Wintersmith Books

On this page, I would like to give you samples of my short stories. I welcome feedback from anyone. Thanks.

Window on the River

 Geraldine Andrews ate supper by her back window at the little table Uncle Dan had bought her along with the two wooden chairs, the overstuffed sofa that served as her bed, and the small electric stove. The dorm-sized refrigerator and the compact washer-dryer came with the tiny one-room cabin, and that was all she had room for. Geraldine pulled the curtain aside slightly and peeked out the window at the Birch River, named for the white papered trees along the banks. The sunlight hurt her eyes, but she loved watching the kingfishers dive for fish in the white rapids.

An overhead shelf held a few mementos of her pre-trauma life; a ceramic racehorse, family photos, a music box, and her bowling trophies. These treasures, her sparse wardrobe, dishes and books were all she had brought with her when she was evicted from Barrington for screaming at people.

Her beloved godfather, Uncle Dan, found this cabin and helped her move.  After two months, she was beginning to feel at home here in the little village of Birchwood, Vermont. The front door opened onto the sidewalk and the back door led to the small deck on the river. There were no close neighbors and the only human intrusion she had to fear was the daily passing of the mailman.

Suddenly spotting a fisherman on the other bank of the river, Geraldine closed the curtain, her heart racing. “Oh, God, I hope he didn’t see me”. Cautiously, she eased the curtain back and the fisherman looked straight at her and waved. She leapt from her chair, ran to the front door, checked the lock, and made sure that the front window shade was down. She hid on the sofa under her comforter until the anxiety passed and she fell asleep, glad that she hadn’t had to call her Uncle.

At six A.M, Geraldine woke up hungry, fixed her coffee and oatmeal and went warily to the table, remembering the fisherman. Timidly she opened the curtain. He was not there. Nor was he there on frequent repeated checks.  At eleven, she peeked out front to see the mailman walk by, relieved that he had nothing for her. A month ago he brought a registered letter, but she sat trembling on her sofa through six doorbell rings until he left.

The April sun brightened the deck overlooking the river, and Geraldine made up her mind to go outside and sit in her rocking chair as she had done once in September. Seeing no one, she quietly stepped out.  A wooden stairway led down to the river bank, but Geraldine never tried it.  She sat in the rocker and scanned her surroundings. To her horror, she saw a brown package lying near the door, screamed and ran back into the house.  For two hours she sat shaking, wondering if that fisherman had dared to leave the package up there. She then paced around the room, wondering what to do, when the doorbell rang. It was Uncle Dan.

“Praise God”.

“Geraldine,” he soothed, having checked it out. “It’s a couple of beautiful trout, packaged in ice. They will be delicious. When are you going to make some effort to become part of the human race again?”

“I can’t. I want to so badly. I hate being a recluse, but ever since…you know…I am too afraid to trust anyone except you.”

“Gerry, you were always very sociable until that terrible man came along. Dr. Evanson wants you to give people a chance, and so do I. Not everyone is a criminal. I’m sure your mailman and the fisherman are not. Honey, it’s time. Having friends here to call on would make you less paranoid.  It’s not good to let your thoughts rattle around in your head without reality testing.”

          The doorbell rang, and Geraldine jumped. “It can’t be the mailman. He walked by earlier.”

“So go open the door and see who it is. I am right here.”

Feeling safer with him there and deeply yearning to conquer her fear, she peeked out, saw two women, took a deep breath and opened the door.

          “Good morning, Miss Andrews. I’m Anita Brisco, chairman of the Birchwood welcoming committee, and this is Mary Hall. We came by last month, but you were out. We just want to leave you this basket of gifts, and welcome you to the town.”

Geraldine looked at the women and with shaky voice said, “Won’t you please come in.”



WHERE HOPE IS

After school, sixteen-year-old Karen hurried to the pasture of her family’s Vermont farm to find her prize Jersey, Marigold.

“There you are, and the calf is coming!” Karen rubbed the cow’s back, singing softly as the calf slowly slipped onto the ground. Marigold turned to lick her newborn clean, as it stood up on shaky legs.

“Oh, Mari, she’s beautiful.” The other cows admired the baby, then ambled down to the barn. Karen guided Marigold and her wobbly calf to a secluded stall where the baby could nurse.

Running to the house, Karen stopped to toss some feed to the hens, and then bounced into the kitchen with her exciting news. Her parent’s non-reaction worried her.

“We have some bad news, Karen,” her Dad said with wet eyes “We are going to auction off everything and go live with Uncle Jimmy in Maine.”  

“What?” Karen cried. “No! You promised that wouldn’t happen.”

She ran to the barn, climbed up to the hayloft and fell down sobbing.

          “I can’t lose my animals, please, God,” she cried. “This is my life. I’m going to be a veterinarian. How can I learn about nature now? I can’t leave Marigold.”

Karen heard a soft cry and turned to see a tiny face peeking over a bale of hay.

“Kittens! So this is where you hid them, Spooky. You sure fooled me.” Karen crawled over to where her black cat lay with four fluffy and rambunctious kittens. She cuddled and named them one by one, forgetting the bad news for a moment.

“Well, you’re so black, you’re ‘Spooky II’. You’re a tiger, so your name is ‘Stripe’. You have white paws, so you’re ‘Bootsy’, and you, you’re just ‘Fluff’. What a day of surprises!” Then she remembered.

“I can’t let this happen! I’ve never even been to Maine, and Uncle Jimmy doesn’t have a farm, or even a cat.  Who would take care of our cows and Marigold’s calf like we do? Who will know that the speckled hen is friendlier than the red one? Who will raise the kittens?  I have to stop this.”

          Karen ran back to the house in time to see a car pull away. 

“Who was that?” she asked.

“The auctioneer.” Mother answered. “I’m so sorry. We really tried.”

          “You’ve destroyed my life!” Her Dad tried to hug her, but she pushed him away. “Marigold had her calf. I’m naming her ‘Margaret’, and you’re NOT selling her!”

On Auction day, neighbors came with food and condolences, apologizing for bidding.

“I’d rather it be you than one of those big dairy conglomerations!” said Karen’s Dad.

When Marigold and her calf were led to the bidding stage, Karen sobbed hysterically.

“Honey, it will be alright,” soothed her Mom, holding her tight. “You know we have to be strong and take life as it comes. Remember when we sold your lamb? You were devastated, but you learned the way of farming, and life. There are sorrows, but always hope and new discovery.”

“I don’t have hope!” Karen screamed. “And I will never forgive you.”

Karen held Spooky on the ride to Uncle Jimmy’s. Two of the kittens had been adopted and the new owners would keep two for mousers. Karen had packed up her possessions, but she had not spoken to her parents since the auction.  As they turned down the road along the Maine coast which led to Uncle Jimmy’s, Karen’s eyes widened.

“The ocean? You didn’t tell me he lives near the ocean! Can you pull over so I can see?” Dad stopped at a turnoff overlooking the Atlantic.

“It’s just like the movies,” Karen said, “only even more spectacular! Look at the waves, and the boats! How close is Uncle Jimmy’s?”

“About a mile ahead, right on the shore,” said Dad. It’s rocky there, but you can walk to the beach. You still hate me?”
“Yes.” She answered.

After greeting her uncle and hastily unpacking, Karen ran barefoot down to the shore. She danced in and out of the salt water spray, letting her feet sink into the sand. She chased a seagull, watched sandpipers dig for snails and saw crabs run away. She snatched up several smooth stones and a sand dollar, studying them with awe, and then sat on a rock, looking toward the horizon with tears in her eyes.

“I guess there still is hope and discovery,” she thought. “Maybe I’ll be a marine biologist. I better go tell Dad I forgive him.”