Thanks to those of you who read our story, we really appreciate it! Y'all taking the time to read our story means so much to us, and so we just want to let you know just how much we appreciate you!

So, without further ado, we give you chapter two. Enjoy!

Chapter Two: A Shattered Christmas

Christmas Day was approaching quickly. Marion didn't really have anything prepared to give to a seven-year-old, so she went out on a frosty Christmas Eve, bundled up in a coat, scarf, and gloves, in search of the perfect Christmas present for Samuel, who she had taken to calling Sammy. She had found that he liked to play outside with some of the young slaves, and that he also loved to read. She had found him the morning after she had taken him in, fast asleep on the couch in her library, with a copy of Herman Melville's Moby Dick open on his lap. Sammy had made significant progress, a couple hundred pages. She had been astounded that the boy had read so much in only one night, and frankly, that he could even read at all. As a matter of fact, she didn't learn to read until she was much older. That, of course, was not a thing that she broadcasted to everyone as public knowledge.

Knowing this, Marion stepped into the used bookshop. Inside, it was warm from a fireplace in the corner, and smelled musty and old. An aged man, whose wrinkled skin appeared to have been draped over his tiny frame like a sheet, stood from his chair by the fire. "May I help you, ma'am?" he asked.

"Yes, I'd like to know if you have a book by the name of… A Tale of Two Cities?" Marion inquired about this book in particular because… Well if she were honest, it was the first book that came to her mind at the moment. As it was said before, she had had little time to prepare for Christmas.

"Yes ma'am, I happen to have one right here," the man smiled. He shuffled across the creaking wood floor to a shelf along the back wall, where he reached above his head and withdrew an old, leather-bound book. He weighed it in his hands, then turned and handed it to Marion. "Does this satisfy you?"

Marion took the book and leafed through it. She nodded, paid the man, and walked out of the bookshop with an air of confidence.

With Christmas tomorrow, she felt she had done exceedingly well.

-x-x-x-

Meanwhile, Sammy had been passing the time with a negro slave called Eli, whom he had befriended on his first day in Marion's house. Sammy had gone outside after his cry and, because he wasn't paying attention, walked straight into Eli. Upon first laying eyes on him, Sammy was quite startled. And for good reason. While Eli was only about seventeen, he was huge. His broad shoulders were muscular and strong, along with the rest of his body. When Sammy had walked into his leg, Eli had looked down and, upon not recognizing him, smiled warmly down at him.

"Don reckon I know ya', son. They call me Eli. What they call you?"

Sammy, not knowing what to do, just stared up at the towering figure before him. Eli broke the silence between them.

"You been cryin'?"

Sammy opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when Eli raised an eyebrow questioningly. He then sighed and hung his head.

Eli stooped down so they were on eye-level, more or less. "Don you be ashamed o' cryin', son." He tilted Sammy's chin up with his massive finger so that their eyes met. "Some o' the time, tears c'n be good."

Sammy sniffed, and when Eli smiled warmly once again, he allowed himself to smile back.

In that moment, any apprehension Sammy had about this man was gone.

"You go'n anyplace special right now?" Eli asked. Sammy shook his head. Eli drew himself up to his full height and put his massive hand, which Sammy took. "You c'n come with me if ya' wanna." Sammy smiled, then spoke for the first time.

"They call me Sammy."

Eli smiled broadly, showing his ivory teeth which contrasted so starkly with the ebony of his skin. "You got yoself a nice name there, Sammy."

Sammy grinned, and the two went off together. For the first time, Sammy was happy. Eli is big, Sammy thought. Maybe he's so big, he can make the mean people in my head go away. And, in a sense, he could. Whenever the two were together, which was most of the time from then on, Sammy couldn't hear the angry voices in his head. And little Sammy was happy.

Oh, how short happiness lasts.

-x-x-x-

Sammy woke up early on Christmas morning, long before the sun had risen above the horizon. He couldn't be more excited for his first Christmas.

Although, it seemed, Marion wasn't quite as enthusiastic as he was.

Sammy waited outside of Marion's door for her to open it, giving him that unspoken permission to race down the stairs to the treasures that surely awaited him below.

Sammy waited and waited. But her door never opened. So he sat there, back against the wall, watching the light in the cold hallway change from black, to gray, to pink with the rising of the sun.

By the time the sun had fully cleared the trees outside, Sammy stood up and strode downstairs alone. The house was silent. The slaves were in their shacks further away because they had the day off, leaving only Marion and Sammy in this great and empty house. He didn't even glance in the direction of the Christmas tree when he passed. Instead, he made a beeline for the back porch.

The second he opened the back door, Sammy instantly wished that he had thought to grab a coat, or at least put on a pair of shoes. He only paused for a moment though, before jumping off the porch and onto the frosted grass, which crunched with each step of his bare feet on the ice-encrusted blades. His destination was not far, and he quickened his pace. He began to shiver, so he crossed his arms in a feeble attempt to ward off the cold that was seeping into his bones.

When he stood before the slave shack, Sammy paused briefly before stepping onto the sloping porch. As he came to the door, the boards creaked loudly, and he very nearly fell through a slot where a board was missing. With his hand shaking from the cold, Sammy knocked on the door. A hearty and warm voice came from inside. "Door's open!"

Sammy was wary when he pushed the door open. The hinges squealed with even his slight touch, but when the door had swung open fully, any apprehension he had was gone. Eli's massive frame stood in the middle of the one-room shack, his ebony face all smiles. A slender woman was bent over in front of the hearth, stoking the embers up into a dancing flame. The woman glanced at Sammy and smiled sweetly before straightening and placing the iron poker to the side. She then turned to Sammy again, saw his lack of coat and shoes, and gasped. "Son, doncha know that yul catch cold standin' out in tha cold wit' nothin' on but yo skin? 'N close that door, yer lettin' all the heat out." Sammy opened his mouth to reply, but was whisked inside the shack before he had the chance to speak, or close the door for that matter. "Eli," the woman said, "git a blanket, he's cold as ice." Eli did as he was told, and produced a large threadbare patchwork quilt that looked as if it had seen better days. The woman snatched it away from Eli and wrapped Sammy up tightly in it. He was instantly warm, and the fabric smelled of tobacco juice, earth, and sunshine.

"Come on ova here 'n git warm'd up," the woman said as she steered Sammy over toward the fire, which was now blazing and popping loudly. "Don' ya got 'ny sense in yo head to put on clothes when ya go outside when it be cold out son?"

Eli smiled and shook his head at his wife's fussing over Sammy, who in turn smiled up at Eli's wife. "Thank you ma'am," he laughed.
"Nons'nse son." Eli's wife waved her hand dismissively and leaned over the fire toward a blackened pot that was hanging over the flames. When she took the iron poker to remove the lid, a rich smell that made Sammy's mouth water instantly filled the tiny shack. "Why don' ya stay for supp'r, son? It be Chris'm's aft' all."

Sammy grinned widely and nodded fervently, and Eli and his wife both smiled warmly back at him in return.

Eli's wife then stooped down so that she and Sammy were on eye level. "What yo name, son?"

Sammy thought for a moment, then opened his mouth.

"Sammy. My name's Sammy."

"Sammy…" Eli's wife seemed to turn the name over in her mouth, trying it out to see how it sounded. With a finalizing nod, she reached up her thin, calloused fingers to Sammy's face and ran her fingertips across his smooth and tan cheeks thoughtfully, then she held his face in her rough and weathered hands. "Merry Chris'm's, Sammy."

And he knew that she meant it.

-x-x-x-

It was well past eleven o'clock in the morning when Marion finally opened her eyes, and it took her a whole five seconds to realize that she had completely forgotten that today was Christmas Day. Her eyes went wide, and she gasped and cursed loudly as she sprang out of bed. The cold air made her wish she was still under the warm blankets, but she couldn't think about that now. How could she simply forget about Christmas? And where was that book she got for Sammy… Ah, in the top dresser drawer. She cursed again when she saw that she had failed to wrap it up. Oh well, it didn't matter anymore.

She clambered down the stairs loudly, her bare feet slapping the wood and nightgown flowing out behind her as she hurried to tie her housecoat around her to ward off the chill.

"Sammy!" she called out as she turned into the living room, expecting to find Sammy sitting at the bottom of the tree, "Merry Christmas! I have… your…"

Marion's words faded away quietly until she was silent. Sammy wasn't here. In fact, it looked as if he hadn't even been here. Nothing was touched, and the hearth was cold. Marion's arms fell to her sides and she sighed. Well of course he wouldn't be here, she thought to herself, I did forget Christmas, after all… Who even does that? Look at me, I've ruined Christmas…

She didn't know it, but Sammy was having the time of his life only a hundred yards or so away. If one would have asked him about Marion, he would have asked, "Marion who?"

-x-x-x-

Sammy was incredibly content. Just sitting and laughing with these people was more than enough to give him peace in the turmoil of his mind. The voices went quiet when Eli's deep, rich laugh rang out in the air, and he felt safe with Eli's wife's arms wrapped protectively around him. With them, there was no such thing as a Confederate States of America. There were no calls for war. He could simply be himself, and he didn't have to worry for the people connected to the voices in his head.

Eli and his wife didn't fully know who this strange white child was that they had let into their home, with his piercing green eyes that seemed to see deep past any facade that was put up. Th's child be quite strange, Eli thought to himself as he watched Sammy

sit with his back to the glowing flames of the fire. I like 'im though.

-x-x-x-

Sammy didn't bother returning to Marion's house until well after the sun had set. The stars were all twinkling brightly in the inky sky, their silver light reflecting off of everything and giving it a magical look.

When Sammy had finally come up from Eli and his wife's shack to the back porch, he opened up the back door of Marion's house as quietly as he could, but the hinges still squeaked loudly. He winced when he heard someone's footfalls coming down the hall toward the back porch, where he was. It was most certainly Marion.

It was. She had been writing letters to her fellow states all day and had not bothered to look much for Sammy after she realized that he was gone. She figured that he wanted some time alone, and frankly, she needed some time herself. Now, she stood in front of Sammy with her arms crossed, frowning.

"Where have you been, son?"

Sammy didn't want to answer, but he knew he had to, so he chose his words carefully. "Nowhere in particular, ma'am. Just around."

"Just around, huh?" Marion frowned even more. "Somehow I don't believe that."

Sammy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Well I was… I was with Eli and his wife…"

"Now you can just stop right there, young man," Marion said sharply. "Eli is a slave, you are the personification of a great nation. You have no business fraternising with the likes of him, ya hear?"

"But-!"

"Don't you 'but' me! You talk back one more time and I'll make you wish you'd never have opened your mouth in the first place!"

Sammy swallowed and nodded, his eyes downcast. His bare feet were all of a sudden quite intriguing.

"Now you get up to your room and don't come out until I say."

Sammy nodded and ran up the stairs and away from Marion as fast as he could. He made sure to not let his angry tears spill until he was alone in his room with the door shut. Something on his bed caught his eye as he made his way to the corner to sit. It was a copy of A Tale of Two Cities, with a note sitting on the cover that read,

Merry Christmas

Love Marion

Through a new flood of angry tears, Sammy grabbed the book from where it sat on his bed and threw it as hard as he could at the wall, where it smashed into the plaster with a loud bang and clattered to the floor.

Sammy covered his face with his hands, then he covered his ears as he began to whimper. The voices had started again. Oh, how much louder and nastier they had become.

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Much love and happy reading,

Harley and Amanda