A/N: Dean fulfils his purpose and we find out what life has in store for Sam.
Bought And Sold (Chapter 3: Sons And Daughters) by frostygossamer
It was almost two months since Dean's young life had been signed away. He was sitting in a root cellar peeling potatoes, his foot chained to a camp bed in the corner. This was the cell where he was kept locked in at night, only let out to perform his household duties: laundry, scrubbing the floors, sweeping the yard, basic domestic slave-labour. Like back home really.
Following the debacle that was his wedding night, when he had had the temerity to insult his new missus, Jo had refused to have him near her. Dean had tried to apologize, time and again, but she was implacable. Stubborn like a freakin' mule, his dad would have said.
Appalachia still had the mindset of a male-slave state. In other words, there a woman all but OWNED her husband. He was, to all intents and purposes, her chattel. And that meant, even as a rejected husband, Dean was still regarded as Jo's property. In the Harvelles' view, they had PAID for him and they were entitled to use him however they wanted.
So Dean's status had been reduced to that of a lowly and valueless servant. And, having attempted to escape the house twice already, desperate to see his father, he had earned himself a leg-iron for his trouble.
Dean put down his bluntish peeling knife and hooked the amulet his brother had given him out of his T-shirt.
"Well, Sammy," he said to the ugly little thing. "Ended up in domestic service after all. Could be worse, I guess."
He laughed mirthlessly. At least his dad would be sending his brother Sam to school now. He hoped his baby brother thought about him sometimes. When he remembered his dad and his brother back home, Dean could almost have cried.
But the Harvelles would never see him cry.
~o~
Three nights later, Dean picked the lock on his leg-iron, climbed out the window and made it to the railroad goods yard. He hopped a freight train, hobo-style, and got as far as a dozen miles from his home town, before railroad security-women found him hiding under a heap of old sacks in an open car. He was handed over to the police, who returned him to the Harvelles, even though he begged them to take him to his father.
"Officers, you gotta take me home," he implored the lawwomen, as he sat in the back of their cruiser. "Need to get back home to my dad. My missus don't want me no more. Dad, he'll take me back."
The policewomen laughed out loud. Did this kid actually live in the real world?
"You're your missus' property, boy," said the skinny, officious one. "Law requires us to return you to her."
"Uh-huh," agreed her chubby, slightly more sympathetic partner. "Your pa gave up all rights to you the day you got yourself wed, sonny. That's how it goes."
So he was dragged back to the Harvelles, where he was beaten soundly and kicked down the cellar steps into the dark root cellar, its window now securely bricked up. He lay there on the dusty floor of the pitch-black cellar, his back stinging from the lashing he had taken.
Missus Ellen considered a visit from the police an affront. The moment they had left the premises, she had grabbed him and thrown him down on the parlour rug. Towering over him, walking cane in hand, she had trashed him until her arm had gotten tired from the force of it. He could do nothing but submit.
There would be red welts on his skin tomorrow. His father had never beaten him so badly. This wasn't right. A weaker spirit than Dean would have broken down and wept.
Even in the darkness, Dean refused to cry.
~o~
It was now Fall and things had calmed down at the Harvelle house following the birth of Jo's new daughter and heir. Apparently Dean had managed to get one thing right. The Harvelle ladies couldn't have been more pleased with their new arrival, but that didn't mean Dean was forgiven. In fact, he had become kind of superfluous.
Dean had stopped trying to run away after his daughter was born. The Harvelles' new heir apparent was a sweet little pink bundle and Dean couldn't help but adore her, even though he knew she was destined to grow up despising him. He couldn't leave his flesh and blood when she was so tiny and vulnerable. All he wanted was to be a father to her, but that wasn't to be.
Once she had realized that Dean was no longer a flight-risk, Jo had generously allowed him to go unmanacled and sleep in the servants' quarters with the other domestics. He even got to see his daughter once and again, see not touch, so long as he promised never to speak to her.
Missus Ellen named the infant Emma. Dean was instructed to call her 'Missy Emma', like the other servants. No familiarity would be allowed. Missy Emma would NEVER call Dean 'Daddy'. It hurt Dean so much that he wasn't allowed to parent his own child, the way John had cared for him and Sam. But at least he could stick around and watch her grow, watch her momma and grandmomma treat her like the little princess she was to become.
At least he could do that.
~o~
Meanwhile, back home in Kansas, in the backwoods town of Lawren, things went on pretty much as normal for the remaining Campbells. But the life of Dean's kid brother Sam was about to take an unusual change in direction.
It started conventionally enough.
Sam reckoned the day he finally enrolled at the local elementary school was the best day of his life. He was so excited John could barely stop him bouncing around in the foyer of the little private school as they waited to introduce Sam to his new teacher.
"Ah, Widower Campbell. And this must be Sam," Missus Mosley greeted them, smiling kindly. "I do hope he'll be able to keep up with the rest of the class. My girls are a bright bunch."
Missouri Mosley was a generous but no-nonsense woman who ran her own small day school within a morning's walk of the Campbell home. She was know to occasionally take on male pupils, in the spirit of charity.
John smiled politely. "Don't you worry, missus. Sam here is a smart kid. Ain't that right, Sammy? He'll catch up in no time."
Missouri nodded indulgently. "Of course," she agree. "But don't all parents think that? I'm sure you're proud of him. You don't have any daughters, do you?" she added sympathetically.
"Uh, no," agreed John. "But Sam here is as bright as any girl." He paused awkwardly. "Meaning no disrespect."
Missouri smiled, dismissing the remark, and led Sam into her schoolroom. The several little girls already busy with their books hardly acknowledged his arrival. Missouri sat him in a seat at the back of the classroom. From there he was to absorb every word of her teaching, like a sponge sucks up water, for the next two years.
Right from Sam's arrival, Missouri was surprised by the standard of the boy's work. Despite never having attended school before, Sam had always been an avid reader of everything he could get his hands on, from the day his big brother Dean had taught him his letters. He was a very fast learner, sopping up information like he was made of blotting paper. Missouri was forced to quietly warn him, several times, for conspicuously outperforming his female schoolfellows.
After observing Sam intently for a couple semesters, Missouri sent him home one afternoon with a note asking his father to 'pop in for a little chat'. Sam solemnly handed the note to his father with a little trepidation. John's eyes widened as he read it.
What had Sam done now?
~o~
John sat in the visitors' waiting area nervously twisting his cap. He was fearful of what Sam's teacher had asked him in to talk about. Had Sam been behaving badly? Had he been disrespectful to his girl classmates? Was he going to be expelled? It would break the poor kid's heart. And what a waste of all that money, not to mention his big brother's selfless sacrifice.
The door opened and the teacher beckoned the humble male into her private office. Carefully closing the door behind him, she offered him a chair and he obediently sat down.
"We need to talk," the woman began, seating herself at her desk, a very serious expression darkening her face.
With an awkward cough, "Missus, if Sam has been difficult..." John began respectfully.
"No, no," contradicted the teacher. "Sam is a MODEL pupil. I only wish some of my girls could be more like him."
John smiled weakly, acknowledging this compliment. It was rare praise for a boy to be favourably compared to any girl.
"He's very keen to learn," he commented.
The teacher nodded her agreement. "So he is, Widower Campbell. I am VERY impressed."
John beamed. His son had impressed his teacher. A warm feeling of pride welled up within him.
"But we have a problem," she continued. "Sam is reaching the age where, normally, I'd be thinking about beginning to prepare a student for higher education."
John sighed. "Only wish there was money for trade school, missus," he said. "We're far from rich."
That was an understatement. John and his little family were desperately poor. It would have helped out a lot if Sam could have learned a useful trade like dressmaker or hairstylist.
The woman nodded sympathetically. "Yes, I know," she said. "And I wasn't talking about vocational training, Widower Campbell. I was speaking of, ultimately, university."
Missouri leaned back in her chair and waited while that idea sank in.
John's eyes widened. "University?" he gasped. "B-but university is for GIRLS, missus."
Everyone knew that the purpose of a university was to prepare a young woman for a profession. What use would that be to a boy? Besides, there was zero chance a boy would even be accepted for admission.
She nodded. "That's why I would like to suggest a, well, a rather radical workaround to that obstacle."
John was confused. "And what would that be, missus?" he asked, uncertainly.
Missouri rose and moved to the window, standing with her back to John as she spoke.
"Free university scholarships ARE available," she began, "to high-achieving girls. If Sam were a GIRL, I would GLADLY put his name forward."
"If," John repeated sadly. And if pigs had wings...
If either of John's children had been born a girl, so much in their lives would have been easier. Missouri took a deep breath and, with her eyes still averted, she blurted out her shocking suggestion.
"Suppose Sam WERE female? Suppose Sam became... Samantha? Suppose I ADJUSTED his paperwork and enrolled him in highschool as a girl? He could graduate. He could take up a college scholarship. What would you say?"
John was flabbergasted. "You would do that?" he breathed.
Missouri hesitated. "I'd be prepared to do that, if you'd be prepared to collaborate with me on it. For Sam."
John got up and moved to stand beside her. Outside in the school yard, he could see his Sam sitting on a wall with his head in a book, as always, while the other kids ran around having fun. Sam was never happy except when he was studying. Could John deny his son his chance to shine?
He nodded, slowly at first and then with more conviction.
"Thank you, missus," he whispered, knowing that me was now committing himself to collusion in a serious crime. "I'll do it. Sam deserves it. Heck, his brother deserves it too."
Dean had allowed himself to be sent into servitude for this. John had to make that sacrifice worthwhile.
The teacher nodded. Although she was no longer the radical masculinist of her youth, she had to agree that her best pupil EVER truly deserved what the law denied him.
Sam WOULD go to university.
TBC
A/N: So, while Dean is condemned to drudgery, Sam is destined for academia? More soon.
