The Boy Who Chased Reason: Lost Love and Redemption

By Sweigart Brothers

The old south in 1911. Thirteen-year-old Virgil Gibson is the middle child in a large southern family. As times get harder, Virgil’s mother pushes the family toward a strong faith in God, and Virgil seemingly has few worries.

When his father tells the family that Virgil must live and work at a factory in a neighboring town to help supplement their meager farm income, everything changes.

The unfamiliar and hostile factory environment leaves him feeling forsaken by his family and forgotten by God. Virgil is placed with Angelica, a beautiful caramel-skinned bi-racial girl who is assigned to help him adjust. They grow closer and fall in love. When Virgil loses his job, he heads north to find better work and answers to his lack of faith. Angelica agrees to go with him and they embark on the exciting adventure together.

As they face the relentless bigotry and exploitation of the times, they become separated. Virgil, determined that he will one day be reunited with Angelica, must somehow survive while searching for his lost love and spiritual truths. He encounters unique and colorful characters that provide inspiration, and life lessons.

Virgil follows his heart on this journey that searches for love, acceptance, and redemption while intolerance and lack of reason challenge the core of his faith.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Oct 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781489744043

Sweigart Brothers

Mike and Bernie Sweigart are brothers who were close as children. Although Mike’s career in the business sector and Bernie’s military career took them in separate directions around the world, they remained close, and shared their strong belief in the central truths of God's love and redemption. In their first book, Two Ticket Ride, they combined their talents to frame an action-adventure that provides perspective to understanding purpose in our lives. In this book, The Boy who Chased Reason, they provide hope and insight to the question asked during life’s lowest times: Where is God now?

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Copyright © 2022 Sweigart Brothers.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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ISBN: 978-1-4897-4380-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-4381-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-4404-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022916976

LifeRich Publishing rev. date:  11/29/2022

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

1

L ate summer, 1911. A small farming town in Todd County, Kentucky.

AMEN! Virgil Gibson jerked in his seat, startled awake just as he began to doze off. The shrill Amen from Mrs. Johnson was in response to Reverend McCoy’s, Can I get an amen?

Virgil shifted on the hardwood pew, looking around to see who might have noticed his sudden reaction to the response he had heard hundreds of times in the small Baptist church in Southern Kentucky. His older brother, Sammy Ray, chuckled and smiled at him with a reassuring wink. Embarrassment flushed Virgil’s cheeks, and his heartbeat echoed in his ears as he gathered his composure and settled down for the remaining portion of the Sunday morning service.

He leaned against his older brother and wondered if it would be wrong to pray that the service would soon be over.

The reverend’s carefully chosen words filled the small church and hung like a mist waiting to dissipate.

Still no rain in sight. We may wonder why God continues to test us with the punishing drought that has been laid upon us for so long. Why are so many of our brothers losing their farms? Are we not following God’s commandments as he wishes Are we not properly fighting our individual demons within? As we live our lives this week, let’s search within our souls to see what demons may lie inside us or where we are falling short of obeying the Bible.

Virgil wondered what demons might be inside of him.

It is not for us to question God’s wisdom. We are mere mortals—fragile of faith, weak of mind, and wondering souls thirsting for answers. We know our God is a forgiving God, so let us all stand together and hold hands as we participate in a special prayer for the rain to end this glorious Sunday celebration of our faith. And in honor of the upcoming harvest season, we will sing ‘Bringing in the Sheaves.’ As we conclude, we ask for God’s blessing. Let’s live lives that show that we’re worthy of God’s blessings.

Without hesitation, the entire congregation stood and held hands, side to side, row from row, neighbor to neighbor, and stranger to visitor. Reverend McCoy stood in the aisle that separated the two rows of pews and held hands with each side, joining the entire church in one long chain of humanity.

As the service ended and the congregation filed out of the small country church, the choir continued in song. Reverend McCoy stood in the doorway and thanked each congregant for attending as he or she took his outstretched hand and thanked him for another great sermon.

As he gripped the hand of Virgil’s father, he leaned in and whispered, Brother Sam, so good you could join us today.

Yeah, I know I’m not here very often, Sam whispered through a forced smile, but Sally comes ever week and puts money in the basket. She pretty much handles the religion for the both of us.

And how are you doing with your personal demon? The reverend’s grip tightened as he stepped closer to Sam.

Sam looked down without answering. His jaw tightened as he considered what his wife Sally might have told the reverend.

I will say an additional prayer for God to help you, Reverend McCoy whispered as he released Sam’s hand and smiled at the next person standing in line.

Uhh … thank you, Reverend, Sam said with uncertainty. He gave his wife a look of disapproval.

Later that day, the Gibson family sat down for Sunday dinner. Virgil sat between his brothers, Sammy Ray, who was the oldest at fifteen; and Bobby, who was just a year younger than Sammy Ray. Virgil was the youngest boy at thirteen. Fourteen-year-old Samantha, his oldest sister, leaned from the opposite side of the table and finished filling glasses with fresh water. Susie, age eleven, and Bertie, age seven, sat quietly, waiting for their father to arrive at the table.

Sally went again to the front porch and clanked the small rod around the inside of the medal triangle that served as a dinner bell.

Where could that man be? Sally asked as she returned to the dining room.

Saw him in the barn, Sammy Ray answered, reaching across the table and slapping a scoop of mashed potatoes onto his plate.

Doing what?

Don’t know. When I got close to him, he told me to get in the house ’cause dinner’s ready.

Curiosity turned to disgust. Sally knew that Sam was always eager to help neighbors needing a hand and was equally eager to accept homemade wine or bourbon as a token of their appreciation.

Go tell your papa it’s time to eat! she snapped to Sammy Ray.

Okay, but if he’s out there sipping hooch again, he ain’t gonna listen to me or no one else.

Sally’s glance quickly subdued Bobby and Virgil’s snickers.

I’ll get him, Bertie announced. Papa always listens to me. She stood and waddled around the table. Her slightly shorter leg was compensated with a wood block that Sam had specially cut and nailed to the bottom of her shoe.

Get who? Sam appeared suddenly in the doorway, walking directly to the tall, galvanized milk can that contained the family’s drinking water.

Whom, Sally corrected.

Without hesitation, he dipped the aluminum ladle in the water and took a long drink.

Please, Sam, Sally protested, I’m trying to teach the kids not to drink from the dipper. How’re they gonna learn manners unless we teach ’em?

You’re right, Sam answered, sipping another mouthful of water from the ladle before dragging a dirty sleeve across his sweaty forehead. Okay, children, don’t never drink from the ladle.

Just go wash up, Sally commanded. There’s still some hot water in the kettle. Just don’t make a mess.

Yes, ma’am.

Papa’s in trouble again, Bertie announced to the room. She steadied herself against the wall and took a couple deep breaths. Should we pray for him? she asked as she made her way back to her seat.

Pray for who? Sam asked as he rushed to Bertie and kissed the top of her head.

Whom! Sally corrected, Just sit down.

Sam knew the answer.

Everyone sat motionless as they participated in the prayer that their mother insisted be part of their Sunday dinner together. Sam maintained that God would be more likely to listen to Sally than him, so he insisted that she lead the blessing.

After the prayer, the plate of chicken and the large bowls of mashed potatoes and greens quickly made their rounds.

Mama, Virgil broke the silence, why is God punishing us?

God isn’t punishing us.

But Reverend McCoy said he was. Said he was punishing us with drought.

The reverend is from up North, Sally explained. He doesn’t understand that here, we sometimes have abundant rain and sometimes we don’t. He doesn’t yet understand that things down here are sometimes different and more challenging than up North.

You’re right about that. Sam took another bite of chicken, mumbling through a full mouth. Reverend sure don’t understand how things worked down here. Why, before the war—

You’re always ready to blame the war on all of our problems, Sally interrupted. What about that darned Planters Protective Association you all tried a few years back? That’s when things went bad.

The PPA was a good idea. We had to do that. That blasted American Tobacco was trying to put us all out of business.

No income for two years. Whose smart idea was that? Just barns full to the slats of tobacco was all we got out of that.

Black patch tobacco. The best pipe and snuff tobacco there is. We had the tobacco everyone in the world wanted. Besides, if I hadn’t joined in, the Night Riders would’ve burned me out just like they did up in Caldwell County.

"Did they force you to be the county chairman? Did they force you to let the raiders to spend the night in our barn?"

They elected me because of our name. Most of them guys knew my Pa. They figured I’d be as ruthless as him.

Indeed.

Sam looked at Sally and drew a hasty breath to speak. Sally shook her head and quickly looked away, knowing that continuing the discussion would only further enrage Sam’s bitterness. She looked over the table to see if she needed to bring more food from the kitchen, avoiding Sam’s glaring scowl.

Sammy Ray, Sam snarled.

Pa?

Did you get that fence fixed? Can’t afford to lose no more tobacco to them Johnsons’ cows. They just go back over there and puke it all up. His cows are so dumb, they don’t even know it’s poison.

Yes sir, Pa. Pulled the fence back up and wired it in, but we need ’nother roll of fence to patch it in good, and some barbed wire for on top to let them cows know to stay away. That old wire’s rusted plumb through. It snaps like twine soon as one of them leans against it.

You know we can’t afford more wire, he took a deep breath, least not till the tobacco’s in and sold.

Okay, Pa, but them cows’ll probably just knock it down again as soon as one leans on it.

Wretched cows. If I wanted cows in my field, I’d be a cow farmer. If he’d give ’em enough hay, they wouldn’t eat something they can’t keep in their stomachs. I oughta go tell Johnson that the next time one of his cows breaks down our fence and gets our crops, he either pays for the damage or we shoot the cow and will be eatin’ good all winter.

Daddy, Bertie squealed from across the table, you can’t shoot the cows. They don’t know no better.

Would you rather I just shoot Johnson?

He won’t be shootin’ any cows or anything else. Sally lifted a towel from a plate and revealed a stack of sugar cookies.

Well, we gotta do something. Can’t afford any more loss, Sam mumbled, shoving a cookie in his mouth. Corn and pole beans ain’t making it. We can’t hardly water ’em. The well’s dropped two feet. We need to save what little we have from the operating loan to feed us this winter and to feed the pigs till slaughter. The horses can graze until the first snow comes. Once the grass is dead for the winter, we’ll need feed and hay to carry them over that we don’t have the money for.

But, Pa, didn’t Mr. Guthrie at the bank extend your loan? Sammy Ray asked as he leaned across the table and snatched two cookies.

Sammy, sit down. We are not animals, Sally insisted. She handed the plate of cookies to the Samantha, who took one and passed the plate.

That’s what we need to talk about, Sam answered. This year’s yield’s gonna be too low. The tobacco in the ground ain’t even gonna cover the money we already borrowed for seed and plantin’, and we still got the cost of labor to bring it in and hang it.

What’d Mr. Guthrie say? Bobby asked.

He came out and looked over the fields and says he can’t lend any more money on this year’s crop. He says he sees about four hundred pounds an acre instead of the seven hundred the yield loan figured. They had a good year up in Lexington, so there’s a lot of tobacco around. Instead of the usual seven cents a pound, we’ll be lucky to get five cents.

So, how you gonna get the loan?

That’s what we need to talk about …

Sam, No! Sally yelled from the other end of the table.

Woman, don’t you raise your voice at me, he replied through clinched teeth.

Silence gripped the chatter.

Look, you all know that things ain’t goin’ well. He looked across the faces staring back at him. We’re gonna get the loan extended, but not on this year’s yield. Guthrie needs additional collateral. He looked into Virgil’s curious eyes, but then quickly looked away. He’s already holdin’ the deed, Sam continued, so I had to make a special deal. He put me in touch with the manager at the Clark Thread Factory over in Clarksville. They need some workers.

But, Pa, how are you gonna work there and on the farm too? Clarksville’s near twenty miles from here, Sammy asked.

I ain’t. I’m gonna need to have one of you boys work off the note.

He gazed again at Virgil.

What? Huh? Virgil responded, barely paying attention to the conversation. Discussions about bad crops and bad luck were commonplace these days.

Sam, Sally objected, he’s only thirteen. We can’t do this to him.

Do what? Virgil asked, wide-eyed.

That’s why it’s got to be him. I can’t run things here without Sammy or Bobby. I would need to hire more farm labor, and we ain’t got the cash for that.

Mom?

I’ll get a job, Sally said. Just leave Virgil out of this.

Who’s gonna hire you? Besides, you already got a job … taking care of things here. I need the older boys’ help around here, and there’s no way I’m sending the girls to the city. That leaves only Virgil.

But he’s only a boy.

I know. He’s too small to stick the tobacco. He can’t lift it to hang it. Yeah, he can drive the horse team, but Sammy Jo can do that.

The city? Ma. Please. What are you talking about? Virgil insisted.

The concern was collective and immediate.

Pa, what’s going on? Ma? Samantha asked.

Pa, are you giving Virgil away? Bertie gasped.

Sally looked down, wiping tears from her cheeks with a dirty apron. Bertie stood and stepped behind her mom, hugging her around the neck.

Sally, you ain’t making this any easier, Sam said.

Slowly shaking her head, Sally reached up and held Bertie’s comforting hands.

I’ll tell you what’s going on, Sam announced to the entire family. Virgil’s gonna work at the factory in Clarksville for a few of months. He’ll be helpin’ the family pay back the note we needed from the bank.

Jumbled dissention filled the dining room.

Factory?

Doing what?

No, Pa.

He’s too small.

Clarksville?

Mom, don’t let him go.

Send me instead, Pa, Samantha offered.

No. You need to stay here and help your mom with the chores. Besides, girls don’t work in factories. At least good girls don’t.

But Pa—

Look, we don’t got no choice, he interrupted. It’s a clothes factory or somethin’, so he’ll be minding a machine, probably adding thread or something. It’ll certainly be easier than the work here. And he’ll be home every weekend.

He’ll be gone all week?

So. Me and Sammy work from sunup till dark when harvest comes. And we’ll start cutting and staking in the next week or so. We barely see any of y’all except at dinner and Sunday when we ride to church. So, won’t be a whole lot different than if he was working the fields with us.

No, Ma, Virgil shouted, don’t let him send me away.

Virgil. They’re gonna pay you two dollars a day. That is more than the one dollar a day I pay day-labor for a full day of bringing in the tobacco.

No, Pa.

Listen, Virgil, Sam explained, I don’t like this any more than you do. He looked to Sally, with Bertie wrapped around her, and then back at Virgil. We only needed seventy-five dollars to get us through. Once the tobacco is in and sold, and we settle up … well, providing we get as much per pound as we ought to, you’ll be done sooner.

But I can’t work down there, Pa. Teacher says factory work is what all of them orphans and black boys who don’t go to school do. And what about my studies?

Your studies can wait. Besides, your teacher told your ma that you’re already ahead of most of your class. He took another bite of cookie before continuing. They’ll feed you and give you a place to sleep, of course. They gotta keep, uh, something for room and board. But I figure the loan’ll be paid back in fifteen weeks or so. That’s only three, four months.

Four months? Samantha objected. No, Daddy, Virgil’s too young to live on his own. Mom?

He won’t be livin’ on his own, Sam huffed. He’s gonna be living with other workers his age. Guthrie says they have a nice rooming house for the workers. Why, they said they even got them indoor water closets and washrooms like your mama seen in them magazines. No more trips to the outhouse with snow on the ground. He’ll be livin’ like some rich guy.

But I don’t want to live there, Virgil said. I don’t wanna go. I want to stay here.

We ain’t gonna discuss this. This farm’s been in this family over a hundred years. Two hundred and fifty acres till the war blew it all apart. My pa kept a hundred acres in tobacco, and we lived good. Now, we got only twenty in tobacco, and y’all know the grazin’ and wood we get from the rest don’t amount to nothin’. Sam took a deep breath. So, we got no choice."

Mom, say something, Samantha mouthed toward Sally.

Sally sat motionless, her hands folded in prayer. Sweet Jesus, please help this family, she whispered.

Where was Jesus when them Yankees took most of the land from my pa and gave it away free to them freed slaves after the war? Was gonna give ’em each forty acres … just take it all from honest landowners like us. Unbelievable! All they left Pa was a hundred acres of his own land. That gave your uncle Stan and me each fifty acres when he passed. Most of it ain’t even tillable. Sam’s face flushed as his hands resting on the table became fists. And half of them freed slaves took our last name when they went free. There’s as many black Gibsons around here as white. And Stan lost his fifty to some Yankee carpetbagger. Well, they ain’t getting our farm too. Sam stood and started toward the door, looking back at Sally. I need some fresh air, he mumbled.

But, Pa, let’s talk about this, Sammy Ray offered with a softness that he hoped would not further anger his pa. There’s gotta be something else we can do besides sending Virgil away.

Sam looked back toward the family. We ain’t gonna discuss this. I said I made the deal, and my word is my bond. This is the third bad year in a row, and I ain’t losin’ this farm as long as I got a breath in my body.

Sam’s hands were shaking. He quickly walked to the pantry where everyone knew he kept a bottle of bourbon in case company comes. He lit a cigar and leaned back against the shelves. A couple swigs of bourbon later, he returned to the table. The rest of the family stared quietly into their plates.

After a moment of awkward silence, Sam looked directly at Virgil and said, Now that you’re all calm, here’s how it’s gonna work, boy. We figured it out, and you’ll have the note worked off by Christmas. Then we’ll be back plumb even with the bank.

I ain’t gonna do it, Pa. Virgil stared directly into his father’s red face.

He shouldn’t have to. Sammy Ray placed a supporting hand onto his brother’s shoulder.

Don’t you boys talk back to me, their father growled. None of y’all are too old for a whoopin’. Look. Five days a week in the city. Home each Friday, and back to the city on Sunday after church. I don’t like doin’ this either, but we got no choice.

Virgil stared at his pa in disbelief, trying to process how his life was suddenly changing.

Come on, Bobby, Sammy Ray said to his younger brother. We’ve got work to do. As they walked past their father toward the door, Sammy stared back in contempt. The girls remained, crying, staring at their mom in disappointment.

I’ll be out in the barn, Sam announced as he left the table.

Oh, dear sweet Jesus, Sally murmured.

Every evening, Sally visited each child’s bedroom, making sure he or she said their nightly prayers before kissing them good night. When she was at Virgil’s bedside for his prayers, he asked, Mama, can we pray that I don’t need to leave the farm and work in the city?

Tears stung her eyes. Oh, my poor baby boy, she said, your father is determined that this is the only way to save the farm. We both hoped we’d find another way, but right now, your pa doesn’t see any other choices. She pulled his blanket up to his shoulders and lingered, stroking his dark, curly hair. Yes, we can certainly pray that we find another way. She kissed his forehead. But if God doesn’t show us a different way, then we can pray that he keeps you safe. And we should pray for Pa. He—

But why is God punishing me? Virgil interrupted. What did I do that made him so mad that He’s takin it out on the whole family?

Oh, Virgil. He’s not punishing you. Or the family.

No, Ma. Not just the family. He’s punishing the whole town.

He’s not punishing the town. These things just happen.

But this morning, the reverend said—

Since when do you stay awake long enough to listen to what the reverend says? she smiled and hugged him.

They said the bedtime prayer together. After she left his room, Virgil added, And, God, please don’t punish the town and my family no more. If I made you mad, you can punish me, but please not them. Uh, amen!

2

A s Sam rechecked the straps and bands on the large, dusty draft horse that would lead them to Clarksville, Virgil climbed onto the seat in the back. It was an unusually warm morning, even for early August. Sammy Ray and Billy received extra instructions on what Sam expected them to accomplish while he was gone. Sam didn’t want to lose a whole day’s work on the farm, but he knew it was his duty to accompany his wife and make sure Virgil got where he needed to be.

Giddy, Whisper, Sam commanded, and with a slight shake of the reigns, the harness tightened as the powerful animal stepped off, and they were on their way.

It was a long and quiet ride. Virgil studied the farms, fields, and barns as Whisper pulled their buggy down what seemed like endless roads. Sally occasionally pulled her kerchief from her sleeve and wiped her eyes, hoping that Virgil didn’t see the tears. Sam studied the road, paying special attention to the holes and ruts. The few stops in small towns to let Whisper rest and drink from the public troughs were a welcome break from the bumpy ride.

From the top of the final hill, they could see Clarksville spread out in the hollow below. The farms became smaller and closer together. The roads became cobbles and then brick. As they neared the city, the outlying homes gave way to city houses, followed by tenements above businesses.

I’m sorry that it came to this, Virgil, but it’s the only way that we could stay in business as a farm. I’m proud of you for helping out the family like this.

Virgil looked toward his mom, who looked away. But, Pa, I don’t want to move to the city, he said.

When you get to be a man, Sam continued, you’ll understand about things we have to do whether we want to or not. We need to put our feelings aside and do what’s best for the family.

But, Pa, there’s gotta be something else we can do.

No, Virgil. We don’t have a choice, Sam explained, hesitating, taking a slow, deep breath. I really wish we did, but we don’t.

Whisper let out a series of nervous snorts as he slowly pulled the buggy along the unfamiliar city street bustling with activity.

A Thompson Flyer car sputtered by, spooking the horse, and causing the buggy to lurch forward. Slow that blasted thing down, Sam barked as he pulled hard on the reins, jerking Whisper and the buggy to a sudden stop.

Sam! Sally scolded as she shifted and adjusted the cushion under her.

Sam climbed down from the seat of the buggy and stepped in front of Whisper, attaching leather blinders to the bridle. All I know is farming, Virgil. That’s it. There’s no other way I know of to support the family. Was hoping we wouldn’t have to use these, but I think these’ll calm him some. Pulling himself back into the seat, Sam looked up and down the street before shaking the reigns with another, Giddy, Whisper.

Whispers stepped off with renewed confidence.

Now you’ve got a chance to learn something more, Sam continued. And you’re smarter than me … well, book smarter. You should do better than what I have to offer. When I’m old and gone, there ain’t farm enough to support all three of you boys. He looked to Virgil with a smile, Why, who knows? You might be a factory manager someday.

But I don’t want to. I promise I’ll work harder at the farm. I’m gettin’ bigger, Pa. I grew an inch just last month. And I’ll be fourteen soon. I can outbox Sammy Ray, and he’s fifteen. I’m bigger and taller. I’m gonna be stronger soon. Sometimes people think I’m the older brother.

He’s right, Sally added, looking toward Virgil. He is gonna be bigger than Sammy Ray. He’s gonna be big like my papa was.

Yeah, he’s gonna be just like your pa all right. Your pa was good at everything except winnin’ the war, Sam snarled.

Oh, so now you’re blaming him for losing the war? I swear you’d blame everything on him. You’d blame your Sunday hangovers on him if you could.

If it wasn’t for the likes of him, I might not need to drink so much.

The devil you say. Maybe if you’d focus more on what the Reverend McCoy says and less on using Pa as an alibi—

Sam and Sally’s words faded as Virgil looked down the street from building to building. Pa, please don’t give me away, he whispered. Please let me stay home. Please.

The three sat quietly for an uncomfortable minute, each slowly looking around. Each struggling with a defeating sense that putting Virgil to work in the city was both the right thing and the wrong thing to do—and the only thing to do.

You know, when my granddad came over from Ireland, they sent him ahead to learn the customs, the language, and to help bring the rest the family over, Sam said. And he was about your age. He worked and saved, and in ten years, he had the whole family there. It ain’t like I’m sending you halfway across the world.

May as well be halfway around the world. Pa—

Darnnation, Sam continued, "train going right down the middle of the road. So many wagons and buggies, they’re about to run into one another. And all them people crossing everywhere. And—oh, here we are. I see the sign up ahead there now. I think it’s that big building on the right. It says Clark."

As they neared, their expectation of a glamorous factory was abruptly dashed as they all stared at the dirty three-story brick building on the corner of two filthy streets. The large building spread half a block in each direction, and a mud-splattered brick sidewalk separated the building from the street. Overgrown patches of jagged grass adorned the uneven sidewalk leading to the double-door entry.

Oh, there’s Mr. Donaldson, the manager. He’s waitin’ for us, Sam announced as he tugged the reins lightly to the right. Whisper pulled the buggy to the curb and stopped. I told Donaldson we’d be here by four, but we’re a little late.

Virgil helped Sam disconnect the buggy and tie it to the hitching post as Sally watched people go in and out of the factory. They tied Whisper near the water trough.

Mr. Gibson, nice to see you again, Mr. Donaldson said, walking up to Sam and extending a plump right hand. And this must be Vance.

Virgil, Sam corrected, receiving Mr. Donaldson’s hand with a firm grip.

Of course. Virgil. That’s what I meant.

Mr. Donaldson watched Virgil remove his bag, fashioned from a remnant of worn carpet and rope handles, from the back of the buggy. Virgil insisted on packing it himself. In addition to clothes, he put in his jackknife, pigskin gloves, and a telescope. And, with extra care, he packed his Bible. Mr. Donaldson stifled a chuckle as Virgil turned to meet him. Under a straw hat stood a thin lad. Oversized bibbed overalls, fastened with hooks, were rolled at the ankle, revealing calf-high boots. His red-checkered flannel shirt sported a patch on the left elbow.

Sally had suggested he wear his nicer Sunday clothes. He ain’t goin’ to a social party, Sam scoffed. He’s goin’ to work. Them’s work clothes he’s got on. He can take some good clothes in case he needs to dress up.

Mr. Donaldson stepped up to Virgil. Welcome to Clarksville, he said as he shook Virgil’s hand.

Virgil did not answer.

Well, he said with a smile, you’re going to have a great time here, lad. Then, turning to Sally, he said, Mrs. Gibson, I presume. Don’t worry. Vance—uh, I mean Virgil—will be well taken care of here. I will treat him like my own children. Oh, he pulled his watch from his vest pocket and looked at the time, we must be getting back into the plant now. It’s almost time for the resident workers to have their meal.

Virgil kissed his mother goodbye with tears in his eyes.

We’ll be here Friday to bring you home, she said between sniffles. Just do as they tell you, and everything will be okay. And don’t forget how much we love you.

Mr. Donaldson smiled. Don’t worry, Mrs. Gibson. He’ll be well taken care of.

Virgil shook his father’s hand. Neither could find words.

As Virgil and Mr. Donaldson walked up the sidewalk, Mr. Donaldson put a comforting hand on Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil looked back at his mom. Don’t forget to say your prayers, she said in a faint voice.

Virgil smiled and nodded to his mom. I won’t, he whispered.

So, do your kids work here too? Virgil asked as they entered the building.

What?

Your kids. You told Pa—

Well, you little guttersnipe, he interrupted, let’s get something straight. He tightened a grip on Virgil’s shoulder. You don’t talk to me unless I talk to you first. They say children should be seen and not heard. They continued walking. Well, I think they should be neither seen nor heard.

As they walked up the steps and disappeared through the entrance, Virgil looked back to his parents with tears in his eyes. Mr. Donaldson gave them a wave and a smile.

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