magic snorted.

“You keep talking to him like that, Dad, and you’ll have to take him out for a run tonight, and that’s not good for him.” Jim opened the door to the supply closet, pulled out a broom, and started sweeping. “Besides, I don’t feel like grooming him again tonight.”

Win laughed for a bit and then sobered. “Jim, I was thinking of maybe visiting Uncle James this summer. It would be a good idea for you two to meet.”

“I think that sounds like a good idea,” Jim said thoughtfully.

“Then you can finally see what you’ll inherit someday.” His father leaned on the workbench and stared at his son. “He sure does have a nice piece of land, and a marvelous house.”

“Dad, why didn’t Uncle James even call to let you know what had happened?” Jim asked abruptly. “It’s sort of confusing the way he acted.”

“Well, son,” Jim’s father adjusted his glasses and put a freckled hand on his hip, “I know it sounds confusing, but you have to put yourself in his shoes. He stayed by Aunt Nell’s side and watched her die. He never called because he shut himself off from the world. When I called, it had already been a day later and he was probably tired.”

“I guess he was confused about the situation too,” Jim admitted. “I guess I shouldn’t make any judgments because I don’t know how he feels.”

“That’s right,” his father agreed, “it’s not easy to lose someone.” He turned back to the workbench and straightened up some more. “Jim, I know you’re ten, but heck, you’re practically an adult, and probably have never really ever thought of your future much, but I just want to give you a word of advice.” Win’s fair skinned face began to flush a little as he began to think of what he wanted to say.

“Yeah, Dad?”

Out the open stable door, Win saw his wife standing at the kitchen sink doing the dishes. He could hear the soft sounds of the radio playing the latest on the Hit Parade. ‘How should I say this?’ he thought, and then turned back to Jim. As awkward as it sounded, he said it anyway. “When you find the right girl, never let her go.”

Jim’s face reddened to match his hair. “Come on, Dad…”

“I know you’re embarrassed, but I just wanted to…well, give you some advice, that’s all.” Now Win felt a little uneasy, but he knew he had to say it. It was now or never. “When you find that girl…and she’s out there…hold on to her like she’s your life and never let go. It’s just not easy losing someone you love.”

Jim nodded. He wasn’t sure just what his father was talking about, but figured there must be some wisdom behind it. Only later would he find out.

Friday night, on the road to Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson, New York

It was getting late, and Jim was tired of walking. Nine miles down the road, he spotted a hollowed out log lying alongside a forest of trees, welcoming him to spend the night. It was a warm night, and figured he should be able to sleep well, so he placed his shoulder bag inside the log and crawled in. A new feeling came over Jim as he realized that he was free from Simon Legree. No more slaving, no more beatings, no more put downs, and no more abuse. That was his last thought before he fell asleep.

The next morning he awoke to see the sun barely peeking its bright face through the trees. He looked at his father’s wristwatch to see that it was four in the morning, and time to start walking. About half a mile down the road, Jim stopped at Mona’s, a small roadside diner, to use the bathroom. As he walked in the front door, a few bells tinkled to alert the waitress.

Using a bobby pin to keep her blonde hair up and out of her face, the waitress sauntered through the black swinging kitchen door, straightening her blouse and apron as she stepped behind the counter to pick up her note pad and pencil. Her name tag was crooked and read “Roz”

“Up early, huh kid?” She cracked her gum and licked the tip of the pencil. “What’ll it be?”

“Where are your restrooms?” Jim squared his shoulders and asked.

Roz tossed her tablet and pencil down on the counter near the cash register and gestured toward the two black doors in the back of the empty diner. “Back there, and mind you don’t write on the walls.” With that, she loosened her apron and stepped back through the kitchen door, leaving Jim alone in the diner.

He walked through the bathroom doors back into the diner. A red pick-up truck sat out in the driveway and a middle aged, gray haired man sat at one of the booths pouring cream into a hot cup of coffee. Roz was leaning against his table, jotting down his order while cracking her gum.

She picked the carafe up from the table and slinked back behind the counter to slide the pot back onto the warmer. Handing the ticket through the window to the cook on the other side, she winked at him. Spotting Jim standing in the middle of the diner, she stepped up to the bar and rhythmically tapped the enamel countertop. “No breakfast today, kid?” she asked while adjusting a pink bra strap with her other hand.

Jim looked at her and blinked. He had been preoccupied by the gray-haired man sitting in the booth who had been staring at him. “No thanks, ma’am. I really must be going.” With that, Jim was out the door and the bell tinkled behind him. Before he left the parking lot to head back up to the highway, he looked over his shoulder to see the same man staring at him through the window of the diner for a few seconds, and then turned back to his breakfast.

The morning was bright and warm with a cool breeze. There were no regrets. Not even a small twinge that made him think twice about running away from Jonesy. Sticking to the frontage road along the interstate, Jim walked clear to Hudson, where he would spend the night.

He found a small patch of grass under two tall maple trees and sat down. He dug around inside his satchel for the tin of peanuts and realized to his horror he had left behind his christening mug. He had planned to take that with him when he went to meet his uncle. It would be his only form of identification, since the last time they had met was when he was an infant. Jim shrugged and tossed the satchel down on the ground. No sense in going back for anything now. Staring up at the stars, he breathed in the clean fresh air and fell into a deep sleep, forgetting the aches in his feet from walking all day, and how tired his legs felt.

The wind hissed into his ears, and he felt a sort of a nudge against one of his legs. Instantly, he awoke and looked around. Nothing. Just the cool wind rustling through the trees and a small raccoon sniffing his blue jeans. He laid his head back down on his shoulder bag and drifted back to sleep.

“Jiiiiimmmmmy……” whispered a voice through the wind.

Jim bolted straight up, making the raccoon scamper away into the brush. His freckles stood out on his stark white face as he frantically looked around him. A sharp pang from behind made the world spin for a second as a burlap bag covered his head and was fastened loosely around his neck. His head went numb and finally, everything went dark.

“You thought you could do it, Jim,” an all too familiar voice rang painfully into the fifteen-year-old boy’s ears. “Failure. That’s all you’ll ever amount to, Jim. One big failure. You should be thankful your mother isn’t alive to see you fail”

Jim remained quiet. He was uncertain of his surroundings at first, but it unmistakably smelled like Jonesy’s filthy green Buick. It always had that musty, stale beer and cigarettes smell to it accompanied by ‘wet dog’ odor, not to mention the stench of manure ground into the carpet. Jim’s wrists were tightly tied behind his back and his legs were tied together. Without unfastening the bag, Jonesy whipped it off Jim’s head, causing the coarse, rough burlap to scratch and burn around his face. For a long moment, Jim scowled at the burley man sitting in the driver’s seat of the car, who stared right back. Filled with rage, Jim felt as if he could fight the big man and win, even though he was completely tied up.

Jonesy clenched his teeth together, started up the car, peeled away from the shoulder, and sped down the frontage road. “Since they don’t want failures in college, I guess you’re stuck working for me on the farm, so don’t you even think about trying this little stunt again.”

“Listen Jones,” Jim set his jaw and growled, “if you think for one second that this is over, think again. I’ll live in dumpsters before I work for you on your farm, if you can call it that.”

“It’s not your opinion that counts around here, kid,” Jonesy sneered at his stepson. “Just you keep in mind who your guardian is, and whose money it is that puts food on your plate.”

“I’ll starve before I touch your rotten food.”

“Yeah, sure you will.” Simon jerked the car over to the entrance ramp up to the interstate. “I’ll cripple ya if you so much as breathe a word of this to the neighbors. They’re nosy enough as it is already.”

Jim didn’t answer. Answering would only continue the conversation. I am not a failure! his inner voice screamed at Jonesy. It infuriated him to hear Jonesy speak this way of the wonderful woman who raised her child to thirteen years of age and to live through her sickness. His mother was a perfect human being and he knew he had her undying support. He was no failure in her eyes, and he knew it. She was weak in physical strength, but was so strong in all other aspects. She buried her parents, her sister and husband, and her own husband, and then was diagnosed with cancer. She put up as strong of a fight as she could, but in the end, cancer had won the battle. Now, Jonesy was trying to trample all the memories of Jim’s mother.

Jim sat in his uncomfortable position the length of the trip while Jonesy sped down the interstate back to the junky truck farm. Without bothering to untie Jim, he dragged the boy out of the car and hauled him across the gravel driveway, opened the barn door, threw him down on the dirt floor, and slammed the door shut. Jim heard the latch click as Jonesy locked the door. Sunlight shown in through the dirty window, just enough for Jim to be able to look around for something sharp.

The sunlight glinted off of something shiny on the floor. He wriggled over to see that it was a nail, and after rolling over to grasp it with his tied hands, he was able to sit up and pick at the knots with the sharp point. Finally, he was able to work the knot loose enough to be able to work his hands free. It pained his stiff shoulders to move his arms back around to stretch them out in front. They hurt so much they shook and quivered. He fumbled with the ropes on his legs and ankles, but to no avail. He couldn’t get his fingers to work. They were just too tired.

After massaging his arms and shoulders for a while, he felt strong enough to untie the ropes around his legs. The ropes had cut off circulation to his legs, and now they felt numb, but slowly the feeling came back. Right now, Jim also had a massive headache, from where Jonesy had hit him in the back of the head.

For the rest of the day, Jim sat out in the barn as part of his punishment. He watched as the sun went down and the night sky took over the universe. I could run away again, but it is too soon. I’m weak and hungry. The gritty noise of the sliding bolt and latch alerted Jim to Jonesy’s presence. Against the moonlight, Jim could see the silhouette of his massive figure, stepping through the door holding a long leather belt.