Andrew to Andy

Chapter 1

1850 – Kentucky - Spring

Andrew Page stood in front of the judge, his hands shackled and his heart beating loudly in his ears. He wasn't surprised that he had been formally charged with a crime, he was surprised that it had taken 35 years for him to finally be caught for something. He had been pick-pocketing, shoplifting and conning ever since he ran away from the orphanage at 14-years-old, doing anything and everything he had to in order to get by.
He had been out on the road, trying to get out West when his cash and supplies had run out and he'd decided to pilfer some things from a town shop. Had he only stolen the bread and bacon he may not have spent the past few nights in the county jail, but someone had seen him and in his rush to get out he had basically trampled the older store owner. A few broken ribs elevated his crime from petty thievery to battery.
Andrew stood in front of the judge by himself, trying to maintain a calm facade. In Andrew's case, a stoic look did not serve him well. He was 6'2 with broad, solid muscles and a shock of curly brown hair and an impressive beard. His face was pleasant in its own way, weathered and sun beaten. His nose was straight and pointed and his mouth was hard-set on his cut jaw. His occasional bouts of food scarcity had kept him lean with a smaller waist then would be expected of a man like him. The unbothered attitude he was affecting only made him seem unrepentant and stubborn. This was a common issue with Andrew. No matter how he felt or intended to come off, people thought he was being rude or petulant ever since he had begun to look like a man.
"Mister Andrew Page," said the judge, "You are charged with theft and battery. How do you plead?"
"I plead guilty your honor," said Andrew. He could not afford a lawyer and despite everything he figured whatever happened couldn't be all that bad considering he hadn't killed anyone or stolen anything of true worth.
"Alright then. Taking into account your lack of prior convictions and your current status as a vagabond, I sentence you to one year working in the Knapp logging camp in Wisconsin."
Andrew was taken aback. He thought he may have to spend a few months in jail or pay off the man he had injured, but to be sent away to the middle of nowhere at a logging camp did not sound appealing.
"Why aren't I going to jail?", asked Andrew.
"I think some time spent working a real job in the isolation of the woods will serve you well. I expect you will come out of this a changed man.", said the judge and banged his gavel. "Next case!"
Andrew was led away by the bailiffs. He would spend the night in the sheriff's office before he would be sent off to the desolate logging outpost.
All his life he had been alone. He was abandoned at an orphanage in Philadelphia as a baby and had grown up without any sense of family or connection. His serious face and demeanor deterred prospective parents and the caretakers were often too overworked to pay any real attention to him. The food was scarce, the kids were cruel, and the constant rejection was soul-crushing so he decided if he was to be miserable then he would be miserable on his own terms. He had tried to keep down honest jobs, but he had no real education and he hated working in teams, so he was more often than not let go. That was how his life had been so far, rejection after rejection with no real future.
He heard that out West, it didn't matter who you were or where you came from and anyone could make something of themselves, so he had eked out a small sum of money to make his way out there. Now it seemed that life had rejected his plans themselves and he would be marooned out in the Midwest, wasting another year of his hard life.
At the sheriff's station, Andrew laid on the cot in the cell and looked at the ceiling. He heard the bustle of the town pass him by. Would this be all he knew? Stuck in the same spot while everyone else moved on with there lives. He heard some children laughing as they scurried past his barred window. He envied them. They had time and potential to do anything. He was 35, couldn't read, and could only do arithmetic with his hands. He covered his eyes with his palms and let out a sigh. At least he would be further west. At least he wouldn't have to worry about work for at least year. He would make the best of this. What other choice did he have?