It was in that basement pit that I heard many of our family stories.
I learned that my father had two wives before my mother. He lost them when they were sold away. My mother had about ten or twelve children. I was the youngest. They were all sold away before I was old enough to remember any of them, except for the one before me, my brother Peter.
I remember how we would sit for hours, by the light of a burning log in that damp basement. My folks would fondly recall their dearly departed loved ones that had been sold away. Oh how their hearts would agonize when they recounted those stories.
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