Light flooded through the boarded up windows of the old factory. Dust rose in the air with a hazy, serene glow. To the naked eye, it looked like a run-down factory. Old sewing machines stood like skeletons with a thick layer of dust and neglect. To me, I saw a home. Under the floor boards over there was spare money and valuables; behind the boxes in the corner were tin cans of food; and tucked behind a hanging comforter was my mother.
I gave a whistle as I walked in, a signal that we had worked out to announce my arrival back. I made my way across the wooden floor boards and pushed back the comforter to find my frail mother wrapped into a blanket. Many considered me skinny, but I was healthy with muscle from running. My mother's form of skinny was something completely different. It spoke of the disease that consumed her every day through jutting bones and a ghostly pallor. Before she could speak, I reached into my bag and pulled out a silver tin and a small loaf of bread.
"Old Annie had some left over broth for you and I got some bread, too. You should eat." The broth was a generous donation. The bread was not. It was a gift from a not-so-attentive shop owner.
"Regina." Her voice was soft and low.
"You should eat before it gets cold. Where's Caleb? He can have some bread too. I already had something to eat."
"Regina. There's something important-"
"Is he playing in the field again? I told him to stay near the factory." In my interruption, it was apparent that I was never one for manners.
"Regina, listen to me." She pulled herself up in her pile of blankets and took my hand. This was the first in a long time that I got a good look of her hands. My mother always had beautifully long fingers that were skilled in playing piano. Before my brother was born, she would play in our home. I could hear the echo of the tunes as her voice sang.
Pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag/ and smile, smile, smile
"Your brother was playing out too far in the field. Someone saw him." My skin went cold. I knew what was to come next. I couldn't accept it.
Don't let your joy and laughter hear the snag / Smile boys, that's the style
"They were from the orphanage. They asked him where he lived and Caleb brought them to the factory when they would not go away." No. Not here. He should have run into town like I taught him. We talked about this situation multiple times, when we played in the tall grass. But at the age of seven, he was more interested in the bugs that marched by.
What's the use of worrying / It never was worth while
"Dear, they took your brother. They said this was not a suitable living condition for a growing boy. You must leave or they will come for you too. I believe in you. You will survive better out there than in a home. I'm so proud of you."
So, pack up your troubles in your old kit bag / And smile, smile, smile.