The Tree of Many Colors

By Caroline Frye

In an age of the great depression,
a desperate orphan boy searches for love among the ashes of society.
Driven by the need to protect his heart from rejection, SAMUEL BEANBLOSSOM becomes his own worst enemy, even in his foster home.
It's a time of hardship, and Samuel's fear of rejection grows stronger each day. Only after jumping into a life-threatening situation by running away, does he realize, that love was never far away.
As the dismal year continues, Samuel hungers for love. But can he push his fear aside long enough to accept a life of happiness with the foster family who love him?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Caroline Frye
• Release date: Dec 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005344900

Caroline Frye

Children's author and musician.

Book preview

THE TREE OF MANY COLORS

By Caroline Frye

All Rights Reserved

This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. Portions of this book are works of nonfiction. Certain names and identifying characteristics have been changed. Actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. For more information address the author. http://inkler.blogspot.com/carolinefrye

THE TREE OF MANY COLORS First Edition.

Copyright © 2021 Caroline Frye.

Acknowledgement

"I dedicate this book to all the outstanding people who lived during the depression era, and my endearing mother who always encouraged me to love books and the stories they told."

Foreward

THE TREE OF MANY COLORS

is a first edition by Caroline Frye, an historical fiction with elements of adventure. This book is an introduction into the chaotic world of an orphan boy surviving the early 1900’s that involves plenty of twists and turns to keep you wanting more.

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In an age of the great depression, a desperate orphan boy searches for love among the ashes of society. Driven by the need to protect his heart from rejection, SAMUEL BEANBLOSSOM becomes his own worst enemy, even in his foster home. It's a time of hardship, and Samuel's fear of rejection grows stronger each day. Only after jumping into a life-threatening situation by running away, does he realize, that love was never far away. As the dismal year continues, Samuel hungers for love. But can he push his fear aside long enough to accept a life of happiness with the foster family who love him?

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THE TREE OF MANY COLORS

CHAPTER 1—SNOW

It snowed most all week, and I savored the sight of it—pure and white and full of expectations. Saturday morning, my wrinkled nose grew cold, pressed hard against the window, wondering what had transpired during the night. I stared through a never-ending wall of crystals, smiling as the flakes floated through the air. I closed my eyes, imagining them slowly drifting down and melting on my upturned face. The yard looked like the North Pole, pure and dream-like. Peering through the solid white downpour, I became stuck in a stare, hoping to see Pa come walking up the road, shuffling through the white powder any minute. I opened my pocket watch to check the time as the white flakes swirled and magically transformed the yard.

Snow covered the rocky dirt road, and the trees glittered white. Winter chased away the black coal dust that usually smothered the town. The train tracks, now coated with a sugar fine dusting of white, looked wonderful. Not like the usual cold, hard lines of steel leading from the coal mine where Pa worked. I shivered, imagining myself in the middle of the snowstorm.

Wiping moisture from the window, I rubbed the wetness on my pajamas, my feet itching to get outside. Pa should have been here by now. He wanted to help me build a snowman.

I pulled out my watch and squeezed the clasp open. A chill crawled down my spine. Pa was two hours late.

I waited all day. When Pa didn’t come home, I ran up to my room to watch from the window. I took out my watch that he’d given me for my last birthday. It fit into the palm of my hand perfectly. The watch hands crawled slowly around the shiny rim—alive in the moonlight. He’d be here any minute. He probably just had to work overtime. I wrapped a blanket around my cold shoulders and sit by the window, gazing through the snowstorm and feeling my heart thump with every passing minute. The house was always warmer when Pa was there—and not as dark. Now, the outside looked menacing and as smooth as vanilla ice cream. I could barely make out the road and train tracks that had disappeared beneath the frosty layers like frozen bones hard as steel. 

I focused harder, squinting through the downpour for a glimpse of Pa. My eyes kept closing. And then I heard noises downstairs and came wide awake. Two of Pa’s friends trudged across the porch to talk to the housekeeper. Why had they come instead of Pa? I looked at my watch. It was 8:30 . where was he? I sat at the top of the stairs watching, feeling a lump swell in my throat. I couldn’t understand a word, but when our housekeeper turned, she had tears in her eyes. I swallowed the lump and ran down the stairs, feeling my face turn pale as ash.

Where’s Pa? Why didn’t he come with them? Is anything wrong?

The housekeeper took a deep breath and shoved my hair back. Go to bed, Sammy, she said. It will be okay. We’ll talk in the morning. 

In the morning? Why? What’s wrong? I asked, running from her to the window.

Sam, just go up to bed, she said, hugging me. Her hug was unexpected. And her expression scared the dickens out of me—her eyes huge under a narrowing frown. A mountain of emptiness rushed into my heart. Something was wrong. When she shoved me toward the stairs, tears poured down my cheeks. Where was my pa? I wiped them away with my sleeve and inched up the stairs. My bare feet dreading every step, each one colder than the first. I wanted to do something. But what? I couldn’t go looking for Pa in the night. I jumped into bed and covered my head—sensing the coldness of the sheets and the smell of lye soap. I was alone for the first time. I buried my head in the pillow and screamed until my throat ached. Then everything grew quiet. The feather bed clumped over me like a massive cave filled with painful questions, emptiness, and a fear bigger than the mountains.

The next day, after breakfast, the housekeeper finally told me about the coal mining accident. Pa’s gone, and that I’d never see him again. It’s like a dreadful dream. I know it’s not real. Stop lying! I shout. I look around the room for someone to stand up for me and say it’s a lie. But then I think—they’re all lying. No! I scream, running up the stairs, trembling on the inside, drowning from the cold tears. I hide under my blankets, breathing warm air in and out and counting each breath to stay calm. It can’t be true. They hate me. I won’t listen to any of them. Not now. Never! That night, I sobbed myself to sleep, clinging to my watch for dear life. I would believe none of them.

The next morning in the harsh light of day, listening to the adults whispering, I know what they said must be true. If it weren’t Pa would have been here by now. He never left me alone for long. I reach into my pocket and pull out the pocket watch he gave me for my birthday. He said I was his best friend. Pa told me he loved me every day. 

I make it through the days that follow by thinking of Pa and remembering things he said and things we did together, making snowmen, gathering walnuts, and rolling hoops. Lots of people come and go during Christmas, bringing food, but mostly sitting around and talking about me and Pa.

People come to visit from his work. They seem to mean well, but nothing they say makes sense. Mostly, they take turns patting me on the head and looking funny when I asked about Pa. I hear a lot about what a big boy I am. I already know that. Pa told me all the time. That’s why he gave me his watch. One of Pa’s friends sat by me at dinner and talked about how I should knuckle down and make something of myself. It made me feel creepy. What could I do? I’m a kid.

Today, when I came down for breakfast, the housekeeper said she had to talk to me about something. The scent of bacon and buttermilk biscuits filled my nostrils as I sat on a bench beside her at the table. My stomach grumbled. She unfolded her arms and leaned forward until I could smell the soap from her face. Sam, remember last week I mentioned that you were going on a trip? I shake my head. No. What trip? I remembered nothing about a trip. How could I remember anything after the shock of losing Pa? The housekeeper leans forward, touching my knee. I explained that things would have to be different now. You can’t stay here because I won’t be here anymore. Some other folks are moving into the house.

What? A shiver plastered my body. The hairs on my arms prickled as if she had thrown icy water on me. I fell back against the bench. No... um, huh, you can’t send me away. You’re lying! 

A surge of fear shot through my body, as hot as a fire. I just lost my Pa, and now I’m losing my home too? I don’t believe you. This isn’t fair—

She stands and reaches out, trying to hug me. Sam, I’m sorry, honey, but someone is coming for you today so gather the things you want to take along and put them in this nap sack. 

Sobbing, I clasped my fingers together and pushed her away. That sack wasn’t near big enough for all the stuff I wanted to keep. I pictured Pa. He wouldn’t like this a bit. He wouldn’t let anybody push me around. I pursed my lips and backed out of the room. I rushed up the stairs, sobbing uncontrollably. My mind raced with regret. Pa never saw my snowman. I’ll never see Pa again. I still can’t believe Pa’s dead. There, I said it. He’s gone. And no one gives a hoot. And now, I’m tossed aside, lost—like a stray dog looking for a home. Bursting into tears, I dropped on the cot and cried my eyes dry. My heart numb.

Later, the housekeeper called up the stairs to make sure I had gathered my things. After I packed my bag, I took out the watch Pa gave me, and I made myself a promise. No matter where I went or what I did, I’d never forget my pa. I’ll let no one take his place. And I would never, ever give up on him.

CHAPTER 2—INTO THE WOODS

Mrs. Jenkins probably ate children—she looked like a witch with hair twisted into a tight knot on her head. Every time she glanced toward me, her eyes flashed fire.

I sat quietly on the truck seat, my fingers digging into the hard vinyl, afraid of moving with nothing but the gold pocket watch Pa gave me.

Why is Pa dead? I hate that coal mine! I don’t want to leave home and move in with strangers. It doesn’t seem right.

Mrs. Jenkins slowed the truck and turned into the driveway.

I swallowed. It was the foster home. I reached into my pants pocket and cradled the watch—warm and tingling—in my fingers. 

I glanced quickly at Mrs. Jenkins—and hoped Pa wasn’t dead and would show up any minute.

My hopes went up in smoke like the dust that bowled from the truck, covering every trace of my past as she took me further into the backwoods of Appalachia.

Pa said the pocket watch would bring me good luck. Whenever I miss him, I just open the case, and he’ll be there.

This doesn’t feel like good luck—but my pa wouldn’t lie.

The truck door opened, the frigid air splashing over me mixing with the dread that burned inside.

Then she reached for me.

Mrs. Jenkins grabbed my hand and walked toward an old two-story house in the middle of an enormous field surrounded by pines. 

She led me onto a long porch as my heart whispered, ‘I might have to stay here to keep from being a hobo, but I’ll never let a stranger come between me and Pa.’

She knocked on the door. 

I squeezed my watch.

What if Mrs. Jenkins really is a witch-like in the Hansel and Gretel book Pa read to me? What if she’s taking me to her house in the woods? I swallowed. 

The trip to the foster home had been a nightmare. It took forever to get to the home, traveling through miles of country, and then down a dusty narrow road that never seemed to end. I couldn’t help worrying about where she was taking me and what she might do to me. I was afraid for the trip to end because that would be the end of the road. And the end of my life. Left with strangers—like a stray dog.

That night, a small boy led me up a narrow dark staircase. My arms and legs shook with fear. I hated being stranded with strangers, and I feared what waited at the top of the stairs. The boy kept stopping and turning around to talk. He talked the whole way, jabbering about where he slept and where I would be sleeping. He seemed sure we would be friends. I followed along, half hearing what he was saying—and drifting back and forth between missing Pa and the pain in the pit of my stomach.

The boy whirled around at the top of the stairs and darted through a doorway into a room with four small beds. The beds were all made up with clean blankets and pillows except the one by the window. The neatly stacked blankets on it had a pillow on top. He dropped the bag containing my belongings on that one. I sighed, knowing this was where I would sleep from here on out. That would be my bed, my small area of safety to dream in the comfort of darkness. I looked forward to those minutes alone by myself. A time