The ranch stood seemingly alone amidst the vast plains of Bohawk County. The Potemkins over at the saw mill were the closest thing they had to a neighbour. Five year old Millrace Jefferson and his family had only moved here the previous summer. He hated it.
What he hated most of all was not knowing what was going on in the large stone barn.
“Keep out Millrace. This ain’t your concern” he’d be told.
Cogs clanking. Wheels turning. Noise. Strange noises. He could hear it all. He needed to know what was going on. One evening his mother was out. His little brother asleep. This was his chance.
Sneaking across the yard he saw cattle going in. Through a crack in the wall he spotted his father. The cattle were falling to the ground. Bloody carcasses hung from hooks. Millrace was horrified.
He knew his father was a butcher. He didn’t know this is where he made his meat.