Clark Barett was not old enough for those around him to call him a man, but life had made him one. His mother had been so sick, and his father, Hank, a lumberjack, had done his best to keep the doctor coming. Then the accident happened, and Clark, too young for the job, was his mother Leona's caregiver those last years before she left him. He missed her warm hands on his cheeks when she said "goodnight." And then, one night, her hands lost their warmth, and her smile was gone, her face too pale and quiet. Aunt Georgiana only had cold hands, stinging hands, and cruel hands. Uncle Jonas had the farm to care for, and Georgiana was only his woman, the one who fixed the meals and did the chores Jonas didn't have time for. Jonas was too big a man to feel her anger and despair, but Clark, Hank's son, when an uncaring court awarded him to them, was just right for settling things with Jonas. The farm, almost at the foot of the mountains, was too far from any town for anyone to check on his welfare, even if they had cared about such things, so Georgiana had her way, and Jonas, of the opinion that boys just naturally got bruises being boys, never paid attention to anything but the farm. Clark knew that, somewhere, there were people like his mother, people with warm hands, and he knew he had to find them.
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