Quinn’s Christmas Wish
A Bandit Creek Paranormal Christmas Story
Smashwords Edition
Copyright by Lawna Mackie
Thank you to my family who helped me brainstorm around the dining room table. I hope you’ll enjoy some of interesting characters we brought to life. Also I extend my gratitude to the Bandit Creek authors and my friends who assisted me along the way. I encourage everyone to visit Bandit Creek at www.banditcreekbooks.com
I have two paranormal/romantic fantasy novels coming soon.
IMPOSSIBLE TO HOLD – December 19, 2011, Liquid Silver Books
ENCHANTMENT – January 13, 2012, Muse It Up Publishing
www.museituppublishing.com
For more information visit me at www.lawnamackie.ca
Table of Contents
Chapter One
CREEK, MONTANA, 1912
Dried leaves crunched beneath twelve-year old Quinn’s weight as he sank to his knees. His throat burned and he swallowed hard, his breath catching in his chest. He would not cry. He wouldn’t! In slow motion, he watched a drop of his crimson blood splatter against the carpet of fallen leaves. Anger and hurt brought unshed tears to his eyes.
The wind gusted amongst the trees, blowing the hair away from his face and forcing him to sit up. Whatever leaves were left on the poplars rustled and the tall spruce groaned and cracked, swaying along in the breeze.
Quinn shook his head and pounded the ground with his fist.
The flood of Bandit Creek a year ago had stolen his hopes, dreams and happiness. Despite the rebuilding of the town, evil thrived in many forms. Countless bodies had never been recovered. Men, women and children, drowned, trapped at the bottom of the lake…Lost Lake as it was now called. A year later, murder, superstition, possession, and mysterious illnesses engulfed the town and survivors of the flood.
Choking back the painful memories, his fingertips traced his father’s name etched in the tombstone. With the back of his hand, he wiped the blood away from his nose and mouth. He could almost hear his Pa’s deep soothing voice. You’re strong, Quinn. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise. Deep down he hoped his father was right.
Chapter Two
Samuel Campton sat silently on his horse Roman while the gelding carefully plodded along the winding trail towards Lost Lake. Fresh snow during the night left a white carpet over the dirt and covered the boughs of the evergreens.
He hated Lost Lake and the unusual feeling he felt every time he checked his trap line near its shoreline. Roman even slowed his already leisurely pace as they neared the water. Samuel touched a spur to the animal’s flank, hurrying him forward along the darkened trail. Ahead beams of light streamed through the canopy of close knit branches.
What broke the eerie silence was a large splash and splutter of water followed by terrified whimpers. Without hesitation, Samuel kicked Roman into a full gallop, dashing toward the noise and the lake. Fifty feet from the edge of the shore, he pulled the horse to a halt and dismounted. He slid his Winchester rifle free from the scabbard. The trees crowded the shore and blocked a clear view of the water. All too soon, he found himself at the edge of the lake staring at the largest wolf he’d ever seen.
An ice chunk floated about twenty-five feet from shore, and clinging to it by its paws was a wolf. Samuel shook his head. It made no sense; the lake hadn’t even frozen over yet.
“Damn!” he cursed. Visibly exhausted, the animal could barely hold its head out of the water. Why didn’t the critter simply swim to shore? But then again, strange happenings and superstition surrounded Lost Lake.
The man hung his head, taking a deep breath before he lifted the rifle and took aim. It would be best not to let the animal suffer. Unexpectedly, the wolf lifted its head and stared directly at him. Its eyes glowed, turning from red to gold and boring straight through to his soul. He got the impression the creature was pleading for salvation and a chance to live. Samuel slowly lowered the gun, and again the animal made an unsuccessful attempt to drag its body out of the water.
“Okay. Okay.” He yelled. “Stay put for a minute.” Unable to believe he was about to help the cursed beast, he spotted a tall dead skinny spruce lying a short distance away. He didn’t know what else to try, but hoped his idea would work.
He lifted the tree into the water. As it tipped toward the wolf, a deep growl resonated from the animal’s throat.
Samuel lost his temper. “Listen pal. I could have shot you, and now you’re growling at me. My gun is still right here if you’d prefer that option.”
The growls ceased, and the tip of the tree landed on the chunk of ice within reach of the wolf’s mouth.
“Okay I’ve done my part now it’s your turn.”
The animal whined.
Samuel groaned with frustration. “Bite the damn thing so I can pull you in,” he instructed forcefully. I can’t believe I’m talking to the stupid animal. The wolf’s eyes turned red and its powerful jaws snapped as it lunged forward, grabbing onto the wood.
He pulled the animal to shore, foot by foot, until its legs touched the rocky bottom beneath the water. The wolf exploded out of the frigid lake like a bullet, knocking Samuel backward off his feet. It stood beside him and shook violently, sending water in all directions.
He stared up at the beast, whose eyes had turned red again. The other abnormality was the paws; larger than any wolf’s feet he’d ever seen, they included an extra toe on each front paw.
The guard hair glittered in the morning light. Down its back was a large gold strip, which stood out against the sleek black coat. The animal would tower over any other wolf.
Samuel stayed very still as the animal leaned forward. His rifle lay far enough away he didn’t stand a chance of reaching it should the wolf decide to get aggressive. Instead of attacking, its long snout sniffed his leg up and down and then just as quickly, it turned in the opposite direction and darted off into the forest.
The trapper sat for a few moments, stunned by the events. Why didn’t he just shoot the beast? Hell, he could have received a healthy chunk of change for the unusual pelt. Enough wasting time. Pushing himself up and off the ground, he dusted the snow and dirt off his legs. After retrieving the rifle, he took one last stare out at the God forsaken Lost Lake. He scanned the water for the large piece of ice, but it was nowhere to be found.
The wind picked up and the ghostly sounds of the lonely forest echoed in his ears. All those people died here, buried under this icy lake in the old town of Bandit Creek. They didn’t even know what hit them when the whole town flooded.
What possessed him to come to this odd place of Bandit Creek? Of course it was the dream of finding more gold and silver. The thought alone solidified his decision to leave Alaska and move south—a warmer climate and a town where riches were waiting to be discovered. When Samuel started the journey he hadn’t expected the town to be wiped out by the flood before he even arrived. The town being gone didn’t matter anymore, not now when he’d planted roots and his trap line was thriving.
He weaved through the trees, making his way back to Roman. The horse held his head high, looking like he would bolt at any moment.
“Easy fella. The wolf is long gone by now,” Samuel reassured his mount.
Roman snorted, shaking his head. The man found himself looking over his shoulder. A shadow flashed between the evergreens. The horse danced sideways, a snort flaring its nostrils.
Samuel took the reins, reached up and patted the horse’s neck.
“Well, if it isn’t careful it’ll end up in one of my traps. I will have truly wasted our time this morn’n.”
Chapter Three
Amanda Drake reached over the table, beginning the task of clearing away the dirty dishes from the lunch hour meal. From table to table she went with her black skirt swaying back and forth along with her quick steps. Much needed to be done, and for that she was grateful. If she stopped, her mind would drift away…back to the time when her life was content and peaceful, a time when she had her Walter. Tears immediately stung her eyes. She didn’t have time for tears. She finished collecting the dishes from the round oak tables and moved to the back room where a stack of dishes needed to be washed.
The aroma of freshly baked bread wafting from the oven reminded her to remove it. Mr. Murphy had been gracious enough to allow her to run the boarding house. He knew the difficulties she was having. Being only twenty-nine years of age, he said she’d be ideal for the demanding job.
Like all the buildings since the flood, Murphy’s Boarding House was only a year old and had been supplied with all the newest appliances and services, making her job easier.
With the dishes and baking complete, Amanda wiped her forehead and tucked a lose strand of hair from her braid behind her ear. The supper meal needed to be started, and then she would ensure the rooms upstairs were properly tended.
Bells chimed, signaling somebody had entered the restaurant.
“Amanda you need to get out here now!”
Quickly wiping her hands on her apron, she rushed from the kitchen. Betty Smith, from the Town Hall across the street, stood in the entryway.
She pointed out the door toward the steps. Her hand trembled visibly betraying her anxiety. “Hurry, it’s Quinn. He’s lying on the steps! There’s blood all over his face.”
Amanda felt the room spin as fear gripped her heart. She ran as fast as her feet would carry her out the door. Sure enough, her twelve-year old son Quinn lay sprawled on the steps.
A tiny scream erupted from her throat. Quickly, she sat and pulled him into her arms, staring down at his face covered in dried blood. “Quinn, sweetie, it’s momma. I’m here now.”
She choked back a sob and yelled to Betty. “Please go into the kitchen and fetch me a cloth and some water.”
“Amanda, I should fetch the doctor,” she responded.
“No, Betty! Do as I ask, please just get me the cloth and some water.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Come on Quinn, wake up for me,” she cried, rocking him in her arms. “I love you, sweetie. Open your eyes, honey.”
Betty rushed out the door with cloth and water in hand. Tenderly, Amanda wiped his face clean. The blood had almost stopped trickling from his nose. The cut over his eye was new, along with a fresh bruise. Rage boiled inside her as she struggled to hold her composure. When his eye twitched, a large smile spread over her face and she kept right on talking to him. “That’s my boy, come on, Quinn, momma has you.” His long lashed eyes fluttered open and closed again.
The woman exhaled with relief, holding her fist to her mouth.
“Betty, would you please go back in the kitchen and get a glass of water for Quinn.”
“Oh thank heavens!” Betty breathed heavily, running back up the steps.
Quinn licked his lips and opened his eyes. “Mom,” he said weakly.
Amanda smiled down into his baby blue eyes. “Hi sweetie! You scared me half to death,” she said, pushing the hair away from his face and kissing his cheek.
“I’m sorry, Mom,”
Amanda could hear the threat of tears behind his words. “You silly boy, there’s nothing to be sorry for.”
Betty rushed down the steps with the glass of water and handed it to Amanda.
“Here Quinn, take a sip, then we’ll sit you up, okay?” She smiled and held the glass to his lips while he took a small drink.
Snowflakes began to fall, and Amanda looked down at her boy’s coat covered with splotches of red. Quinn took another drink before he whispered. “It happened again.”
She held her breath and did her best to hide her fear. “It’s okay now. You’re here with me.”
Far down the street a man rode into town. Amanda cringed because she didn’t want to draw attention to her situation. What she needed was to get her boy home.
She looked up at Mrs. Smith imploringly. “Betty, thank you so much for your assistance. Quinn will be okay once I get him home. May I impose on you for one more favor?”
“Of course. What can I do to help?”
“Would you please fetch Mr. Murphy from the stables and let him know I need to take Quinn home?”
The older woman turned on her heel and quickly moved behind the boarding house.
Amanda didn’t recognize the tall man who approached on horseback. She wished she could move Quinn, but it was too soon.
The late afternoon sun diminished rapidly, making it difficult to see the man until he stopped in front of the steps, quickly jumped off the horse and stood at her side.
“Ma’am, can I assist you?”
She smiled sheepishly. Quinn put his arms out trying to push himself into a sitting position.
“Umm, thank you sir, but I believe we are okay,” Quinn responded first.
The man had warm dark brown eyes and a day’s worth of stubble on his well-defined face. His long chestnut colored hair was pulled back and tied with a leather band. She couldn’t remember when she’d ever come across such an attractive looking man. Broad shoulders, and muscled arms and legs suggested he must be a hard worker. For a moment, she forgot about her deceased husband, Walter. Guilt and shame washed over her, and she hoped neither Quinn nor the stranger picked up on her thoughts.
Quinn moved some more and tried to stand. Amanda steadied him as best she could, protesting he should be still and remain sitting.
The man moved closer, towering over the both of them.
“I’m fine sir,” Quinn stated with a slur. No sooner did the words leave his mouth when he started to fall backward.
“Quinn.” Amanda shrieked, almost as quickly as the man stepped forward and scooped the boy into his arms.
Quinn’s tired eyes slowly opened again. “Sorry, Momma, I thought I could stand.”
The tall man spoke. “Ma’am, I’ll carry him over to the Doc’s residence.”
She sniffled, placing her hand on his woolen covered arm. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Forgive me for speaking out of my place, miss, but I think he needs a doctor,” he fired back.
“Won’t do no good. He’s seen the doctor many times.” Amanda sighed.
“I see,” he responded awkwardly.
Where had Mr. Murphy gone? She looked up at the unknown man holding her son. “Would it be a big imposition to ask if you might carry Quinn back to our house?” she questioned shyly.
He stepped down the stairs. “Lead the way. I’d be glad to assist.”
What should she do? She looked up at the boarding house with uncertainty. She couldn’t just leave it unattended, but Quinn’s well being came first.
Voices sounded a moment before Mr. Murphy and Betty Smith rounded the corner.
“My word, Amanda, I see that poor boy of yours has had another spell,” Mr. Murphy declared, looking at the tall man. “May I ask who you might be?”
The strange man stared Mr. Murphy directly in the eyes. “Samuel Campton is the name. I’m fairly new to town.”
Betty smiled at Samuel. “I remember you, sir. You’ve been in the Town Hall a couple times…for permits, claims and such.”
He nodded in acknowledgement. “Yes, Ma’am I have. But if you folks would excuse me, I think this young man needs to get home.” He returned his dark gaze to Amanda.
“Of course. Mr. Murphy, I’m dreadfully sorry to leave you before the dinner rush. The pot roast should be almost done and everything else is ready to go as well.” She looked up at her employer, twisting her apron in her hands.
“Get on with you.” He motioned with his hands, shooing her away. “I reckon there ain’t anyone who’s had as much sour luck as you, Ms. Amanda. Go on with you. Get Quinn home, and don’t you hesitate to ask for help if you need it,” he preached in earnest.
Mr. Murphy directed his attention to Samuel. “Mr. Campton, thank you for your assistance. Come on back anytime and have a free meal on me.”
Betty went to the kitchen, and returned with Amanda’s heavy black winter cloak and bonnet. “I’m guessing these are your things, Amanda,” she said, handing them to her.
She smiled. “Thank you for everything, Mrs. Smith.” She shivered in earnest before donning the cloak, and turned to the stranger holding her son. “Thank you, Mr. Campton, please come this way,” she directed and hurried off towards home.
Samuel turned to Mr. Murphy. “If you could kindly care for my horse until I return, I’d be grateful.”
Without speaking Mr. Murphy grabbed the reins and led the bay gelding around the corner.
* * * *
Amanda reached her small residence. After the flood, help was offered to anyone who had survived. Amanda spent all the money Walter and her had saved on rebuilding this small home for Quinn and herself. By working at the boarding house, she managed to keep food on the table and supply the basic necessities.
Snowflakes flew, swirling around her feet on the front porch. She unlocked the door and rushed inside, quickly lighting the coal-oil lantern.
She motioned Samuel to follow her to Quinn’s bedroom, pausing before leading him through the door. She pulled the coverlet from the single bed. “Here, please lay him down,” she said, patting the mattress. Gently, the giant of a man laid her son down. The boy’s eyes were closed, but his breathing was even.
When the trapper stood back up, she pulled off her bonnet and smiled. “If you don’t mind waiting for a few moments, I’ll be right out.”
He nodded. “Do what you need to.”
* * * *
Samuel scanned the tidy room. It was fully equipped with all the necessary amenities, his eyes focused on the fireplace and the wood stove. Standing at the door made him feel awkward. Hell, she made him feel awkward.
When he first came in he’d walked across the floor straight to the boys bedroom, boots and all. Now he undid his boots leaving them at the door before walking across to the hearth. On the mantel in a silver frame was a photo of a happy family. Amanda, the boy Quinn, and a man stood in front of a large two-story house. Sadness spread over him. It was a unique house, not one he’d forget. It was the same house captured on the wall of the Town Hall…the memorial wall, displaying houses destroyed by the flood.
That explained why she was alone. Her husband must have perished in the flood. He shook his head, gripped by the sorrow so many people had been forced to endure.
Slim pieces of kindling lay off to the side of the hearth and Samuel began constructing the tinder into the makings of a fire. He struck the match and flames danced over the wood kindling. Soon the fire crackled to life. After lighting a few more lanterns, he proceeded to the wood stove in the kitchen where he lifted the heavy cast iron lid and started another fire.
She hadn’t returned from the room yet, so he removed his heavy jacket and placed it on the coat rack beside the door.
No sooner had he done so when the boy’s bedroom door opened and she appeared, gently shutting it as quietly as possible. She looked toward the burning fire and the crackles coming from her wood-cook stove.
“I don’t know how to thank you, Mr. Campton.” She smiled, once again fiddling with her apron.
“Please, it’s Samuel.” He smiled back.
“Could I offer you some coffee or perhaps a cup of tea?” she queried.
He’d hoped she would ask. It had been long time since he had the chance to be in the company of such a striking woman. Amanda wasn’t just beautiful and genuine, but also caring.
“A cup of coffee would be mighty fine,” he answered.
“Great.” She turned her back to him and proceeded to make coffee, placing the pot on the stove.
“Have a seat Mr…umm, Samuel.” She motioned to the sitting room.
“Thank you. Did you get your boy settled?”
“Yes,” she answered, letting out a deep breath. “He should sleep through the night.”
“I may be stepping over the boundaries, Ma’am, but what is wrong with him?”
She followed him into the sitting room, taking a chair beside him. “Now it’s my turn. Please call me Amanda.”
He nodded in response.
“Quinn has been to a few medical doctors, but none of them have been able to say for certain what the problem is. For the most part, he has seizures. Medication may help, but I’ve been avoiding that option.”
“How long has this been taking place?” Samuel asked softly.
Amanda looked over at the family photo on the mantel. He could see her swallow hard before she answered. “They began not long after the flood…and my husband’s death.”
He reached over and placed his hand on hers. The brief contact of her flesh against his caused him to hesitate before he could speak. His heart thumped and a flush of heat washed over him. He’d been alone too long.
“I’m sorry, Amanda. I don’t know my manners. I shouldn’t be asking you these questions.”
He removed his hand and her gaze sought his. “I appreciate the company, Samuel, and I do find that talking about it helps.” She got up and wandered to the cupboard and removed two cups for the coffee.
Samuel got up and placed more wood on the fire, while Amanda set the cups and saucers on the serving table.
“I haven’t seen you in town before, but Mrs. Smith said she encountered you in the Town Hall on a few occasions. How long have you been in Bandit Creek?”
He returned to his seat. “Since last spring.”
“You’ve been here that long, but yet nobody has seen you other than Betty Smith?”
“I don’t come into town often. I make trips into Missoula more frequently than visiting Bandit Creek.”
“That’s a long journey.” She smiled, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
“Odd town this Bandit Creek.” He shook his head and taking a sip of the coffee.
“The flood caused all that,” Amanda replied weakly.
“Sorry, this is a depressing subject, isn’t it?”
“My fault. I’m not being a very good hostess and your personal business isn’t my affair.”
Samuel laughed loudly. “I certainly appreciate your hospitality and your company. Furthermore, there is nothing much about my personal affairs you would find interesting.” He took another sip of the coffee and continued. “I boarded a ship from Alaska over a year ago and made my way to Seattle. Got tired of the cold, but still wanted the gold. I heard Bandit Creek was the hot spot…so here I am. That was all before the flood.”
“Alaska! That is quite a distance.”
“I’ve almost finished the construction of my cabin. It’s to the far west of Crow Mountain.”
“You must like seclusion.”
“I do like my privacy, but it is also close to my claim and the trap line.”
“I see,” Amanda responded.
A fellow could get lost in her baby blue eyes. He stood.
“Miss Amanda I thank you for your company and the coffee, but I should be on my way.”
“Oh.” She paused, but continued in a rush. “Perhaps I’ll see you in town sometime.”
His mind was jumping to conclusions. Did she want to see him in town sometime?
“Mr. Murphy did offer you a free meal and I am a very good cook, if I might say so.” She smiled with encouragement.
“Yes, he did, didn’t he?”
He walked to the door. Amanda spun to grab his jacket and as she did so managed to run into him. Her hands splayed across his chest while she tried to regain her balance. He found his arm wound around her slim waist. Her cornflower blue eyes locked with his. He could feel her heart beating almost as fast as his own. He stared at her ruby red lips, fighting the temptation he’d buried since the first moment he spotted her on the steps of the boarding house. No longer aware of what he was doing, he bent his head and sought the heaven he knew he’d find. His lips touched hers, sending shockwaves of passion through his body. He felt her body lean into his as she kissed him back.
With all the strength he could muster, he ended the kiss and stepped back. Slowly, her eyes opened and her cheeks turned crimson.
She spun away from him. “Oh, God forgive me! I don’t know what came over me.”
Samuel gently turned her toward him once again. “This was my doing, not yours.” She stood speechless staring at him and he knew he had to get out or risk taking things further. Somehow, he could think of no words to say.
She handed him his jacket and he opened the door. A gust of wind and swirling snow rushed in. Samuel motioned to the small stack of firewood. “You need more wood, Amanda.”
“Yes, I suppose I do.” She nodded, pulling the door closed behind her while she stood on the porch. “Mr. Murphy is usually very good a stocking my supply, but I just haven’t wanted to bother him.”
Samuel reached behind her and pushed the door back open. “You’ll catch your death of a cold. In you go. I’ll be back with wood for you tomorrow. No need to ask Mr. Murphy.”
“Samuel, I really couldn’t impose on you in that way,” she protested.
“I wasn’t asking. Get in the house now.”
Before she could argue further, he marched down the steps and into the storm, heading down the street.
He stopped and turned to look back at her house. She stood in the window, staring back at him. He knew one thing for certain. He wanted her.
He’d stay at the boarding house tonight, he thought with a smile, already anticipating seeing her tomorrow. He tipped his head down and continued on his way when he heard the howl. Stopping dead in his tracks, he lifted his head. He’d heard that howl before. Straining to see in the blowing snow, a pair of red and gold eyes became visible. The wolf quickly disappeared out of sight.
“I’ll be damned,” he said out loud. Why the hell was the wolf creature still following him? Instead of continuing to the Murphy’s Boarding house, Samuel turned in the direction of the saloon. He’d have time to grab a drink then head off to bed. It had been quite a day.
He rounded the corner and found himself face to face with a bumbling drunk.
“Sorry, mister,” Samuel stated, looking around the man to see if he could see the wolf.
“Jack’s the name,” he mumbled, taking a swig straight from the bottle.
Samuel backed up, not sure if the man was going to fall over or not.
“Samuel,” he said but didn’t extend his hand.
“The moon tells the secrets,” Jack slurred.
“Excuse me…Jack, it was nice meeting you.”
The man stepped in front of Samuel’s path. This just happened to be another reason why Samuel hated coming into town.
Jack took a swig of the whiskey and spit it out in front of him. “See! It’s always correct.”
“Listen…Jack. I really must be on my way, and unfortunately for you, you’re in the way.”
Jack stumbled forward, pointing in the snow where the whiskey marked the white surface. “Look, it’s right there. Don’t you see it?”
The sour faced stranger was the only thing he could see. The disgusting smell told Samuel he was liquored up and probably off his rocker.
The man instantly stopped staggering and looked Samuel straight in the eyes. “You should have let the she-beast drown.”
Anger rushed through his limbs. He’d never seen this stranger before in his life. Surely, he couldn’t have been in the woods when he saved the beast. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
He extended his bottle and offered him a swig. “You might need a drink of this.”
Samuel declined, shaking his head in bewilderment.
Jack stepped aside and mumbling as he continued in the opposite direction. “Things found in Lost Lake should stay in Lost Lake.”
Quinn opened his eyes to the sound of his mother softly humming in the kitchen. He laid there for a moment reflecting on yesterday’s events and reached up, touching his swollen brow. Anger immediately coursed through his veins.
He took a deep breath and slowly sat up. He should try to forget about yesterday, but it was another new day, and his problems hadn’t changed overnight. He pulled on his slippers and exited the room, joining his mother where she busied herself around the stove.
“Good morning, Mom,” he said sleepily.
She spun around and rushed over to greet him with a loving hug. “Hi sweetie. I was just about to come check on you,” she said, brushing the hair away from his face.
He turned, trying to hide what must be an obvious cut over his eye. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Nonsense, Quinn. Scoot your bottom over to that chair and I’ll fix you some breakfast.”
To argue would be pointless. He did as she asked without question. He admired his mother, who worked tirelessly from morning to night. He also heard the countless number of nights she cried herself to sleep, thinking he didn’t hear.
“Who was that nice fellow that helped us yesterday?”
“His name is Samuel Campton. He lives out of town.”
“I hope I get a chance to say thank you to him,” Quinn replied with genuine interest. He knew how lonely his mother was and he also knew the hardships she had to bear since the passing of his father. “Does he have a wife?” Quinn asked trying to sound nonchalant.
This time his Mom stopped what she was doing and looked directly at him with a keen eye. “What kind of question is that?” she asked with her hand on her hip.
“Nothing really. He just seemed like a nice fellow.”
“Really Quinn, what would you know about such things?” She scooped the eggs on a plate along with a biscuit and set it in front of him, and pulled up a chair. “I think you’re doing your best to avoid talking about what happened yesterday,” she spoke with tenderness. “You scared me half to death.”
Quinn pushed the eggs around on his plate, dreading the conversation about to come.
“I didn’t have a good day at school,” he stated sadly before putting the fork in his mouth.
“I guessed that much, can you tell me why?”
“Do I have to?” He stared up at her.
“Quinn, we are partners you and I. I may be your mother, but I don’t ever want to force you to do anything you don’t want to. I need you to be strong for me, and in turn I’ll always be strong for you.” She smiled.
A sigh escaped his lips. It had always been like this between them. He loved his mother dearly and he knew he’d never be able to keep anything from her…he wouldn’t want to.
“Billy Ellis and his friends decided to make fun of me again.” He laid his fork down and looked at his mother. “I tried to walk away from them, Mom, but he and his friends wouldn’t let me go. They called me a misfit because I had a spell on my way home. When I woke up, he started pushing me. Teddy Innis held me down and that red headed bully Billy hit me.” He hung his head.
His mom pushed her chair back and began pacing back and forth. “I’ll have a word with the Ellis’s this morning,” she said with force and determination.
“Mom, that won’t help and you know it. They are rich and powerful.”
“I don’t care, Quinn, this has to stop!” she said in frustration and sat back down beside him. “How I wish your father were here.”
He reached out and touched her hand. “It’s okay, Mom. It’ll be okay.”
She smiled bright and Quinn could see the unshed tears in her eyes. “My grown up twelve-year old. How I love you.” She pulled him into her arms and hugged him tightly. “Quinn, how many spells did you have yesterday?”
“Two,” he answered without emotion. “People don’t like me, Mom. I can see the fear in their eyes. Everyone looks at me like what I have is contagious.”
She pulled away from him, but didn’t let go. “People don’t understand and refuse to like what they can’t explain. That makes them the foolish ones, not you.”
“I know,” he said with sadness. “I just wish sometimes I could be normal like the other kids, and that they wouldn’t be scared to be around me.”
“Quinn, why don’t you stay home from school today? It snowed all night anyway.”
He pondered for a moment. “No, I need to go, Mom. I refuse to give into them.”
“You are your father’s son, aren’t you? Stubborn through and through.” She stood and began clearing the table. “Okay, you can go, but you need to come see me at lunch. Is that a deal?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he smiled.
“Okay, finish your eggs.”
* * *
Quinn finished dressing and brushed his teeth. It looked cold outside, fresh snow and the first of the season. He turned to the mirror and did his best to cover his cut brow. The hat would be welcome this morning. At least it would cover the evidence of Billy Ellis’ maliciousness. His mom had already left for work, so he pulled his boots on, grabbed his coat and headed out the door.
Darkness still encased the small, rebuilt town. Quinn left early on purpose. Billy Ellis and his gang of mean friends wouldn’t be up this early heading to school. The teacher would arrive first, and he’d be safe once she got there.