The Burton Household, 1844
As soon as he’d struck a deal with John Prouse after the last payment of money held back out of his wages, he began eyeing trees and saving scraps. He was able to collect wood not fit to ship and shingles poorly hewn to build a cabin he’d one day put on his land, on the twenty-two acres. The cabin would be larger than the slave house, with a wood floor–not packed dirt. Eventually, with enough timber, a stairs would go up to a loft for the children. No matter that the land would have to be cleared. No matter. This was his faith: that the land would someday be his. All he had to do was live long enough.
- Elizabeth Wilson’s Ghost, Happy Halloween (billlawrencedittos.com)