1923
Ettrick, 47 miles south of Edinburgh
From on top of the hill, the boy could see for miles across the flatlands. Between the river where he enjoyed rock hunting and the underbrush where he collected insects, there were miles and miles of soggy moor. The vast emptiness of the moors bothered the boy on a level he couldn't quite put into words, leading him to pursue these particular cultivations. When he thought of the endless emptiness that continued for miles over the horizon, the boy felt bored.
Rolling up his socks and britches, he flew fearlessly down the sides of the knoll, arms wind-milling to keep his balance. He was a fair-haired child whose pale face was spotted with freckles that went all the way down his arms. He had always been a frail boy with one leg slightly shorter than the other leading to an awkward gait when he walked. But at ten years old it was not a setback.
After squelching through the mud for an hour, the boy came within sight of a valley house. The stones were old and weather worn and the shingles of the roof would perspire as thick fogs moved in over the hills. A small shed of rotten wood jutted out from the west side of the house. Normally stacked within were tools and other treasures the boy coveted from his departed father. He had often wondered what the tools were used for, as the valley was far from a hospitable agricultural area. Perhaps it had once been a valley teeming with fertile soil. If that was the case, it had to have been long before he was born, the boy reckoned.
A man stood by the shed in overalls and a cap. In either hand he hefted two tin cans, most likely filled with milk from the only cow the family who lived there owned. The boy wasn't exactly sure of there relation – a cousin of some degree to be sure, but there were times he felt a fraternal attachment to the man seven years his senior.
"You lot!" He suddenly called to the pale child. "Your mother's got dinner ready." He said without breaking his stride. The boy hadn't noticed the emptiness of his stomach until it had been drawn attention to. Picking up his stride, the boy came around the side of the valley house.
"John Parker Hammond! Just what have you done to those trousers?"
His mother's stern voice greeted John as he plodded slowly to the table. The boy looked sheepishly at his muddied pants, sticking his finger through a hole that had worked its way into the knee of the fabric. His mother sighed exasperatedly as she handed him his supper. Across the table, his sister, Catrina, was eagerly scarfing down her meal. She was three years younger than John yet his short stature and her feisty attitude gave her an air of an older sister. With chestnut brown hair, dark eyes, and a long, sunken face like her mother's, she was the spitting image of domestic poverty.
"Now where's Jamie gotten to?" Mrs. Hammond sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. John looked up from his supper, "He's coming." He said.
"Just like your father he is. It's no wonder your auntie up and died – having to live with …" Jamie entered the kitchen just then, leaving Mrs. Hammond in a pretty predicament. John wiped the smile from his face and continued slurping his soup. Without a word, his mother brought Jamie his own bowl to tuck into. The rest of the meal was eaten in silence.
John's fascination with Jamie had begun when the older boy had taken up residence with the Hammond's four years prior. John's father was just starting to get sick when John's auntie died, leaving Jamie an orphan. As far as John knew, or had been told, Jamie had no father to speak of – coming into this world one way or another. John concluded that being born was a tricky business and didn't pry into it further – especially considering his mother had been holding a pair of hot prongs when he had asked her about it.
After suppers when the weather was mild, John found himself with Jamie out front of the valley house, looking into the complete blackness and shapelessness of the night. It was rare to see an evening with stars in the sky, as the clouds over Ettrick never seemed to move. John wasn't interested so much in the scenery as he was with Jamie. He was envious of his curly brown hair, deep blue eyes and chiseled features. Sitting beside Jamie, John felt crippled. But he also felt happy.
"What'd you do today Johnny boy?" Jamie would often ask him.
On that particular night, John pulled out his jar of insects he had collected during the day. They were mostly beetles, flies, and caterpillars that he had pulled up from under rocks and overturned logs, but John found a new one almost every day and enjoyed sketching them in his notebook on rainier days. "No rocks today then?" Jamie inquired.
John pressed his lips together and dug deeper into his pockets, eventually retrieving a rock, glazed with a shiny substance that gave it a glossy white look. Jamie smiled and took it from him, turning it over in his hands a few times. He gave a small chuckle, "This isn't a rock you know."
"Is so." John retorted.
"No … it's just tree sap." Jamie licked it. John's eyes widened in shock and Jamie ribbed him with his elbow, a smile plastered across his face. "Go on, it's sweet." John took the sap apprehensively. He should have known it wasn't really a rock. Sniffing it beforehand, John tasted his find.
"It's good." He admitted, before handing it back to Jamie.
"Thanks Johnny boy, but I don't need it." Jamie tossed the piece of sap between his two hands, before suddenly making it disappear.
"Teach me how to do that!" John demanded.
Jamie shrugged. "It's magic Johnny-boy. I can't tell you how it's done."
John pounded the older boy with a balled fist, battering him slowly to the ground. Jamie easily recovered, picking up John in one arm and pinching his nose. "Owch! Jamie that hurts!" John piped. When Jamie pulled his hand away, there in his calloused palm was the tree sap. Jamie chuckled, gave John another playful shove and went inside.
When John returned to school a week later, he was selling pieces of tree sap for a penny each.