Free A New Beginning by Michael Phillips Page B

me by the nickname my relatives had always used. Whenever I heard it I felt they were making fun of me. Now I was sixteen and still being called a little girl’s name. ‘What are you doing here?’ she said. There was no hint of welcome or tenderness in her tone.
    â€œâ€˜They . . . they made me leave where I was,’ I half stammered. ‘I . . . I got no place else to go.’
    â€œAunt Mary looked me over a few long seconds in silence.
    â€œâ€˜Well, I’ll go call Grandma,’ she sighed with notable reluctance, then turned and left me standing there.
    â€œNext, Grandma came to the door. She asked the same question—what was I doing there?—her voice containing even greater annoyance than my aunt’s. I repeated my story.
    â€œâ€˜I’m trying to find a job,’ I said, ‘and . . . I need someplace to stay.’
    â€œShe thought for a minute. ‘You’d best get yourself into town then,’ she said, ‘where the farmers gather. Ask around. See if there’s anyone needing a hired boy.’
    â€œBy now I was really hungry. I’d been up since four in the morning, and I hadn’t had anything to eat all that time. But I didn’t dare ask for anything. So I just turned and did what Grandma said and wandered off in the direction of town.
    â€œI spent the rest of the morning knocking on the door of every farmhouse, asking everyone I saw about work. But it was no use. I was just a skinny kid with a high voice, and nobody needed the likes of me. At the grain mill I joined a group of men waiting to be picked by some farmers for work in the fields. Every man there was eventually picked but me. As the men began leaving in wagons, I hid behind a shed so no one would see me standing there alone.
    â€œFinally I walked dejectedly back to my grandmother’s. I was afraid to go knock on the door again. I knew they didn’t want me there. That fact was obvious enough from their looks and sighs and tones. But I had nowhere else. I literally had no place to call home.
    â€œSo I walked around to the back porch and sat down, hoping in time that either my grandmother or my aunt would notice me and invite me in. Finally I heard the screen door open behind me.
    â€œâ€˜What did you find out, Chrissy?’ asked my aunt. I told her I hadn’t found out anything. She turned without another word and went back inside.
    â€œA little while later my grandmother came out. She asked the same question. I gave her the same answer. Then she turned and went back inside.
    â€œI kept sitting there. I didn’t know what to do. I was so hungry I was beginning to get dizzy from the heat. Then, to my horror, I heard the clinking of silverware and dishes inside. I realized my aunt and grandmother were eating lunch!
    â€œThe sound of it was too awful to bear.
    â€œI couldn’t stand to listen to the sounds of them eating. I got up from the porch and walked back around to the front of the house, lay down under a big shade tree, and finally cried myself to sleep.”
    Christopher stopped and looked down, blinking hard and sniffing a few times. He pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose. The church was still as could be. I could hardly look at him without bursting into tears myself. I was weeping just to listen, but I tried hard not to make any noise. I wanted to run right up in front of the church and throw my arms around him. It was so quiet. Everyone felt for him having to relive such sad and lonely memories.
    â€œSeveral hours later,” he went on, “my aunt came out, saw me lying there, and woke me up. I suppose she and Grandma had realized that if it got much later I’d still be hanging around by evening, and then they’d have no choice but to take me in.
    â€œâ€˜You want to go see Amos?’ she asked, referring to my younger brother, who at the time was living with some relatives about