An Uncle I've Never Met (Conclusion)

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(Continuation of the story as I remember it being told to me) "One warm night I had gotten out of the bed I shared with my sister to fetch myself a glass of water. I could hear the voices of my mother and father coming from the front room. I approached silently as they didn't like us to get out of bed at night, and would scold me for not having grabbed water to take to bed before I went to sleep. As I got closer I could hear my mother silently weeping as she handed over a heavy burden wrapped in blankets to a man on the other side of the door. My father's face was stern as he wrapped his arms around my mother and pulled her forcefully into him. The man on the other side of the door took the burden in one arm and tipped his hat with the other. No words were exchanged and the door was firmly shut behind the man. I skittered back to bed as silently as I could, forgoing the water as my young mind tried to make out what had happened. I woke up the next day and went to help my mother by setting the breakfast table as was our arrangement of tasks. I went to set the Everett, My brother's, bowl down at his place when I heard my mother sob. I turned to her and asked her if she was alright. You know how your grandmother is, dear, she is much too prideful, and so she didn't say a word to me and went back to her tasks. Everett never toddled down for breakfast, ad mother and father didn't speak of it. Even my brother's and sister made no peep about it. The boys were set to clean the table and do the dishes and so I snuck up and looked into Everett's room. He was the only one who got a room to himself, but it was no more than a closet that my mother used as the nursery. He wasn't laying in his bed, and there wasn't much space for him to hide in the cramped space. I walked down the stairs and into the sitting room where dad was reading the newspaper while mom filled his coffee cup and set to do her sewing. "Mama where is Everett?" I asked. This seemed to startle mama as she pricked her finger while darning a pair of socks, blood rushing to the surface of her finger as she sucked on the injured digit. My dad wasn't much for outward showing of emotion but even he nearly dropped his coffee at my question. I am guessing they didn't expect questions so soon from their children, or were rather wishfully hoping that none would ever surface. Dad sighed but asked me to gather the rest of my siblings and bring them into the sitting room. He was harshly whispering to mama when we returned, but set back in his chair with the stern expression we all recognized as his authoritarian / disciplinarian stature. I can't recall the exact words that were used but he was quick to dispose of them. We were told that our brother would not be coming back, and that we simply had to forget about him. We weren't allowed to ask any questions. All photos of him were taken out of our albums and were thrown in the trash. I guess mama didn't have the heart to burn them, but I salvaged them and hid them away in my room until I was old enough to make a wage and afford an album. I've kept them to this day, as a way to remember the brother I hardly knew. He's probably out there still somewhere, not knowing who his real family is. He was only about three when he was given away, and so the only mother he would remember is whoever that man took him to." --- I was around five years old when my mother told me this and when she did I received the album with the picture of the uncle I never knew. I'm now older and realize that my mother most likely had wishful thinking when describing where my uncle might have ended up. The truth is that he could have just as easily been sold into some form of slavery or worse. I'd rather not think about the worse. As for the photo of my uncle, I've since misplaced the album, but as it were, I don't think I have the heart to share his photo here.