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won’t be speakin’ at all! Out with ya!” He motioned with the knife. “Get out’a me ‘ouse!”

“It’s enough for the boy, Johnson!”

Cowering at the sound of the stranger’s voice, not sure if he was asking him or telling him. “Yes, it’s enough!”

“Truly,” giving Johnson yet another opportunity, “you do give the boy’s contract willingly, then?” the

stranger asked.

Knowing he had a choice, looking at Zachariah,  Johnson hesitated, and…

Forgetting that just a short while ago he’d beaten him.

Forgetting that just a short while ago he’d stood above the bleeding, cowering boy with his fists clenched and had been prepared to beat him to death.

Forgetting this, Johnson felt betrayed at Zachariah’s willingness to go with the stranger.

The fire having dimmed again, his eyes shifted from the somewhat strange-appearing face of Zachariah to the mound of coins that lay on the table before him and, hefting the lady’s coin in his hand, he weighed…

The boy?  The money?

The Climbing Boy: 25; London, England; December 24, 1843

Of course, he thought, I could keep Zachariah and the gold coin. But, glancing at the shadowy figure that sat across from him, once again Johnson felt the stranger was something more—or something less—than human, and he shuddered, because knowing were he to keep the boy, under that pretense, the stranger would certainly come knocking on his door again and that was something he did not want to happen… ever.

“Johnson,” the stranger demanded. “Enough money?”

Startled, bolting in his seat, he looked at the dark figure. “Yes.” Johnson muttered softly, then looked to the stranger’s side, at the boy, and speaking louder, “Damn ya, it’s enough! Damn ya both! Now get out’a me ‘ouse, the both of ya!” His voice rising with anger, “Take ‘im an’…” he began to cough, “get out!”

Slowly, as if terribly saddened, rising wearily from the chair, turning away from Johnson, the stranger walked to the door, opened it, stepped through and without another word closed the door behind him, allowing Zachariah and Johnson their goodbyes.

Standing across from the man that had been his only family for almost as far into the past as he could remember, “Master Johnson, I…” The boy had an urgent need to speak to the man, to thank him for providing what little he did have, to…

 Feeling something he hadn’t felt in the past, Zachariah felt a need to tell Johnson that he wasn’t angry for the beatings, to tell Johnson that he forgave him for the years of mistreatment, and for killing Mousy, so, “Master Johnson, I…”

But…

Holding his hand forward, silencing the boy, Johnson lifted the bottle of gin and, deliberately looking at him from above its smooth, rounded circumference, drained the remaining liquor, then, slamming the bottle onto the table, causing the coins to jump. “Get out’a ‘ere!” Gesturing drunkenly, shaking his fist at the boy. “Get your bloody arse out’a ‘ere or I’ll give ya what for!”

“Master…”

“No!” Shaking his head negatively, “Ya ain’t mine no more!” Waving him away, his voice rising. “Go on with ya! Go to ya new master! Go!”

His shoulders slumping sadly, the boy walked slowly to the closed door, pulled the door open and, pausing before stepping out of the shack, Zachariah looked back at that which had been his home and at he whom had been his father. “Master Johnson,” still, the boy tried speaking to the man one last time…

But…

Hunched over the table, counting, stacking his money, Johnson seemingly no longer noticed the boy.

“Zachariah, come, lad.” Speaking softly, the stranger beckoned from outside. “The night’s growing late.”

Looking at the hunched figure at the table, “Goodbye, Sir.”

There was no response.

With one last, “Goodbye,” stepping through the doorway, putting the hat onto his head, feeling a lifting of his spirit, Zachariah pulled the door to the shack shut behind him.

“Lordy!”

The darkly overcast sky was gone.

As earlier, the velvet sky was pitch black and the full moon shone brilliantly to the accompaniment of millions upon millions of radiantly gleaming stars, and, as far as Zachariah could see, the earth was bathed in creamy whiteness, for all within sight was covered with sparkling crystals of pure, white snow.

Waiting, the stranger held his hand to the little boy.

He looked up as the door closed behind Zachariah and, as though the closing of the door signaled a change in his life, Johnson knew, instantly, that now and for the rest of his life, for so long as he lived, he would be alone…

 Alone! Always!

The one room shack suddenly felt larger and colder and drearier, and empty… so empty!

An overpowering loneliness overtaking him, “Oh, Lordy!”  he cried aloud and, looking to the ceiling, Johnson paused, for these words, these words that he’d heard the boy speak so many times, seemed to reverberate in his mind.

“Lordy! What did I do?”

The realization that he was alone—truly alone—that Zachariah was forever out of his life, was almost more than he could endure.

“Why’d I do it? Why’d I give me boy away?”

Me boy?

Pausing again, Me boy? Thinking in amazement that he’d never thought of Zachariah as ‘his boy’ before.

Looking at the neat stack of coins on the table, bitter tears stinging his eyes, Was it worth it? he thought, Giving the…Giving me boy away for this!

Fearful of the answer, lifting the “gold” coin he attempted to find reassurance by biting it… then by hefting it, but only felt the coin’s coldness…

A coldness so intense that it seared his flesh. A coldness so extreme that the coin dropped from his hand onto the stack of coins, knocking them into a jumbled mound.

His head spinning, his eyes came out of focus.

The three bottles of gin, along with what he’d been given to drink in the pubs he’d visited throughout this day now taking its toll, he tried to focus his eyes, but couldn’t, and nodding onto his chest, his head suddenly became unbearably heavy.

“Tired. So tired!”

Wearily lifting himself from the chair, Johnson stumbled across the room where he fell, unconscious, onto his cot.

The smoldering wood became glowing ash… then dust.

The shack became dark… then frigidly cold.

In his sleep…

Even in his inebriated sleep, Johnson sensed an overpowering loneliness.

To be continued