Bring My Soul Out of This Prison (on hold)

Chapter 1

Seamus Sweeney was an orphan in all the traditional senses of the word.  He had no parents, no siblings, no one who would take him in.  He did not even own any property or items other than what was in the old, beaten, oilcloth satchel he carried in his hands now. 

All that he once had was taken from him with his father’s last breath.  The manager of the farm his family had lived on for five generations was present at Mr. Sweeney’s deathbed.

“Mr. Sweeney, you understand that you don’t own any of this,” the slick man was saying when Seamus ran into the house, directly from the fields.  Slick was the only way to describe William Lewis.  His black hair was slicked to his head with some mysterious substance.  The ash gray suit he wore clung tightly to a wiry body; laying in crisp angles over pointy shoulders.  Even the sound of his voice had a slick sharpness to it.

“Your son has nothing,” he continued as if Seamus had not interrupted his pre-planned speech.

Mr. Sweeney nodded, turned his head, and coughed futilely into the dirty bed sheet, unable to speak.  He had been crushed under some of the farming equipment in a freak summer storm two weeks ago.  Seamus did what he could to keep things going but it was obvious to all concerned that an eight year old boy was simply not able to run a farm all by himself.

“If your wife had not gone before you,” the gray man shook his dark head, “So tragic when you lose your wife and the baby.  She was a lovely woman, truly.”  He shook his head again, loosening a few strands of hair, which were quickly put back where they should be by a sharply boned hand covered in tight skin.  “However, we have to face facts.  An eight-year-old boy is simply not up to the task of running a farm without a guardian of some sort and the Earl believes that he has come up with a fair solution.  He has arranged it with a fellow in Dublin for Seamus to apprentice there.  Seamus will live with this man, uh,” Mr. Lewis consulted the notes in his hand, “Twomey.  A Mr. Matthew Twomey of Dublin.  He is a very successful shoemaker and, more importantly, is willing to take Seamus in with no fee.  A favor for a favorite customer it is.  You’re lucky,” Mr. Lewis finally turned to Seamus and tried to smile at him.  “A good home.  Nothing to worry about.”

Seamus’ father reached out for him and Seamus ran into his arms gladly.  Frankly, the slick man with his flowery words frightened Seamus in a way that he could never describe.  Mr. Sweeney looked deeply into his son’s eyes, pleading him soundlessly to understand.  Then he closed his eyes and breathed a final deep breath.

The light left the little room as the sun shifted behind an encompassing, dark gray, slick little cloud.