Kristen Chandler

by Boys; Other Things That Might Kill Me (v5) Wolves

  She says, “We’ll discuss this at dinner.”

  “You will,” he says. His voice is sharp, like the day I heard him smack Kenner by the tree house. Will’s a mystery to me. One that keeps getting more interesting.

  “Leave it be,” says Mr. Martin. He finishes his coffee and looks at me as if it’s just occurred to him I exist. “What does your father think about you walking around in the middle of the night freezing to death to save vermin?”

  “He’s not wild about it.”

  “Makes about as much sense as leaving grain out for mice.”

  “I don’t like mice much,” I say.

  “That’s a start,” says William. He face is mild again and he smiles politely.

  I turn to Mrs. Martin and say, “Is there anything I could do to help around here for an hour or two before I go to work? I can do dishes or shovel stalls. I’m not great with mending fences.”

  Virgil walks through the door without knocking. A gust of cold follows him into the tiny kitchen. He looks as happy as I’ve ever seen him. He plunks down on the chair next to Heidi and tears into a cinnamon roll.

  “What’s on the list for today?”

  Mrs. Martin smiles at Virgil and sits down to drink her coffee. “You could get Virgil to show you how to do the fences, Katherine Jean. He’s a whiz at mending fences.”

  William bristles and gets up from the table. “Yeah, he’s a whiz. Maybe he should show Kenner how to mend them. I’ll go warm up the truck.”

  “Sure,” says Mr. Martin. “Be right there.”

  Virgil hits Kenner to rouse him.

  Kenner lifts his head and smacks Virgil back. “Don’t they feed you at home anymore?”

  “Mom’s been over on the other side of the park for three days.”

  “Who’s feeding Jean?” says Mrs. Martin.

  “She hasn’t finished the soup you sent Monday.”

  “Three days? I swear,” says Mrs. Martin.

  “How come you get to swear?” says Heidi.

  “Because I’ve earned it, honey,” says Mrs. Martin.

  That afternoon I see Will sweeping out his boat. It’s early April, not exactly boating weather in Montana. It’s a fourteen-foot aluminum clunker he’s amped up with a refurbished motor. My dad calls this kind of rig a muscle car on water. But I’ll say this for Will: he keeps his boat nicer than most people keep their living room.

  “A little early for that, isn’t it?” I say. “Unless you’re going to park it on the ice.”

  “You gonna teach me all those secret places your dad stows away his fish this summer?”

  “You wish,” I say. “Maybe when you teach those calves to stop feeling up us girls with their noses. They’re worse than Kenner.”

  For the first time since I’ve started working there I hear Will laugh.

  By my feet is a bucket full of sponges and sprays. “Can I help you with this?” I say, handing them up.

  “All right,” he says. He reaches down to get the bucket, but has to twist over the seat to reach it. Suddenly his knee seems to torque in the wrong direction and he pikes forward. He falls down right in front of me but he doesn’t make a sound. I jump into the boat.

  “Will.”

  He sits up and drags his legs under him. His face is white.

  “Holy smack, Will. Can I help you get out? Or go get someone?”

  He pushes himself to standing and puts his weight on his other leg. Then he glowers at me like I pushed him. “Does it make you feel good to feel sorry for me?”

  “No,” I say.

  “Well, that makes two of us. Now could you please get the hell off my boat.”

  I’m climbing out of the boat as fast as my legs will carry me when Virgil walks into the yard. He says, “You two going fishing?”

  “Going home is more like it,” I say, walking away. I’m working on four hours of sleep a night, trying to do my homework by lamplight, make my dad happy on top of that, and I’m not in the mood for this anymore.

  Virgil walks me to my truck. “Don’t let Will get to you. He’s having a hard time.”

  “I know he is,” I say. “But you and I haven’t slept in weeks. And it’s not like I’m sitting around when I’m here. He treats me like I’m a nuisance.”

  “Would you like Will coming into your store, doing your work?” says Virgil.

  I hear Will getting out of his boat. How is he getting out of that boat? He could barely stand up. He’ll probably work a full day on that worthless knee.

  Virgil says, “Think about what we’re doing here. If we can make it through spring without calves getting killed and wolves getting shot, and if we make enough goodwill to keep a few names off that stupid petition, isn’t it worth it?”

  I tap my foot in the mud. “I’m in for the long haul.” What else can I say?

  By the third week the group thing starts to fall apart. Sondra gets an ear infection and her mother curtails her camping-out privileges. Addie and Will are not speaking, plus her family needs her at home, so she comes about half the time. Dennis makes three shifts, but the cold gives him nosebleeds. Kenner takes his turn, too, but William now refuses to be part of the whole thing because “it’s environmentalist crap.” So mostly it is me and Virgil, sometimes secretly together, mostly alone. We don’t have any more talks about ruins, and I never get the nerve to ask him about it. We get through a month. I keep up at the store. No one fails school. There are no more fires or broken store windows. There are no wolves in the Martins’ pastures.

  And then something happens. The word gets around. Most of the ranchers in the Madison Valley are reporting sightings; two have lost stock. But the Martins are wolf free. The town paper writes a paragraph about us in the community news, right next to the paragraph about the Bushnells repairing dry rot at their Laundromat. Even Mrs. Baby asks me about our “project.” She says she was going to mention it to the principal “on my behalf.”

  I check the grocery store. The List isn’t getting any longer. But the best part is that Mrs. Martin has put a big black line through her name.

  JOKE TO TELL WHEN EATING WITH THE MARTINS AND VIRGIL

  Two rabbits were being chased by a pack of wolves. The wolves chased the rabbits into a thicket. After a few minutes, one rabbit turned to the other and said, “Well, do you want to make a run for it or stay here a few days and outnumber them?”

  JOKE TO TELL TO VIRGIL THE NEXT DAY AT SCHOOL

  Q: How many vegans does it take to change a lightbulb?

  A: Two, one to change it and one to check for animal ingredients.

  31

  HUMAN INTERESTS

  MRS. BABY COMES in at half past. We all do a double take. She smiles at us nonchalantly. She’s wearing makeup, a suit coat, and double wide high heels. “Class, I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

  In walks a guy I swear I’ve seen before. He grins at us all and I realize he has a smile just like Baby’s. “It’s a pleasure,” he says in a baritone voice.

  “Class,” says Mrs. Baby. “This is my brother, David Sandcastle. Maybe you’ve seen him on the ten o’clock news.”

  Stewie and Bret stop talking to each other.

  “Wow,” says Clint. “It’s the Sandman.”

  He says, “And which of you lucky kids are Virgil and KJ?”

  Mrs. Baby says, “I know this is a big surprise, but I mentioned your wolf experiment to my brother, and he would like to interview you, you know about the success you’ve had out at the Martins’.”

  “I’ve been following the wolf referendum for the station. Your experiment is a great human interest story.”

  Virgil isn’t here yet. Addie, Dennis, and Sondra are all looking at me.

  “Mrs. Brady,” I say as politely as I can. “May I see you outside?”

  Once we are in the hall I say, “Aren’t you going to get in trouble for this?”

  “Actually the principal is thrilled. He says it will be an honor to have our school represented by such enterprising
students.”

  “What about Addie, Sondra, and Dennis? They helped.”

  “He can’t interview everyone.”

  “Have you talked to our parents? And the Martins?”

  “Spoke with everyone just minutes ago. Your dad wasn’t very excited. But I knew you’d be glad. This is a great way to show people that they shouldn’t vote against the wolves. That there are ways to live with them nonviolently.”

  “But you weren’t even paying attention to this a few weeks ago. Who have you been talking to?” I say.

  “A journalist never reveals her sources.”

  “You’re a home ec teacher.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t want to cause trouble again.”

  “No trouble. We’re just going to meet everyone out at the Martins right now. Where’s Virgil? His mom said he was on his way.”

  “Virgil isn’t going to like it.”

  “Nonsense,” says Mrs. Brady.

  “Exactly.”

  Virgil shows up at the Martins’ with Eloise. He looks like he hasn’t had his tea. “Whose idea was this?” he snaps.

  I say, “Don’t look at me. I was ambushed.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Martin actually seem kind of happy, in a nervous sort of way. They show the TV crew around the ranch. Mr. Sandcastle assures the Martins that this interview is going to be good for the town, tourism, and the ranching industry. Just hearing him say that makes my skin crawl.

  Mr. Sandcastle seems to be particularly fond of putting me in the middle of Virgil and Kenner, then siccing a camera on us. I’m particularly fond of the moment when a cow blows snot on Mr. Sandcastle.

  After it’s over I ask Heidi where Will is. She says, “He told Dad letting that guy take pictures for the news was like making a commercial for wolves. Dad didn’t like that very much, so Will left.”

  The spot goes on the evening news that night. It lasts less than a minute. I have a piece of hair blowing up in the wind the whole time. Afterward the anchor says, “It’s great to see kids making a difference.”

  Dad stands up from the couch and pats me on the shoulder. “That ought to generate some discourse.”

  He goes into the kitchen and starts moving things around under the sink.

  “What are you doing?” I say.

  He pulls out a fire extinguisher. “Nothing.”

  A wolf is fed by its feet.

  Russian Proverb

  32

  COWBOY SONGS

  MRS. MARTIN INVITES us all to take marshmallows and popcorn out to the barbecue pit and have a little celebration for six weeks with no wolves. They’ve had a phone call from just about every person they have ever known to say they saw them on TV. My dad’s had a flood of phone calls, too, which is great for business because more than a few book a guide trip. But my favorite call was the Wyoming soap company that asked my dad if I wanted to be in their Milk Face commercials. He told them no.

  The whole thing is completely ridiculous, except the part where people hear that there are ways to make this work. Even kids can do it . . . if they don’t mind going without heat and sleep. Maybe it will make people think twice before they sign a petition to get rid of the wolves if they think they can have their wolves and the cattle won’t be eaten, too. A commercial for wolves, just like Will said.

  Will isn’t speaking to anyone in his family, not even the dog.

  Kenner holds the popcorn over the fire with a clamp they use to tag the stock. We all sit close to each other because it’s freezing and we like to. Kenner sits next to Addie but he doesn’t push the issue, which is nice. Someone makes the obligatory joke about smoke following beauty. If that were true Virgil would never get a break, especially not tonight.

  I doze to the blending sounds of the fire, Sondra’s bad guitar, and Dennis’s recital about the stars being in alignment for something. Everything that happens in this moment is real and gone as quickly as it happens, except for Virgil. For me, time moves around him like the smoke.

  I listen to the cattle, too. I guess they’re lowing. It’s a warm, comforting sound. The sky is bitter cold but clear. So many stars. On a night like tonight it’s good to be irrelevant to the universe and still a piece of it. Maybe that’s the magic of the Martins’ place. You start to think you belong here.

  Virgil puts his arm around me. “You look beautiful tonight,” he says. Everyone hears him.

  “Geez, Virgil, I just ate,” says Kenner.

  Sondra keeps strumming the chorus to “Sweet Baby James.”

  “What else do you play?” says Addie. “How about ‘Streets of Laredo’? My dad sings that when we make a fire.”

  “I don’t sing songs that glorify violence,” says Sondra.

  “Well, that cuts out about every cowboy song ever written,” says Kenner.

  “How about ‘This Land Is Your Land,’” says Sondra. “I know most of that.”

  “That’s not a cowboy song,” says Kenner.

  Dennis says, “How about ‘Wanted Dead or Alive’ by Bon Jovi.”

  Kenner takes the guitar from Sondra and strums. I think he’s faking. Then he says, “This is one my dad taught me.

  “The range’s filled up with farmers and there’s fences ev’rywhere.

  A painted house ’most ev’ry quarter mile.

  They’re raisin’ blooded cattle and plantin’ sorted seed

  And puttin’ on a painful lot o’ style.

  There hain’t no grass to speak of and the water holes are gone.

  The wire of the farmer holds ’em tight.

  There’s little use to law ’em and little use to kick

  And mighty sight less use there is to fight.

  There’s them coughin’ separators and their dirty, dusty crews

  And wagons runnin’ over with the grain

  With smoke a-driftin’ upward and writin’ on the air

  A story that to me is mighty plain.

  The wolves have left the country and the longhorns are no more

  And all the game worth shootin’ at is gone.

  And it’s time for me to foller, ’cause I’m only in the way

  And I’ve got to be a-movin’—movin’ on.”

  His voice dips to the last note and then disappears. No one says anything. Kenner laughs and hands Sondra back her guitar. “That’s a cowboy song.”

  “Geez, Kenner, I just ate,” says Virgil.

  Those Martin boys. They’re full of surprises.

  33

  CRYING WOLF

  IT’S ONE O’CLOCK and Virgil isn’t here. It’s the end of April and all the teachers are binge testing. We both have a math test in the morning and I threatened Virgil with his life if he didn’t get some sleep. I’ll be tired tomorrow, too, but at least I’ve studied. For the last two days he’s barely stayed awake long enough to answer the roll.

  The snow is muddy tonight. We’ve had a warm snap. It’s almost warm enough to be pleasant. I stand at the gate by the barn and listen to the sloshing of the cattle. I’m ready for a snooze, but I’m too tired to walk across the yard to go inside. I lean against the fence post and close my eyes.

  I wake up when I hear cows bawling in the far pasture. I listen for Virgil’s voice but hear only cows complaining. I am about to turn on my flashlight when I decide it’s time for a little payback. I wonder how I can get out there and get behind him without him hearing my feet.

  I stand perfectly still, trying to see into the dark. The bawling is loud. They sound like they’re moving around a lot. I start walking.

  My boots splash in the mud so I give up trying to be sneaky. “Virgil,” I call as I walk. I can’t believe Virgil came out here after I told him not to. I look through the darkness. All I hear is moving cows. I wonder absently, Why are they moving so much? Then suddenly my brain wakes up.

  I run.

  When I get to the pasture all the cows are on one side of the pen. I shine the spotlight out and catch the three shadows on the opposite
side of the pasture. I see their long, thin haunches in a circle. One turns and I see teeth. Teeth and reflecting eyes. I also see the carcasses at their feet.

  I yell, “No! No!” The wolves go back to eating. They aren’t even bothered by me. I pull around my shotgun. I try to aim. I can’t hold my arm steady. I lift my gun and fire up into the empty sky three times, one for each wolf. The wolves disappear like smoke.

  I turn around, soundless. I can see the lights come on in the Martins’ kitchen. I turn the light back on the two dead cows. They’re torn to pieces. Everything is torn to pieces.

  34

  COLLATERAL DAMAGE

  I ANSWER A lot of questions, for a lot of people. The Fish and Wildlife people grill me in front of the Martins like I’m an ecoterrorist. The answers boil down to this: I fell asleep, the cows were already dead when I got there, and, no, I didn’t let the wolves kill the cows on purpose.

  That afternoon I go back to school and take my math test. I know if I fail this test I’m failing his class. Mr. Muir asks me if I want to stick around after all the other kids leave. I can’t tell him too much because I’ll start to bawl. He grades my test but doesn’t give it back to me. “Go home. We’ll figure this out tomorrow.”

  The next day Ed Buck’s men come in. The three wolves are tracked down and shot. There are two pups with them that are also “accidentally” shot.

  Now we’re the real news. Papers in Montana, Wyoming, and Idaho run pictures of Virgil, Kenner, and me. The Billings and Bozeman papers both run editorials talking about the wolf referendum and the management crisis. They describe the shooting, the vandalism, the fire, and last, but not least, some young people’s “naive, misguided, idealism” in pursuit of a “feel-good solution.”