CHAPTER ONE: A CHILD IS BORN, 1886

DRAFT COPY

Sam hammered away on a ruffian's coffin. Government work that brought in extra cash.

Inside a nearby house, the staccato hammering had faded into the background of a woman's suffering. His wife's screams had muted the sounds of "progress" that filled the carpenter's ears

She heard only the midwife's  voice. 

"That's it Honey, that's OK, now. You are very close. A few more minutes, I am sure." 

The midwife was mistaken. For  three more  hours the contractions increased in length and intensity.

Returning to his carpenter's lean-to out back, Samuel Walden pounded the last few nails, forcing himself to  shut out the woman's wails:  Giving birth was women's work. His business was to provide for his family. 

"I am sure glad God made me a man."

He mentally noted that he should check back on his wife and, hopefully, her new child, later on. 

"I hope it will be a boy," he thought, as he hurried over to the job site to check the progress on his newest project, a housing development and stood for savoring the scene with pleasure; a dozen new homes in  various stages of construction, all for middle class families.

"I did all this," he thought with pride. "I have built these houses that people can live in for decades, centuries."

But then a sobering thought troubled him: "The government will tear these homes down to make room for that new canal. Why do I keep working? All my hard work will be destroyed."

But no. He corrected himself: "I will start over. Me and my future sons.We will do it all again, and again as often as necessary."

Back in the house, his wife screamed and clutched at the midwife's hand.

"Oh God, oh, God," she cried. "Oh Jesus, please HELP ME." The pains occassionally lessened and left her wimpering, but always returned. Pain that beyond Samuel's comprehension.

At long last the child was born.

Belinda, the Midwife, laid the him down for few seconds, lifting the folds of her own dress to wipe the sweat from her pock-marked forehead. Then with a sigh, handed the baby to its exhausted mother.

"Here he is," Belinda declared, "the future bricklayer of Samuel and Sons Construction Company!"  But the maid had wrongly assumed the mother's intentions. She had her concerns about the notion of a baby-as-bricklayer. That was Samuel's vision, a dream that he had  made it well known. 

So far,  Sam's dream was right on track. His foresight and good timing had paid off, as his tracts lay directly in the path of the projected Manchester Canal, soon to become the largest navigation canal in the world; the waterway would provide Manchester, England, with a direct route to the sea, and the government had already promised to pay Warden a premium price for the land.

Sam could easily have retired on the amount the government would offer over for his lands, but he would not retire. No sir. He would move on; he would expand the family business and build an empire.
He often had prayed as he worked, "Please, God, if it be your will, make this baby to be a boy."

The midwife, now sweating and exhausted, sat on the bedside and called for a youth, "Hurry up, run and tell Samuel!" 
  
 Warden's heart leaped when the panting messenger boy arrived

"It's ... a ... boy," he gasped, trying to catch his breath. Warden clamped his big hand heavily on the poor youngster's shoulder, nearly knocking him to the ground. “Yippee!" he shouted. "Another boy! Thank you God.”

Exulting in his good fortune, he tossed his tools into the toolbox and set off at a lope toward the house, while the boy, already winded,  tagged along behind. Sam ran to his wife‘s bedside, touched her tenderly, and lingered, looking down dreamily at his new son, lost in thought.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she queried weakly.

“My thoughts?”

They had already discussed his thoughts before.

He tried to say only what his wife would like to hear: “Isn’t he beautiful!”

But then he could not contain himself, and blurted out, “This child will fulfill my lifelong dream! My sons and I, we will build a huge family business, with employees and subcontractors and multiple contracts and architects and … he will be our bricklayer.”

The mother returned a tired, worried smile. She had known without being told what Sam was thinking, and her intuition told her, "No one can plot a child's life in advance."

Samuel ignored her doubtful expression, speaking unnaturally louder.

"Thomas, will become the company’s brick mason.”

He looked at her, hoping she might agree, pleading with his eyes that she might understand how important this was.

"Samuel and Sons!”

As if he had just remembered something, he withdrew from a deep, baggy pocket a small pointer trowel. The handle was of the finest hardwood, and the welds were gilded with bronze. A beautiful “toy.” And on the handle were engraved the new child’s initials, T.J.W., which of course meant the trowel belonged to Thomas Jefferson Walden, the new baby.

In this manner, T.J. was introduced to his lifetime “occupation.” Prior to sucking his first milk, before his tiny lips could even explore his mother’s breast. Thus the stage was set for T.J.’s lifelong struggle against tyranny, and his quest for personal freedom. The right to follow his own dreams, not the dreams of another. 


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