If Winter Comes

By Edith Duven Flaherty

Old lady, the soft voice called. We just really want a drink of water. Open the door. We know youre in there!

Essie Gaudette, widowed and alone in a deteriorating neighborhood, was justifiably afraid of these three street boys whose harrassment was escalating with each encounter. Especially did she need to fear the eldest. Zack, completely without either conscience or compassion. She realized he was using homeless Jeff as a useful tool, forcing him to make frightening choices. Increasing danger loomed over Essie throughout the long cold snow-blanketed winter. But when it ended, Essies life, and the life of all three boys, was forever changed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 20, 2003
• ISBN: 9781462826742

Edith Duven Flaherty

Born in Massachusetts, Edith Flaherty married a career submarine sailor and spent sixteen years moving, settling, moving again. A lifetime love of reading ended, finally, in an itch to tell her own stories. Several reams of scrap paper later, she has written– (so far) – four novels, The War in Dover’s Landing being the first to be published. Now widowed and living in New Mexico, she has two sons, a daughter-in-law, a grandson and two cats, and continues to write.

Book preview

ONE

Essie knew he was dangerous the first time she ever saw him, although she was not yet afraid of him—the arrogant stance, the brutal disregard of the people he elbowed aside, that air of cold self-sufficiency—all showed a creature alien to her world. It showed, too, in the contemptuous glance he gave her from dark marble-hard eyes when she edged a foot or two away from him and placed her bag of groceries on the ground, to ease the ache in her arthritic hands.

He shoved his way to the front of the crowd, and she slid a sidewise glance at him. Fifteen. Maybe even sixteen, but no more. Quickly then, she aimed her own eyes at the flatbed truck unloading a Martian-looking machine with a long metal arm that snaked skywards like an attenuated Eiffel Tower, with an enormous metal ball hanging from the end. A few more people came to watch. They murmured among themselves, but the boy ignored them as if they were so many chirping robins in a tree. He studied the machinery with a detached air of mild interest.

Essie edged a little nearer to three women whose gesturing hands were flying almost as rapidly as their tongues. One of them managed to shout down the other two.

This here whole end of the street’s coming down, that’s what I heard.

The hands made a sweeping gesture that nearly struck the woman next to her.

Do you mean that house right there? Essie asked. Surely they won’t knock down a perfectly good house like that, will they?

They ignored her.

Ain’t gonna replace it with nuthin’ we can live in. They’ll just toss us all right outa here. You can bet you last dollar on that, the one in the dirty green coat muttered.

The machine with the metal ball swinging on the end of a chain growled its way off the flatbed onto the sidewalk and began to move across the lawn. The cluster of watchers moved nearer, and suddenly Essie realized that the intimidating boy was standing almost next to her. His eyes, expressionless under black eyebrows, locked on hers, and for one frozen instant she couldn’t make herself look away. He had a mop of dark hair topped by a dirty baseball cap that cast shadows over his face. He was a mere child, she thought. How could one so young have such an old face?

Uncomfortable, she pulled her eyes away and watched the flatbed drive off, jouncing over the potholes. She would have to tell Mary about this. She smiled a little, reflecting that for once, she knew something before Mary did. She flexed her fingers once or twice, rubbed them one final time, and reached down for her bag of groceries. It was gone.

Shocked, disbelieving, she looked hastily around. Almost immediately she saw him moving rapidly through the crowd of people, her shopping bag dangling casually from one hand.

Young man! she called. Bring that back here! That’s mine!

He kept on without even a backward glance. Angry, startled by the unexpectedness of it all, she raised her voice to a shout.

You there! Bring that bag back here, it’s mine! Stop him, somebody, he’s stolen my groceries, somebody catch him!

By ones and twos they all turned and looked first at her, then followed her pointing finger and stared after the boy, now walking in easy confidence around the corner at the end of the street. The women shifted uneasily, and murmured back and forth. Most of the men had already drifted off, and of the three men still left, one was frail, leaning on a quad-cane. The other two, enveloped in a cloud of beery fumes, stared fixedly at the wrecking ball and pretended not to hear.

Essie surprised herself by walking up to them. Please, she said. Can’t you make him bring back my groceries?

They withdrew their eyes from the machine and glared at her. The remaining people turned and looked at the two men expectantly. They gave each other a sheepish grin, finally, and lumbered off in pursuit.

You ain’t never gonna see none of them again, dirty green coat remarked without looking at her. The others laughed, and slowly, one by one, began to drift away.

Essie stood alone for several moments, staring in the direction the men had taken, surprised at the total indifference. The boy hadn’t even been running. Surely those men could have caught up with him by now. The street had emptied of life; even the men with the machinery had parked it near the house, locked it, and gone home. I guess Madam Green Coat was right, she thought. I’ll never see either those men or my groceries again. She sighed, and started off to her apartment.

Mary Bailey wasn’t really interested in the wrecking machine, but she pounced avidly on Essie’s stolen groceries.

Holy cow! In broad daylight, too! Wouldn’t you think—what on earth are things coming to any more? Even a person’s groceries aren’t safe, I’ve been telling my Edna and her husband—you didn’t recognize him? A child, you said? Oh, a young boy. They’re the worst kind any more. You shouldn’t have let him get away with it, I would’ve … .

Essie stemmed the tide. You’d say different if you’d seen him, Mary. He had the meanest looking face I ever saw. No expression at all, and eyes like stone. Even if he knew how to smile, you just knew it would chill the blood in your veins. Of course I realize those men only pretended to go after him. They just wanted to get away from me. I hope he doesn’t live anywhere in this neighborhood.

Good grief, so do I. Especially now, the way things are around here these days.

Her glance at Essie was so full of meaning, it couldn’t be ignored.

Now Mary, please! Let’s not go into all that again. I know Maplewood Avenue looks pretty sad right now, but you just need to have a little patience. I’ve lived on this street since the day Lou Gaudette and I were married, you know that. That house across the vacant lot was our home all the years until Lou died; why, Charlie was brought up right in this neighborhood and it’s always been beautiful.

Mary didn’t give up easily.

I never said it wasn’t beautiful back then, Essie. All I’m saying is that you just plain refuse to look at it honestly right now.

Essie wandered over to the window and gazed out at the bleak street scene. Her apartment was on the third floor, so her own windows were high enough to blur the edges. Even now, she saw it all through the softening effect of time. She and Lou had not wanted to live right in Boston, but this was near enough for an easy commute and neither she nor Lou had ever wanted to leave.

You should have seen it in the spring, Mary. Sadie Najarian’s forsythia just lit up that whole end of the street. And you know that brick walk going up to my old front door? I had a row of daffodils and a row of tulips lining both sides of the walk. They were truly breath-taking in the spring.

Mary’s ‘humph’ held a cynical note.

Mary, the thing with you is, you always fix on the bad things. I know my old house is boarded up now, I’m not blind, you know. But it’ll change I keep telling you, once someone buys it and fixes it up. Have you ever looked at that fan-shaped window over the front door? It’s real stained glass, you know, those fan lights are very valuable. I remember when Charlie was a baby, how he’d creep out there and stare at the colored patches of light on his little fingers, and we’d … .

She stopped abruptly. Even now the memories hit her that way sometimes, when she least expected it.

Mary sounded a little huffy. Say what you like, it wasn’t me had my groceries stolen almost on my own doorstep, now was it? Come on, Essie, she added, relenting. Have a little more hot chocolate, it’ll warm you up. This is a really cold October, if you ask me. I’ll bet we’re in for an old-fashioned nasty New England winter. My Edna says her Jim’s getting new snow tires just in case. Goodness knows a fur jacket for Edna is more to the point in my opinion, that man is good and dependable and all, but he never thinks of Edna and so I told her—but then, who ever listens to me?

I do, Essie thought, as she started the climb up to the third floor. I do. It’s my offering on the altar of friendship. She paused on the first landing to catch her breath. Even so, Mary, this neighborhood will last out my time, no matter what you may think. She shifted her purse to the other hand, took a firm grip on the banister, and began climbing the second flight.

Zack didn’t even bother to look back. He strode along easily, pulled his jacket collar up around his throat with his free hand, and let his eyes touch everything and everyone. He was proud of his ability to observe minute details; in fact, he considered it his greatest, most useful, talent. He noted in passing that the abandoned house on Birch Street was now missing its front door. The windows had been smashed ages ago. Probably, he thought, the inside was already gutted of plumbing fixtures, copper tubing, stove, whatever. Penny-ante shit. Not worth the time it took, much less the work. He slowed down a little, and checked out the old man approaching with a bundle under one arm. Nothing. Not worth the effort. He kept going.

He drew opposite to an alley that ran behind a row of houses. Something hurtled out of it and crashed into him, almost knocking him to the street. He swore furiously and grabbed his assailant by one wrist. It was a thin wrist, attached to a scraggy-looking boy of around thirteen, with hair so light it was almost white. The boy’s pale blue eyes shone with fear as he twisted and tugged, scuffled his feet in the gritty street, and made little grunting sounds as he tried to free himself. Exhausted, no match for the bigger boy’s strength, he gave up the struggle and stared anxiously over one shoulder into the alleyway.

I didn’t mean to run into you, he mumbled. Sorry. Can I go now?

Zack took him in with one rapid glance. What the hell you got there, anyhow?

The boy’s breathing relaxed a little. Candy bars. Just a few candy bars is all. Damn guy takes after me like I’m escaping with a handful of diamonds or something.

The almost-white hair was matted. The face was grimy with dirt that had had several days to embed itself. The jacket was old, short of buttons, and much too light even for early fall. A shabby cotton tee shirt flapped against a bony rib-cage and the thin fingers clutched the Mars bars with hungry strength.

Zack felt compassion for no one, not even himself, so his thoughts had nothing to do with altruism. But this kid was a lost waif. This kid was as helpless on these streets as a new-born cat. This kid might manage to prove a useful tool one of these days. He let go of the boy’s wrist, but continued to block the alleyway with his body.

You got a name?

Jeff. The boy hesitated, seemed about to add something, then said again, Jeff. That’s my name.

Mine’s Zack. Last names don’t matter, your name ain’t goin’ in no stud book. You hungry? You maybe need a place to crash?

It amused him to see the eyes light up, the faint flush of color spread over the pale face, although his amusement was not allowed to show. Trusting as a damn puppy-dog, he thought.

Listen, kid. I don’t take in no strays, I ain’t the animal rescue. But it so happens I know of a place you can stay a night or two, and I might even find you a place of your own. Lemme look in this bag I got, see what’s in it. Yeah, look here. Some bread, some cheese, milk, cereal, and damned if there ain’t some cookies. Oreos. I’ll just keep a handful of them and you can have the rest. And gimme one of them candy bars, too. Come on, we’d better get the hell outta here. You can carry the bag, kid.

Gosh, Zack, I sure thank you. The words came out in a rush. I really appreciate this. See, I haven’t been down this way too long, it’s all new to me.

No shit! Hell, man I thought you’d been born on the streets, just like me.

Jeff’s face flushed. I can learn, he muttered.

You’d better, Zack snapped. I ain’t helping you outa charity, you know, everything’s got a price tag. That’s Lesson One. Soon as I figure you can pay it, you’ll be getting my bill.

Zack’s laugh held no mirth. He watched Jeff’s footsteps slow down a trifle, and the goldy-white eyebrows draw together, considering. The boy shifted the bag of groceries to his other arm and darted a quick look over his shoulder. His thoughts were as easy to track as if they were printed on his forehead. A sharp breeze ruffled the thin jacket and the boy’s shoulders hunched down into his collar. He turned to Zack with an air of bravado.

No problem, he said.

TWO

Essie was still climbing when she heard Mary’s door fly open and her voice echo through the lower hall.

Essie! Wait a minute! I’ve got a letter for you.

She came puffing up the stairs and Essie went down to meet her halfway. Mary twisted an envelope out of the apron that confined her rolls and bulges and handed it to Essie.

From that friend of yours, Annie Something, she said. She handed Essie the letter. Thought at first it might be from your sister Gertrude, but it wasn’t an Arizona postmark so it couldn’t be. It’s a pure shame she lives all the way out there, though why a body would want to live in a desert with scorpions and Lord knows what else I never could—oh, and the mailman says your box needs fixing, but of course nobody’s seen the super in a dog’s age, and so I told him.

Essie smothered the pinprick of irritation she always felt at Mary’s careful examination of her mail—she meant well, she kept telling herself. It was true, of course, that the mailman wouldn’t leave her letters in a box that didn’t close properly. The irritation dissolved in the excitement of having Annie’s letter to read, and she thanked Mary and started up the stairs again.

You be careful, Mary called after her. It’s dark as an undertaker’s pocket in this hall. Wouldn’t you think they’d put decent lighting? A person can hardly see to put one foot ahead of … . the rest was lost as Mary went into her apartment, still talking, and closed her door.

Essie climbed on up to the third floor, unlocked her door, and stepped inside. She locked the door, laid her letter on the table next to her rocking chair, then turned on the lamp. From there, she went through the tiny kitchen and on into her bedroom, turning on a light in each room as she went. I’m going to get comfortable first, she thought. She undressed, slipped on her warm flannel nightgown and Lou’s old blue bathrobe. Then she pulled pins from her thick white hair and brushed it loose, glancing in the mirror as she brushed. She really liked it shorter, but for short hair you need professional cutting, a permanent, all very expensive. The best way was to let it grow, then you could twist it up into a sort of knot at the back, secure it with pins, and it was at least neat. Only when this was done, did she settle into her Boston rocker with Annie’s letter in her lap.

I suppose I should eat dinner, she thought. Lou always claimed a person was no healthier than the food they ate. Being a chef, food was important to him. Mentally, she tasted a few things. A peanut butter sandwich? Or maybe some cheese and crackers? Cheese had protein. And so did peanut butter.

Later, Lou, she murmured aloud, grateful that Mary didn’t know she often talked to Lou. Later. I’ll just have a cup of tea now, and read my letter. I’ll fix something later on.

She could almost feel his reproachful look as she hung a tea bag in her yellow daisy mug and lit the gas under the kettle. She held the unopened letter in her lap and sipped her tea, savoring the moment. Annie Reardon. Her best friend, for all these long years. How long had it been since they’d seen one another? Why, the new living room wallpaper had just been hung. Really classy, Annie had said—pale ivory background, with small teal-blue fleur-de-lis marching up and down in orderly rows. What would Annie think of Maplewood Avenue, and her boarded-up house, if she could see them now?

She’d probably be bullying me to move, just like Mary, she mused. People were always in such a hurry, nobody was patient any more. She didn’t want to move. It would all last until she was gone, couldn’t they see that? She opened the letter and held it, as yet unread, in one hand. I won’t mention about my stolen groceries when I write back, she decided. It would only worry Annie. Probably it hadn’t been quite as frightening as she had thought. She stared into space and thought about the loud woman in the dirty coat. And the two men, whom she had forced into a reluctant pretense of chivalry. And the boy who had stolen her food. Suddenly his dark unreadable eyes took shape in her mind’s eye, staring at her with arrogant indifference. She blinked hard, but they hung before her still, cold and unwavering.

Stop this nonsense, she muttered aloud. Stop being so silly. You know you won’t ever see him again.

She tried very hard to believe it. But after a few minutes, she got up and went over to the door, and made sure the chain bolt was securely in place.

Is it a long ways to this place? Jeff asked.

The cold bothered him even more than his empty stomach. The wind had a sharp bite in it. Zack just grunted without answering, and already Jeff knew better than to ask again.

Just since yesterday afternoon, by keeping his eyes and ears open, he had learned a lot about Zack. He had been taken, along with the bag of groceries and the handful of candy bars, to a basement apartment on a grungy street in a neighborhood strange to him. Some guys I know, Zack had said of the two who shambled to the door and slid it open. Their boom box was rattling the windows when Zack pushed them aside and walked in.

Shut that damn noise off, he told them, and they tripped over each other to do it.

This kid’s gonna crash here a day or two, he told them. Name’s Jeff. He stays here till I come get him.

Their glance at Jeff was not too welcoming, but one of them said, Sure, Zack, no problem. A day or two? Sure, okay.

Zack just looked at them.

Till whenever I come get him. Like I told you.

The atmosphere had eased a little after Zack took himself off. Jeff had sneaked quick glances at his two hosts. He was twelve and a half, so he guessed they must be around fourteen. Their faded flannel shirts were grimy, the apartment, if it could be called that, was littered with junk, the furniture had clearly been rescued from a sidewalk trash collection. The one called Dice pointed to a shabby sofa missing one leg and said, You can sleep there.

Eventually they put together a supper from the contents of Jeff’s grocery bag. Jeff wolfed down his share, then tried to listen as they talked together in low tones but between exhaustion and the racket of the boom box, he soon gave up and fell asleep, curled up in a corner of the sofa.

Zack arrived around mid-morning the next day, walking in without knocking. They were eating—ripping off chunks of a coffee cake that dripped white icing, waiting for the kettle to boil in order to make instant coffee. When it was ready they brought the first cup to Zack, who helped himself to some coffee cake. They ate in an uncomfortable silence, and Jeff couldn’t help but notice the wariness with which they treated Zack. If Zack himself was aware of it, Jeff couldn’t tell. Little that Zack felt or thought, seemed to appear on the surface.

We’re leaving now, he told Jeff when he had finished his coffee.

Jeff was struggling into his jacket as Dice called out after them, Hey, Zack, you’re welcome. Glad to oblige.

Zack froze. He turned to stare at Dice. The silence built, grew thicker and thicker, until Jeff felt he couldn’t bear it another second. Would there be a fight? His stomach balled into a nervous knot. After an eternity of time, Dice gave a painfully phony laugh and said, Hey, just kidding, man! So I ain’t no comedian, right?

Right, Zack said. You ain’t much of anything else, either.

The other one, whose name Jeff had never learned, gave a nervous laugh, and tension slowly eased out of the room like air escaping a pricked balloon. Zack hadn’t even bothered to slam the door.

So now, when his question went unanswered, Jeff kept quiet. It didn’t matter how far it was anyway. He was going to a place of his own, Zack had told him that much. His heart gave a little leap at the thought. A place of warmth and safety. A place he could walk into without shriveling up into a scared lump. Full of self-confidence now, another question leaped out with unpremeditated haste.

Those guys where I stayed. Do they deal dope?

Dunno. Probably. They ain’t too bright.

Oh. I guess that means you don’t.

Zack slowed down a little. Of course I don’t mess with that crap. You can if you want to, it’s your funeral, I don’t give a damn either way.

He slowed down even more, and took on a patronizing air, as if pleased to have a chance to show off a little.

See, kid, there ain’t no real keeping-money in it for no one but the big shots. I mean the really big shots, the ones who own cops and judges and politicians. Everybody else just winds up broke, or their brains fried, or they get found dead in some back alley. You hearing me? Like everybody else is just a poker chip in a game they’re too stupid to even know is being played. And I may be a lot of things, but stupid ain’t one of them.

Jeff was much relieved. He had been secretly afraid that dealing dope was how Zack would want to be paid back, like on those television shows.

Then I guess I won’t get into it either. I don’t want to be just one of them poker chips.

Zack halted him with a quick gesture.

Listen up now, he said. Part way down this street is an empty house. Gonna be bulldozed one of these days. It’s all boarded up, but the back door’s not locked, so you can sneak in after dark and hole up there for a while. There’s a fireplace you could maybe use after dark. There ain’t no water, but you can get water some place or other easy enough. Now the thing is this. Right over the front door there’s a colored glass window shaped like one of them fans, and they ain’t boarded that up. So you’ll hafta cover it so light won’t show through. You’ll need some candles ‘cause there ain’t no electricity neither. The big thing is, you don’t let nobody see you going in or out, so you do it after dark and before it gets light mornings, you hearing me? We’re gonna walk on by and I’ll look right at it so’s you’ll know which one. Got it?

Jeff watched Zack closely as they strolled down Maplewood Avenue, anxious not to miss the slightest sign. The street was a somewhat uncommon mixture of single family houses interspersed with three-story tenements, all clearly having seen their best days. The small front yards were littered with debris, some tossed there from passing cars, some blown in on stormy winds. They had just passed a tenement when Zack slowed and gave a sharp glance at the house on the other