Young Boy Lost: Tommy's First Chance

By C. W. Gustafson

Tommy, a boy growing up in the early nineteen hundreds in northern Wisconsin, lives in hopeless poverty, and is abandoned by his abusive “father” and taken in by a Christian couple with three young children. His situation improves, but Tommy and his new friend, Eric, have a series of harrowing adventures ranging from the northern woods of Wisconsin to the bustling city of Chicago and hopefully back again. The boys’ adventures include train rides, kidnapping, rescue attempts, horse rides, a blizzard, thin ice, and more. Will Tommy ever be able to return to his new, loving family, or is he destined to go back to his previous, miserable life with a scoundrel?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781631925283

Book preview

Resolution

CHAPTER 1

AN INTRODUCTION TO TOMMY

The icy wind blew in through the cracks in the shack. A skinny boy with light brown hair huddled in a corner on an old stained mattress on the dirt floor. A tattered blanket was wrapped around him, and fear was in his pale blue eyes. He shivered, dropped his head to his chest, and grimaced as a tear trickled down and dropped off of his nose. He concentrated on this action as it repeated itself over and over, creating a growing wet spot on his filthy blanket. His attention to the tears running down his face provided him a temporary escape from the world. He found that when he concentrated on them, he didn’t have to think, he didn’t have to worry; he just had to be.

The sun was barely hanging on to the western horizon, as the daylight was quickly slipping away. The rusty pot-bellied stove that sat in the middle of the room did little to heat the shack during this frigid winter. The boy finally walked over to the stove, picked up a couple of pieces of wood that were lying nearby, and fed them to the embers lying in the ashes left in the stove’s firebox. The fire slowly revived, and began to take the edge off of the chill in the air.

The shack was a disgrace. The one room served as kitchen, living room, and bedroom. Discarded liquor bottles and other debris were strewn all over the place. The shack’s tar paper covering over rough-sawn boards barely protected the inhabitants from the bitter winter winds and icy cold of a northern Wisconsin winter. It was located on the outskirts of a tiny town, Port Falls, which was on the southern shore of Lake Superior. The neighbors looked at the place and shook their heads. Mothers warned their children to stay away from the good-for-nothing drunk and his kid who lived there.

As the sun slowly slipped down out of sight, the boy, named Tommy, sat down on the mattress, pulled the dirty blanket up to his face, and tried to get to sleep. His face was gaunt. His brown hair was short and unkempt. As near as he could tell, he was about ten years old. Today was Friday. His father, Harold Carson, wasn’t due home until about two or three in the morning. If Tommy was lucky, his father would be so drunk that he would stagger in, flop down on the mattress next to Tommy and instantly fall asleep. If Tommy wasn’t so lucky, his father would not be quite so drunk, and would wake him, and beat him. One of his favorite reasons for delivering a beating was if Tommy kept the temperature too warm in the shack (not much danger of this in the winter), or if he kept it too cold. Tommy had never been able to keep the temperature of the shack to his father’s liking, even though he had spent much time experimenting with the potbellied stove to figure out what that temperature was. He had finally given up, and just learned to live with it.

Tommy was awakened several hours later to the sound of his father fumbling with the door latch, and staggering into the shack. He braced himself under the covers; his heart was pounding in his ears. Wh-wh-what is going on in here! It’s f-f-f-freezing in this room you good-for-nothing little brat! Tommy’s father lurched over to his mattress, grabbed Tommy, pulled him up to a standing position and slapped him across the face, sending him sprawling back into the table. His father then picked him up, carried him across the room and threw him out the door and into a snowbank. There, since you like the cold, see how you like this for a while!

Tommy stood out in the cold and shivered and cried. He was wearing nothing but his shirt and a filthy pair of ragged long johns, with no shoes or socks. Hey, please let me in! I’m sorry! I won’t let it get so cold again, please! Tommy cried, and sat in the snow, while holding his bare feet in his hands in an effort to keep them warm. He then ran to the door and pounded on it. Please, hey, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!

His father made no reply, but swore, and sat down at the table with his head in his hands. He was vaguely aware that he may have done something wrong, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He lit a half-smoked cigar that he found on the table, and spit a stream of tobacco juice on the floor. The sound of Tommy’s cries began to annoy him. He staggered over to the door, unhooked the latch and grabbed the hysterical boy and threw him down on the mattress. Quit your cryin’ you baby! I don’t know why I put up with you. Why don’t you just go live with someone else? Oh, by the way, I got a letter from a guy I met a few weeks ago who lives in Chicago. He says I can get rich there. I’m goin’ to Chicago to find him tomorrow. You ain’t comin’ with. You’ll just be in my way. I’m gonna drop you off at my lousy cousins’ place to live with them.

Tommy pulled the blanket over his head. How many times had he heard those words before? His father was always saying that he was going to go somewhere and get rich—California, Nevada, New York, but nothing ever came of it. It was just the booze talking. There was always a gnawing feeling in his belly when he heard his dad talk like that, though. A fellow just never knew. Would he leave him with someone, or would he just leave him alone in this hole that they called home, alone to starve and freeze? It wasn’t as if he would miss the guy. No way!

Harold staggered over to the mattress next to Tommy, who moved over against the wall, as far from him as he could get. Almost immediately Harold Carson was snoring, and Tommy turned his face to the wall, and cried himself to sleep, with tears running rivulets down his dirt-smudged cheeks.

The next morning Tommy woke early and looked for something to eat. The only items he could scrounge up were some soft, scabby apples from a barrel near the back door. Today was Saturday, and that meant wood gathering day. His father never thought far enough ahead to collect wood for an entire winter. It was always a week at a time, and if his father was feeling sick enough on Saturday mornings, he would often just send Tommy with a wheelbarrow by himself to collect wood wherever he could find it outside the town.

Harold was still sleeping. Tommy finished an apple, and threw the core on the floor of the shack. He pulled some overalls over his long johns, buttoned a ragged plaid sweater, grabbed a filthy jacket, pulled on some worn out boots, and stepped out into the cold. The old battered wheelbarrow was leaning against the outhouse. Tommy grabbed it and started down the alley that led out of town.

As Tommy passed by his neighbors’ houses, the temptation to grab a few sticks from their woodpiles here and there grew very great. It would sure beat having to saw up the long pieces that I find, he thought. Just as he passed the Jenkins’ modest home, he saw it—a huge pile of dry wood, all cut and stacked, enticing him to lift a couple of pieces from it. It would save so much time. It would be so easy. The Jenkins’ family would never know about it. Tommy looked up and down the alley. No one was there. He carefully crept over to the pile and grabbed a large oak piece and carefully placed it in his wheelbarrow. He stood there and stared at the wood for almost a minute. He frowned, kicked the snow, and then quickly took the piece of wood out of his wheelbarrow and put it back on the woodpile. I sure can’t take wood that doesn’t belong to me, Tommy thought.

Mrs. Jenkins just happened to look out her window at that time. She saw Tommy next to her woodpile with a wheelbarrow. She lumbered to the door with a speed not normally associated with such a large woman, opened it, and screeched, Stay away from my woodpile! She happened to be holding an egg, unfortunately for Tommy, which she was intending to fry for breakfast. She wound up like a professional baseball pitcher and heaved it at him. The brown egg missile flew straight to its target and pegged him right on the forehead. Tommy flew head-over-heels over the wheelbarrow and landed in a snowbank in the alley. He quickly scrambled to his feet, grabbed the wheelbarrow, and sprinted away from Mrs. Jenkins, who was still screeching about vagrants who would dare steal firewood. He finally reached another side street and ran with his wheelbarrow as quickly as he could, while wiping egg yolk and pieces of shell off of his face. Doors were opening, and people were looking out of their windows to see what was happening.

Tommy finally reached the edge of town, down by the slough, where there was a huge sawmill. He found a bunch of scrap lumber pieces lying around, and began to fill his wheelbarrow.

Tommy returned to the shack after a half hour or so, with his wheelbarrow full. He made a wide arc around the Jenkins’ house to make sure that he would not get another tongue lashing, or worse yet, another egg.

His father was sitting at the table when he opened the door of the shack. He was smoking a pipe and clutching a whiskey bottle. Well, kid, it’s time to get movin’. I’m goin’ to Chicago, and you’re gonna live with your cousins out in Evergreen. Evergreen was a neighboring township four miles from Port Falls.

Tommy grew uneasy, not because he wanted to be with his father, but because of the unknown factor that lay ahead. He didn’t really know his cousins, as he had only seen them a few times on special occasions. They seemed like a good bunch of people, but he really didn’t know much about them. Tommy’s heart beat loudly in his chest. He began to get that all-too-familiar sinking feeling in his belly, the kind of feeling he got whenever he heard his father fumbling with the door latch after a hard night’s drinking. All he said was, Okay. He started stuffing what few filthy clothes he had into a burlap sack.

Tommy’s dad went to fetch the horse that he owned. It was kept at a small farm at the western edge of town, right near the long hill that led out toward Evergreen. Soon his father was back with the dapple gray gelding. The poor horse had seen its better days. Its ribs were showing, and it lacked spirit. It seemed to pull the old battered wagon well enough, though. Tommy threw the sack in the wagon and jumped in the back. His father, without saying a word, slapped the horse’s back with the reins and they were off.

Say, are you really goin’ to Chicago? asked Tommy.

Sure, I’m gonna get rich, kid. The city is the place to make money. And now that you’re gonna be outta the way, I won’t be held back. Most of the rest of the trip was taken in silence. Tommy watched the terrain move slowly by as the wagon carried him toward an unfamiliar destination. Tommy concentrated on the razor thin back and hips of the gelding, moving in a plodding, rhythmic style as the miles were slowly eaten up.

How long am I gonna stay with the cousins? Tommy ventured, after a couple of miles. He wondered what they were going to be like.

Those Carsons are a lot different than us, boy. They’re Bible thumpin’ do gooders. I can’t say that I like ‘em, but I know that since I’m Ted’s cousin, and we have the same last name, I’m sure that he’ll take you in. And Margaret, his wife, she sure is a looker! She’ll be glad to have you, probably make a big fuss over you. Who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky, and they’ll want to keep you. Probably not though, you’re too much trouble. About the fifth or sixth time that the teacher calls on them to shape you up ‘cause you haven’t been doin’ your studies, I imagine they’ll be writin’ to me to come and get you. That reminds me, they better not have to write me a letter like that, or I’ll skin you alive, and I mean it, too! Now you listen to me. They have a lot of money —Ted is some high and mighty author or somethin’ like that— anyway, they have enough money to take you in, so don’t ruin your chances with ‘em. Well, so much for an answer as to how long Tommy would be staying with the Carson cousins. Anyway, it had to beat how he’d been living. Tommy couldn’t stand much more of that kind of lifestyle. Still, tears began to run down his face once more, as he worried over his future. It started to snow. The rest of the trip was spent in more misery than it began. The wagon creaked its way through the snow-covered roads. The gray gelding struggled onward. Tommy struggled onward. Harold Carson swore.

Eventually, they came to Ted and Margaret Carson’s driveway. Tommy peered anxiously at the farm as the gelding took the corner. It was very well-kept. It lay on the south side of the driveway. The driveway was about one hundred yards long, and made its way over a snow-covered creek that ran through the property. There was a white wooden bridge that ran over the creek.

The farm buildings lay on the opposite side of the driveway from the house, including the barn, sheep shed, chicken coop, and various other outbuildings. Tommy could see a few horses and some sheep eating scraps of hay out in the pasture. The whole place reflected contentment. Tommy’s father said nothing. Tommy’s quickly beating heart slowed a little. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad living here after all, if they would take him in, that is.

A brown, black, and white-colored collie came barking up to greet them as they pulled into the yard. The farmhouse door opened, and two young boys and a little girl came running out. They stopped and stood around the wagon, looking up at Tommy and his father.

Hey, is your pa around? asked Harold.

Yeah, replied one of the two boys, Daddy, we got company! He shouted, as he ran up the steps and barreled into his father, who had just stepped outside.

I see that, son, the man stated. He was tall, and muscular, yet lean. He had blondish-brown hair and blue eyes. His voice had a cheerful ring to it, the kind of voice that told you its owner was an honest, kind person.

Well, hello there Harold, hi Tommy, what brings you out to our neck of the woods?

I’m movin’ to Chicago. I’m going to work for a friend of mine there. The only problem is he don’t have room for Tommy. I was wonderin’ if you’d be obliged to watch him for a while.

Hey, I thought you said … Tommy interjected. Before Tommy could say another word, Harold reached back his hand and cuffed him across the face and sent him sprawling back into the wagon.

Shut up, you! snarled Harold. He looked at the man and shrugged his shoulders as Tommy gingerly felt his own cheek with his hand. Well, Ted, what do you think, can you put up with him for a while?

Ted Carson had a pained look on his face after witnessing the spectacle, but quickly recovered and replied, I’m sure we have room for Tommy to stay with us as long as he wants, but let me discuss it with Margaret first.

Tommy is more than welcome to stay with us, Margaret, who had also come out of the house, said. She walked down the steps. She had auburn hair, was tall and thin, and had a pretty, friendly face. I think you’ll like it here, Tommy, and we would love for you to stay. Margaret exchanged glances with Ted, whose relieved look told her, Thank you. They had known of Tommy’s situation with his father for quite some time, and were very anxious to get him out of it.

Come on down from the wagon, Tommy, that is to say, if you agree to stay with us. Margaret’s kind, brown eyes matched her voice. Tommy grabbed his burlap sack and jumped down from the wagon.

Harold Carson turned the wagon and started out the driveway without saying another word. Tommy never once even glanced at his father’s retreating figure. He just stared intently at Ted and Margaret and stood there, fumbling with his burlap sack. He had a single tear rolling down his face, and his cheek had a lump from Harold’s slap.

Are you hungry, Tommy? I think our lunch is about ready. How would you like some fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, and all the fixins? asked Ted. Tommy just nodded his head and followed Ted and Margaret into the house. Tommy looked around and saw the nice orderly kitchen with bright yellow curtains, throw-rugs on the floor, and attractive decorations on the white-painted walls. A wood cook stove dominated one wall, and on it were pots and pans full of good food —the aroma was heavenly. Tommy had never smelled anything so good in all his life. He just stood there, gaping at all of the food.

Let’s go into the dining room, shall we? Margaret said, adding, Ted, will you grab another place setting for Tommy? Go ahead, Tommy, pull up a chair, and sit down at this spot, Margaret said, as she pointed to a vacant place at the spacious table. Tommy obeyed. The rest of the family quickly took their spots at the table. Ted and Margaret had two sons and a daughter. The boys, age six, were twins—Tyler and Timothy. They were almost carbon copies of each other. They had light brown hair. Their brown eyes were almost identical to the eyes of their mom. They now sat straight up in their chairs and kept glancing over at Tommy. Elizabeth was four. She also had light brown hair and brown eyes like her brothers. She, at the moment, was very quiet (Tommy was soon to find out that was not always the case). She kept playing with her two braids, twirling them around her fingers. She could not keep her eyes off of Tommy.

Mommy, it stinks in here now, Elizabeth stated, as she continued to stare at Tommy.

Ahh, Elizabeth, it’s conference time, please, Margaret said. The two left the room.

Elizabeth, please don’t be rude to our guest. That was not an appropriate statement to make at the dinner table, and especially when you were staring right at Tommy, Margaret said, once they were in another room of the house.

But Mommy, he smells awful! He must not take baths very much! He smells like Tyler and Timmy when they come in from the barn! Elizabeth wrinkled up her nose when she said this.

Elizabeth, honey, what would Jesus do if he were in your situation?

He wouldn’t say anything, I think, but I bet he would put a clothespin on his nose.

Margaret chuckled at that one to herself, but she replied, Elizabeth, I think that Jesus would probably not make any mention about an odor. So I wish that you would go and do the same thing. Let’s see if you can do that, okay?

I’ll try, Mommy, but it won’t be easy. Is that what it means to suffer as a Christian? You and Daddy talk about that sometimes.

Well, not exactly, darling.

The two walked back into the dining room, and Ted quickly announced, Let’s ask God’s blessing on this meal. He then prayed, Dear God, we thank you for your many blessings that you bestow upon us. We thank you for your protection each day, and for this food that you have provided for us. We thank you for bringing Tommy to us to share a part of his life with us. We just ask that we would continue to become a good family, and a loving family. We ask these things in the name of your son, Jesus Christ, amen.

Margaret and Ted then began to dish up plates of the mouth-watering dinner. The fried chicken was done to perfection, with a light golden-brown crust. The mashed potatoes were doused with a generous portion of gravy. Corn, homemade bread, cranberry sauce, and a jug of ice-cold milk accompanied the chicken and potatoes. Tommy also happened to notice the pie sitting over on the countertop; he guessed it might be apple, from the smell of it. Ted poured a large glass of milk from the glass bottle for Tommy. Tommy’s eyes grew wider and wider as Margaret piled the delicious portions of food onto his plate. Finally Tommy looked at Ted and Margaret and said in a small, meek voice, Is all the food on this plate for me?

Margaret gave a smile. Ted chuckled and said, Well of course it is, and there’s more if you finish all that, but you had better save some room for Margaret’s famous apple pie. The apples are from our own trees, and I think you will like it!

Tommy opened his mouth in wonder and glanced over at the counter where the spectacular pie sat. Tommy picked up his fork and started eating. He had never eaten so well in all of his ten years. Tommy was stuffed by the time dessert was served, but he still managed a generous helping of Margaret’s apple pie.

After the dinner dishes were put away, Ted said, I have to go check on the horses. Tommy, would you like to go with me?

Hey, we get to go too! shouted Tyler and Timmy in unison. They quickly grabbed their winter gear and ran to their father.

Tommy, we need to find you a good winter jacket, a hat, and some boots, Margaret mentioned, pursing her lips together in thought. Ted, I know we have some old jackets in the closet and I think Tommy can fit into one of my older pairs of boots. Boy, if you are going to stay with us, we are going to have to order you some clothes.

I don’t have any money to buy ‘em, replied Tommy, in earnest.

Hey, we will take care of that. We’re not going to let one of our kids have to buy his own clothes! Ted exclaimed.

Tommy cast his eyes downward and he mumbled, But I’m not one of your kids. I-I-I wish I was, though.

Hey there, pal, if you are staying with us, we consider you one of our kids, Ted said, as he leaned over and put an arm around Tommy’s shoulders. We’ve been hopin’ for a long time that we could take care of you, Tommy. I know that your dad is going through some rough times and it’s hard for him to provide for you. The strange thing is, we were just going to stop by your place after church tomorrow and see if we could take you with us for a while, and lo and behold, here you are. I think God meant for us to be together for the time being.

It’s been tough, staying with him, Tommy stated. There ain’t ever anything to eat, and I’m always cold in the winter.

Well, you don’t ever have to worry about that now, we are going to do our best to take care of you, Ted said.

Well, you four men had better go check on the animals, Margaret said, as she gave Tommy a jacket, hat, mittens, and boots. Ted, Tommy, and the twins donned their winter gear and stepped out into the cold weather.

The collie, named Shep, bounded out ahead of them into the barnyard, barking for all he was worth. Shep, I’m sure glad yer with us, protectin’ us from all the vicious mice in the barn! Ted said, laughing. Shep continued to bark and chase around the buildings.

The first stop was the chicken coop, which was directly across from the farmhouse. Ted made sure Shep did not go in with them, knowing the havoc that would be created if he did. Twenty or so white hens and one rooster were inside the building. The contented clucking and ruffling of feathers and scratching were a welcome sound. Even the smell was not unpleasant. Tyler immediately ran over and stuck his hand under a hen and pulled out a warm white egg. Looky here what I got, he said, as he trotted over to Tommy, placed the egg in his hands, and stepped back to watch Tommy’s reaction.

Tommy smiled and said, Can I try one?

Go ahead and see if there are any more, replied Ted. Tommy stepped over and carefully reached his hand under a laying hen. Nothing was there. He tried another hen, and sure enough, there was a warm egg under that one.

This is so great! exclaimed Tommy. I never picked eggs before. They went off to see the sheep after they fed the chickens. The sheep barn was next to the chicken coop.

Most of the sheep were in the sheep barn, but they had free access to the outdoors. There were mostly white ones, with a few having some black on them. Ted took a pitchfork, climbed up a ladder to the hayloft, and started pitching some hay down to them. The twenty or so sheep quickly made their way to the new hay and began to eat. Tommy, Timmy, and Tyler scrambled up the ladder to help out. Tyler and Timmy used their hands to grab hay and throw it down. "Hey, this is the most help I’ve had in