~The only sound ,to be heard, as the mad man laughs...~
~
That summer that passed without Clara was different. It seemed empty. Josiah helped around the farm and caused little other trouble. When adressed he responded in kind but he kept to himself. The summers passed and with them, Josiah grew stronger, lifting bales of hay, and wielding a sythe to cut down wheat and corn.
His father continued teaching him. Ironically. His father learned just as much as he taught Josiah day by day. Both would sit up into the night and have conversations.
Then...On the month after Josiah's 19th birthday his father went in his sleep. Josiah had known the man but he was a hard man. He did not have much of anything to say at his fathers funeral. They were so poor that Josiah had sold most of the farming plots to bury his father with a tombstone, instead of a shabby wooden cross, he couldn't bare to have him forgotten. He had him buried next to the mother he had never met. His father had spoke kind of her though, so it seemed, befitting.
The new owner of the farm was a good man and employed Josiah as a farm hand, to raise, cattle and farm crops.
~Passing by as he tilled the soil for the next seasons crops, Josiah wiped the sweat from his brow. He had grown into broadshoudlers and a tall man. His hands were large and callused and his legs stronger, his arms sinewy.
His eyes spotted the flash of sparks. He turned and set down his hoe and looked over. He turned to the farm overseerer. "Hey Ruford. Im gonna take my break right quick" He muttered. Ruford shrugged.
"Be my guest Wilkinson." Ruford had known Josiah's father as a good man. He was an old willow as of a man and pushed his workers hard. However hard he was though he was just as lenient. Josiah trudged over to the blacksmith and seated himself on a bench nearby and watched as the massive, soot stained black man, hammered a piece of iron for a horseshoe and dipped it into water. He turned and took off his leather gloves to wipe his brow, wiping his hand, on his leather apron. Josiah turned and walked over, staring at the finely crafted horseshoe. The blacksmith looked at him with a shrewd eye.
"What can I be doin' for youse? I ain't caused no trouble with you." Josiah looked at the blacksmith.
"S' all right. I ain't gots no problems with you."
"Yeah well I was figurin with at war an all-" Josiah cut him off with a hand.
"Naw that's the souths buisness. I was just lookin over yonder at what youse was doin. Mighty fine work." Josiah commented. The blacksmith grinned.
"Why thank youse. Youse know ya'll white folks ain't all so bad?" The blacksmith said chuckling.
"What you talkin about?" Josiah said.
"Im just sayin' that I aint never been in a country were i get treated the same. S' just different is all."
"Youse used to be a-"
"Yes'sa. I used to be a slave. Got me a ticket with the underground railroad and hitched a ride up here. They asked me what I was good at and I said, "Blacksmithin'," So theys gave me this here job." Josiah nodded. "See these? No lies." The blacksmith said pulling up his shirt sleeve. The back part of his arm and his his back were covered in whipping scars.
"Hmm. Youse come a mighty long way." Josiah said clapping the man on the shoulder. The blacksmith gave a grin.
"Never thought I'd see a day when i'd be agreein' with a white man or sayin' thank ya'." He said going back to stoking the fire, putting his gloves on, and taking out a piece of iron. Josiah shielded his eyes and watched the man hammer it. The man stopped, holding the iron, "Youse interested in this?" Josiah shrugged.
"Beats the hell outta' farmin'."
"Youse wants to learn a bit?" The blacksmith offered.
"I reckon I will." Josiah said with a grin.
Josiah quickly became enthralled in the art of smithing. Whenever he could get away from his farm work he would go over and talk with his new friend Floyd. They would practice with horseshoes at first. Then Floyd showed him how to make cylinders, and even springs. "They had me doin stuff like, makin' guns springs, cylindas, and bullets. I know pretty well how to make a lot of stuff. One day I might show youse how to make a clock."
Josiah would aptly listen and learn quickly how to make things. He would curse like a posessed man every time he stubbed a finger. This made Floyd laugh. He would patiently give Josiah a few minutes before saying, "Youse doin fine Josey. Youse go ahead and try again." By the end of that year, the farms owner had grown tired of Josiah's written request to join Floyd in blacksmithing. Josiah worked along side Floyd in the making of several horse shoes and a few guns. They were careful to melt them down when done though. They were only made for show. The clocks they made, they sold for a good 14 dollars each. They split and would go out drinking together when they sold when for a good price. Floyed would shake his head always when they talked about smithing. "Youse is startin' to know more about smithin' than I be." Josiah would always respond with. "Naw. I aint ever gonna be as good as you Floyd. Youse is just gettin old."~
~Is like a concave scream...~
