It was early December when the snow storm hit.
Quentin had just finished delivering newspapers
when the wind started to blow and the temperature started to drop. He called Idabell and let her
know he wouldn't be there until the storm was
over. She wasn't real happy about it but she was glad he wasn't going to be out in this kind of
weather.
Mac and Quentin fired up the wood
stove so they would have heat in case the
electric went out. The oil lamps were set within reaching distance, cots, food and blankets were
brought up from the basement, wood was brought in and stacked. Finally, when there was nothing
left to do, Quentin put his boots by the electric heater to dry and sat on the cot near the wood
stove to thaw his feet. Staring at the red glow
of the stove, he realized how tired he
was.
"How long do you think the storm will
last?" he asked as he snuggled down into the warm blankets.
"No telling," Mac answered.
For a long time neither of them spoke. Each stared
into the red glow of the wood stove, each lost in his own thoughts, as the wind continued to howl
and the buildings and trees made spooky, moaning
sounds.
"A penny for your thoughts", Mac
said, breaking the silence.
"My thoughts will cost you a lot more than a penny," he said as he
closed his eyes and let the sound of the wind sing him to sleep.
Awakened by the silence, Quentin opened the
door to find a wall of snow that was shoulder
high with sunshine sparkling on top. Mac put his
hand on Quentin's shoulder.
"Better not go
home til some of this stuff melts."
Mac put
more wood in the stove, opened two cans of beans
and set them on the stove to warm.
The phone
rang and Quentin answered it.
"What's
wrong?"Mac asked as Quentin hung up the
phone.
"That was Jerry. Herman went out to
the barn to feed the animals and didn't come
back. Idabell went out to find him," he said as
he laced up his boots.
"You can't go out
until some of this stuff melts. It's so deep
you'll never make it home".
"If I leave now,
maybe it will be solid enough for me to slide
across the top."
Mac opened the door and felt the snow.
"You might be right. You don't
weigh much and if you're careful, you might just
make it."
Quentin buttoned the last button on
his coat and went over to the door.
"Call me when you get there," Mac said as he helped
Quentin climb out onto the snow.
The
temperature was slowly climbing, creating a wet
glaze over the top of the packed drifts.
Carefully , Quentin started toward home.
Occasionally, he fell into a soft spot where the
sun was slowly turning it into water.
Finally, as he approached the Rhodes house he
called out to Idabell. She didn't answer. He
could see the path leading toward the barn and a
crumpled heap at the end of the path.
He
called out again but she still didn't answer. He found her at the end of the path, covered with
snow, holding Herman's body.
Gently, he
pulled her away but he could find no sign of
life. It was too late to save Herman.
"We
have to go inside and call Doc," he said as he
tried to get her to go inside. "We have to get
Doc out here, let's hurry."
When he finally
got her inside the house, he told Jerry to call
Doc and have him to come as soon as possible.
Working quickly, he moved the sofa closer to the
fireplace, wrapped her in warm blankets and made
her sit on the sofa. While he was drying her
hair, it occurred to him that he hadn't called
Mac.
Soon, the house was filled with people
and the snow continued to slowly melt. The women cooked, cleaned and comforted; the men took care
of the chores and everyone took care of Idabell.
Late in the evening after the funeral,
Quentin and Mac went to the barn to check on the
animals.
"If there's ever anything I can
do..." Mac started to say.
"I need more
money, Mac. I'll quit school so I can work
anytime you want me to. Idabell helped us when we needed it. Now, she needs help and the only way
I can help is to work harder and make more money.
"Why quit school? Why not wait until after
you graduate this spring?"
"Mac, I won't
graduate for two and a half years and I need the
money now."
The look of shock on Mac's face
was unforgetable.
"What do you mean, two and a half years? How old are you?"
"I'll be
fourteen in May."
Mac couldn't believe it. He shook his head.
"What grade are you in now?"
"Tenth."
"Why didn't you tell me this
before now?"
"You didn't ask."
Mac let
out a low whistle. It just occurred to him that
Quentin was tall for a boy his age and naturally
matured from experience. Playfully, he punched
Quentin on the shoulder.
"You big dummy.
Don't you know you can get a ticket for driving
without a license?"
They both laughed.
"Let me see what kind of arrangements I can make
and I'll Let you know."
At the newspaper
office the next day, as they sat by the stove
warming their toes, Mac told Quentin about the
job. It was a 'once-in-a-lifetime' offer and if
he accepted, it was a 'lifetime' job. Once he
accepted it, the only way out was death. His
death. The salary was excellent and the work was relatively easy. Once in a while he would have
to take an extra assignment but for the most part he would have to run the newspaper office. The
harder the assignment, the more money he would
make, but he would have to do exactly as he was
told. If he ever breathed a word of this to
anyone, someone would get hurt real bad. Or maybe even get killed. Money talks and Quentin was
listening.
It didn't take him long to agree.
He had a huge responsibility and he could never
get another job that would pay him even a portion of what he would be making. After all, he wasn't even fourteen years old yet.
They shook
hands, Mac gave him an envelope and told him to
go home and have a Merry Christmas.
Late that night when he opened the envelope, he discovered
a bogus identification card, drivers license, two major credit cards along with a stack of hundred
dollar bills.
Ever since they met, it was
Mac who carefully influenced and guided him even
when...
Quentin screamed and bolted upright on the bed. His heart was pounding and his body was drenched with sweat. It took only a second for him to realize it was only a nightmare. Another nightmare.
He set up on the side of the bed and looked at his watch. He had only been asleep for about twenty minutes. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he dialed Jerry's work number. The phone rang four times before being answered.
"Jerrico Publishing limited. May I help you?"
Quentin recognized the sugar-coated voice of Rose
Greyson. Rose was a good looking prostitute that
Jerry hired as a secretary to keep her off the
street. He also provided her with extra living
expences and entertainment to make sure she
didn't go back to working the streets. She had a good figure, but her age was begining to show.
She had bleached blonde hair, a large mouth that
was usually full of chewing gum, thick make-up
and a voice that dripped with honey when she
wanted something. If it hadn't been for her
reputation, Jerry would have married her long
ago, but it would never be acceptable for a man
of his status to become serious about an ordinary hooker.
"Jerry Knight, please."
"I'm
sorry, Jerry's not in the office today, Hon.
Would you like to leave a message?"
"Where is he?"
"Who wants to know, Love?"
He
slammed the reciever down and rubbed his tired,
burning eyes. The very thought of Jerry being
involved with someone like Rose made his stomach
churn. Many times he had considered removing her from Jerry's life, but he could never hurt his
brother that way. Doing away with Rose would
have been one of the easiest and most enjoyable
things he had ever done, but he couldn't bear the thought of what it might do to Jerry.
He picked up the phone again and dialed his home phone number. After six rings and still no answer, he broke the connection and dialed Idabells phone number. The phone rang three times before being answered.
"Rhodes' residence; Jerry speaking."
He lay back across the bed and put his arm across his eyes, feeling the firmness of the stiletto pressing against his forearm.
"Jerry, this is Quentin."
"Quen! Where in the world are you?"
"Chicago. What's wrong?"
There was a short silence before Jerry answered.
"You didn't get any of my messages, did you?"
"I just got back. I haven't called the desk yet."
"I'm sorry, Quen. We had Ida's funeral today. I tried to reach you. I left messages at all your current numbers and I waited for you to call."
"Look, Jerry, nothing has changed."
There was a firmness in his voice with just a small trace of annoyance.
"You know how it has always been; how it must be. Some day maybe you'll understand."
Quentin took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. At this point in the conversation, his voice softened.
"Are you going to be down at the house tonight?"
"I guess I could. I can't do much here."
"Good. I'll get a plane and meet you at the house. Is there anything you need?"
"I've got everything I need, Quen. You've always given me everything I've needed except straight answers."
Quentins mahogany eyes blazed with anger as he jumped up and began to pace the floor again. One hand tightened on the reciever, the other hand clinched into a fist, turning his knuckles white.
"You promised, Jerry. You promised you would never mention it again. Why do you continually insist on prying into my business?"
There was silence for a second or two while he regained his composure.
"Look, Jerry, I'm sorry. I'm under enough pressure without you putting pressure on me, too. I have to go now. I'll see you later tonight."
"Sure, Quen, I'll see you later."
Quentin hung up the phone. The desire to go home was so strong, he decided he had to go now. Tonight. He couldn't wait for the vacation he had been promised.