Free A New Beginning by Michael Phillips Page A

didn’t know where I could go.
    â€œThe summer came and I knew I had to leave. What a terrible feeling it is not to be wanted—to know that no one on the face of the earth wants you. That’s how I felt. Finally, it occurred to me that perhaps someone on my mother’s side, the low German side, of the family might receive me better than those on my father’s. All through the years, both sides of the family had treated us like outcasts. But I hoped, with my father and mother both dead, that my mother’s relatives might feel a little more sympathy for my plight.
    â€œSo one day early in the summer I packed up all my earthly possessions, which only amounted to a few clothes and a book or two, in a case held together with string. I said my goodbyes to my half brother’s family, though none of them revealed the least display of love or emotion at my leaving. Then I walked out the door, having no idea toward what kind of future my feet would lead me.
    â€œI set out walking to the town of Willard, which was twelve or fifteen miles away. I’d probably walked a mile or two when a man in a farm wagon, pulled by two tired-looking horses, came up from behind and asked me if I would like a ride.
    â€œâ€˜Thank you!’ I said, and jumped up beside him.
    â€œI was glad for the ride. Once we were on our way, however, the fellow looked over at me with a gruff expression.
    â€œâ€˜Where you going, kid?’ he asked.
    â€œâ€˜Willard,’ I answered cautiously. My voice was scratchy and high because it hadn’t completely changed to a man’s voice yet. I was really young. Even though I was sixteen, I probably looked twelve and was so timid I was afraid of my own shadow.
    â€œâ€˜What you aimin’ to do in Willard, boy?’ the man shot back in a deep, angry-sounding voice. My spirit was already crushed. I was as worried as I could be, because I didn’t know what I was going to do in Willard. Just the sound of the man’s voice made me quake in my thin boots that hardly had any leather left on their soles.
    â€œâ€˜I . . . uh, figured to get work in the fields,’ my high-pitched little voice answered.
    â€œâ€˜Willard’s a tough place, kid,’ he said. ‘’Sides, you’re a mite on the scrawny side to get work in the fields. You ain’t gonna get no work in Willard nohow!’
    â€œI can still feel the hot tears as they began to burn out of my eyes at the man’s words. I glanced away and said nothing more.
    â€œAfter a while the man spoke up again.
    â€œâ€˜Where you wanna go in Willard?’
    â€œâ€˜My grandmother’s house,’ I answered, not daring to look over at him.
    â€œâ€˜Where does she live?’
    â€œâ€˜I don’t know,’ I said.
    â€œâ€˜How you expect to get there if you don’t know where she lives?’
    â€œâ€˜I . . . I was there when I was younger,’ I said. ‘I figured if I got to Willard, I . . . I’d be able to find it.’
    â€œThe answer seemed to satisfy him for the moment, and he said nothing more.
    â€œI rode all the way to Willard with him, mostly in silence, my fear and uncertainty over my future mounting with every mile. As we finally rode into the small town two or three hours later, suddenly I saw a house I recognized as my grandmother’s.
    â€œâ€˜Hey . . . there it is,’ I said. ‘That’s my grandmother’s house!’
    â€œThe man stopped his wagon. I grabbed my case and jumped down.
    â€œâ€˜Thanks for the ride, mister,’ I said.
    â€œI walked over to the house, timidly climbed up the steps, knocked on the door, and waited. My mother’s sister, Aunt Mary, an unmarried schoolteacher who still lived with my grandmother, came to the porch. She looked through the screen door hesitantly, then slowly opened it.
    â€œâ€˜Chrissy,’ she exclaimed, calling