The Dorston Fall [Book I in the Dorston Legacy]

Chapter 5 - Hard Life (Part I)

Sammy woke before the rooster could cry its morning call. His twenty year old body now used to the early mornings, he would wake almost by accident. The light of a new day shone dimly through the window, illuminating the room and its occupants. Sitting upright slowly, Sammy stretched out his arms and massaged the pain in his lower back and hip. His mattress of straw was thinning, the impossibly uncomfortable wooden plank underneath was surfacing. Straining his neck until it clicked, he groaned; swinging his legs over the edge of his wooden bed.

As he always did, he'd risen before his brothers. All five of them. Sammy smiled, looking at each one. Having outgrown their beds, the boys' limbs dangled over the edge; their arms and legs swaying slightly in happy dreaming. They could sleep anywhere his brothers. Give them only a pillow and they'd be sound asleep in seconds, regardless of their mattress whether it be grass, rocks or twigs. With a sigh, Sammy flew back the pathetic piece of cloth that was his cover and reached for his leather boots by the side of his bed.

It wasn't much, their home above the forge. Their second floor living space was a blank canvas, no walls just a wide open space with wooden floorboards, which creaked wherever you stepped. In the centre of the room, rose the chimney tower made of dark bricks and stones. He and his brothers had arranged their beds around it to capture the continuous heat from the hearth below. In the southern corner of the room, was a trap door in the floor that led to the workshop below. Pulling on his blue shirt, dried with dirt and sweat, Sammy got to his feet and walked quietly to check on his youngest brother, baby Harry.

Sleeping soundly in the cot both he and his other brothers had slept in, Sammy stared down at the baby with a smile. Harry was beautiful as many a new born would be, with rosy cheeks and little fingers. He was already showing signs of having dark hair, just as the rest of his family had. Sammy knew when he woke, he would be staring into the eyes of his mother. Brown like wood, brown like his.

Thinking of his mother hit him hard, making his heart miss a beat. He'd lost his mother the day Harry was birthed, but that didn't make Sammy love him any less. If only his father shared the same sentiment. In not so many words, his father despised Harry, despised him for taking his wife away; despised him for living when she had died. He wouldn't hold him, yet alone look at him. Sammy hated his father for his neglect, not just on Harry but on him and his other brothers as well. As if he wasn't the only one hurting and mourning the loss of the woman who kept their family together. Sucking in a breath, Sammy stroked his brother's warm cheek and tucked in the furs closer to his little body.

Harry stirred slightly at his touch, but returned quickly to his deep slumber. Sammy smiled, walking over to his twin brothers, Lewis and William. Six years old and as much trouble as any two boys could be. They got away with murder, snatching buns from the bakers and teasing cats with mice puppets on a string. Sleeping top to tail in a double cot, their shared blanket had fallen to the floor. Sammy bent down and placed it over them; pushing in their hanging legs and arms to their bodies. Heading towards the trap door, he passed Cecil and Daniel. Their blankets wrapped round them like a cocoon, they snored softly. Of all his brothers, Sammy felt sorry for them the most. They were of the working age of fourteen and sixteen. Being the eldest put Sammy in line to inherit the workshop from their father. Until he was the lawful owner, his brothers had to seek employment elsewhere. In Daniel's case, he worked in the fields; trimming away the weeds and planting seeds in the scorching heat. His arms and legs were burnt brown from his long hours outside. Dark circles had begun to form under his eyes. Almost every night, he'd come home exhausted; every part of him throbbing and stiff. It was a hard life on all of them, but if they didn't work they would starve and wither away. Sammy couldn't allow that to happen. Never.

Sammy stood for a moment or two, watching over his family. If it weren't for his brothers, he would have left the moment his mother died. His aunt dead and his father now a drunk, he felt there wasn't much keeping him in Harwood. He had no girl, not many friends, he preferred solidary walks in the Silverbell. If it weren't for his brothers, Sammy would have packed up and headed for Newmere or Matlock, anywhere where his life could be adventurous; anywhere where his life wasn't tied to a dead end blacksmith. But he did have brothers. They needed him. Their mother three months dead and buried, their father everyday near unconscious, Sammy was now head of the household. He had a duty.