Chapter 4
Fields
1843 arrived angrily. Bitter winter air swept from bruised clouds. Patches of snow dotted the landscape while puffs of smoke rose from the seedbeds. My lesson for the day was to learn how to prepare the seedbeds for the upcoming season.
Moses was beside me. Years spent in the weather carved his face into deep canyons; his gray hair, well, what remained of it anyway, curled tight against his head. His clothes were well-worn with darned holes and cuffs frayed in a soft fringe. He squinted in the cold sun, keeping a close eye on the fire.
“Miss Anna, does ya knows why’s we a burnin’ dis here field?”
I shook my head and waited for his thick, gravelly voice to tell me what I needed to learn.
“Now, befo’ a new crop be planted, all da fields must be cleared and made sterile
