Caleb Werthers had been working on Mr. Scott's farm for almost six years straight. He'd proven himself a good enough worker to be kept around. He worked from sun up until sun down and hardly ever asked for time off to himself. He didn't have much of anyone to spend time off with anyhow. He didn't get paid very much, but he didn't expect anything else. Mr. Scott allowed him to stay in the spare room in his house, and that was all he really needed. 
	
Caleb didn't have an easy road which led him to the sanctuary which was the Scott's farm. His father had became a really bad drunk when he was only seven. He'd put up with it, just burying himself in his room until he couldn't take it anymore. He'd only gotten worst and by the time Caleb was twelve his father had become custom to hitting on his mother. Every time he'd plead with him not to or get the nerve to talk back his anger would turn on him. He almost rathered it that way. Sometimes he would get on his father's nerves if he'd been drinking particularly a lot that day just to save his mother for one day. Not soon enough the punishments came to an end. When he was sixteen he finally called enough. His father had went off on them and he'd taken matters into his own hands. With all his anger built up, he'd ended the punishments once and for all. He's not sorry that his mother and himself are able to be in a better place now, but he resents what it came to. He couldn't stand to be around his mother after what happened to someone they'd both loved in their life. He set off on his own and after being without a stable place for almost a year he came across Mr. Scott in a local drugstore. 

The rest was history after that. He'd worked hard enough to numb the pain of the past and try his best to forget. Mr. Scott did more than he could have, offering him a roof over his head and a stable job. He'd repaid the man's kindness by promising to do his best everyday. He never slacked off and he did more than was asked of him any opportunity he got. Once the man died he kept it up the best he could. It was hard work, and without any income besides what he had saved up he was just about to give up hope on being able to keep up the farm. He may not have had much before, but he still needed something to live on. Especially since he's got a terrible habit of smoking. It's the one thing he lets himself do. He refuses to even touch one sip of alcohol and he thinks that if you gamble you might as well toss your money out of his truck's window while speeding down the interstate. He started smoking almost as soon as he'd left his home. It calmed him in a way just to puff in the air before blowing it back out again. 

He'd been laying on the couch in the main room, passed out from the day before. He hadn't even notice a truck pull onto the property. The noise wasn't loud enough to startle him after all the work he'd done the day before. He remained asleep, his cap over his head to block out the light from the window.