Deer hunting season, tomorrow. Seth didn’t care if it was bucks only, but why did his sister have to be born now—three weeks early? He’d tried to hide his disappointment on the ride in. “Can’t it wait?” he’d blurted, as if Mom had any control over the situation. It was a stupid thing to say. Still, he’d looked forward to getting up at dawn with Dad and going out on the first day of deer season. And Dad had actually found someone to cover for him, even though it was his busiest time of year. They’d head out together, Dad to his stand, Seth and Matt to theirs. Now everything was up in the air.
“You know,” said the second hunter, wisps of hair combed over his balding head, “I saw a deer grazing on the side of the road last April. I tell ya, she was skin and bones. Bet the wolves had an easy time of it last winter, especially when the snow turned crusty. The deer break through, but wolves, they just pad over the top.” He demonstrated with the flat of his hands.
What would a thriving wolf population mean for Fudge if Seth released him? Dad assured him that wolves prefer going after deer, but with the deer population down, and without the calf’s mother to defend it, to flail at the wolves with her sharp hooves, Fudge was probably doomed.
“Know what I’m gonna do?” said the first hunter.
“What?”
The man lowered his voice. “Shoot the first wolf that comes along with a belly full of shot, that’s what. Those are our deer out there.”
Seth glanced up. Was he serious? Dad would want to know about this conversation. He’d set them straight. Wolves were on the “endangered species” list in every state except Alaska and Minnesota, where they were considered “threatened.” Still, shooting a threatened species meant a fine of thousands of dollars and jail time. Didn’t they know that?
“Know what works better?” said the balding man. “Bait a treble hook, hang it from a sturdy branch, and let ’em snap for it.”
Seth’s anger flared. What kind of hunters were these guys? Didn’t they have any respect for the woods at all? He lifted his can to his mouth, drank it down, then slowly squeezed the can in his fist.
The balding hunter chuckled, then continued, voice lowered. “Even better, give them the doctor’s orders.”
“What’s that?”
The man reached into his orange jacket pocket, glancing over his shoulder.
Seth pretended to study his can.
The man edged a four-inch spring onto the table and squeezed it between his thumb and third finger. “A guy ties this with string,” he whispered, “freezes it, hides it in a juicy chunk of venison and leaves it out on the trail. The wolf gobbles it up, and when the string dissolves in his stomach, the spring pops open. Doubles ’em over,” the man said, “and they die nice and slow.”
Seth couldn’t stand what he was hearing. He cleared his throat, shifted in his chair. Dad needed to know. Should he leave, go upstairs and find him? If he left, the hunters might be gone when he returned. Maybe it was better to stay, to find out all he could.
“Hey, don’t show Wally that thing.” The hunter pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose. “He’s sort of a wolf lover, y’know.”
Seth’s stomach burned. Wolf lover. Matt’s words. Yesterday, wolves had triggered something inside of him—a gut reaction, a deep instinctive fear—but that didn’t make him want to kill them.
Seth fumbled in his bag of cheddar chips, trying to look unconcerned.
He’d learned his own lesson. Killing a rabbit for its foot just to prove something to Matt was the most stupid thing he’d ever done. He’d vowed that he wouldn’t kill anything unless his family was going to eat it.
A man, gangly as a scarecrow, walked up to the hunters’ table.
“Hey, Wally. What’d they find out?”
“Indigestion,” the man said, fumbling his orange cap between thickly veined hands. “Heart’s tickin’ like a clock.”
“Bet you were just trying to get out of tonight’s poker game,” said the balding man, smiling, his hand on the third hunter’s shoulder. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
Seth watched the three men walk out and turn left toward the hospital’s entrance. He jumped up. If he could find his dad before they drove off…
A tap on his shoulder. He spun around, meeting Dad’s eyes.
“Good, you’re here,” Seth blurted. “Did you see those guys that just left, they were talking about—”
“Lizzy needs to go to Duluth,” Dad said, “by ambulance.” Spidery lines formed at the corners of his mouth. “They have a neonatal unit there—state of the art. She just came a little early, that’s all, and they want to keep a good eye on her.”
Neonatal unit. Duluth. Seth tried to focus on the words. His sister—his very own sister. He didn’t even know her, hadn’t held her yet, and still, like a red light, a question flashed: Was she going to die?
“She’s going to be fine,” Dad said, as if reading his mind. His hand ran to his neck. “Dr. Antonio said she’s a real fighter.”
Seth’s thoughts jammed up like bumper cars. The hunters. Wolves. This wasn’t the time. It was clear Dad had more than enough to worry about. “Um, who’s gonna take care of…” Fudge, he wanted to say, but didn’t, “… the animals?”
“Seth,” Dad began, “I just called down there, spoke with a nurse, and she sort of … well … she sort of discouraged having siblings there.”
Siblings. He wasn’t used to the word.
“She said there’s not much for you to do there,” his dad continued, “and there’s the increased risk of exposing the babies to more germs. Your mom and I want you with us, of course, but maybe the nurse is right. Let’s give it a few days, see how Lizzy’s doin’, then I can drive back and bring you down to visit. For now, if you stay with the Schultzes, then you can just walk home to take care of the animals.”
Seth stared at the squashed pop can.
Dad squeezed Seth’s shoulder, once, then twice. “Don’t worry,” he said, trying to smile. “She’ll pull through.”
Chapter 4
Seth sliced two apples, three bananas, and a head of lettuce into an empty ice-cream bucket, then set it on the kitchen table. He glanced around. Dishes were still on the counter from the lunch he and Dad shared. Seth would clean up … later. A note scribbled on lined yellow paper lay on the table. Seth picked it up and read it a second time:
Seth,
We’ll be at St. Luke’s Hospital, hopefully not for long. I’m sure they’ll be able to help little Lizzy. If you get any messages on the answering machine, contact Ray Kruppa. He’ll be filling in for me.…
You’re a trooper. Thanks for holding down the fort while we’re away. Have a good time at Matt’s.
Lots of love,
Dad
The grandfather clock, which his father had made, ticked rhythmically, then bonged—four in the afternoon. Four. The hour Dad had recommended heading back from their stands. If they’d gone hunting, that is.
Sunlight slanted low across the living room. From his bedroom down the hall, his aquarium bubbled softly, keeping the water clear for his angelfish. Next to the dark and empty fireplace, Midnight, a ball of black cat fur, lay in Mom’s teal chair.
Seth felt strangely alone.
Not that he’d never been alone before. But somehow, with his parents and Lizzy gone (having a sister was still unreal), he felt like the moose calf—orphaned.
He put on his jacket and red wool cap, grabbed the bucket, and headed for the barn. Snow melted on the deck, leaving patches of brown wood, but there would be more months of winter before a real thaw came.
Inside the barn, Quest pawed at straw, then turned to his wooden trough and chewed on its edge. A bad habit: Quest cribbed when he was bored. Bored. That’s what Seth was going to be. His parents had left so quickly, there hadn’t been time to talk about hunting. It was clear he wouldn’t be going.
“Sorry you can’t get outside,” Seth said to his horse, “but there’s some crazy hunters out there. They see what t
hey want to see.”
The two hunters at the hospital, for instance; they saw wolves as their enemy. Heck, they’d probably think Quest was a trophy deer. If hunters really wanted a healthy deer population, the wolf was part of that picture; they went after the frail and weak, keeping herds healthy. He’d heard stories from Hannah, his cousin in Eagan, about fat deer overrunning suburban backyards, destroying gardens. She didn’t want to see her backyard deer shot or trapped, but admitted they were a growing problem.
A rustling of straw came from the second stall. Slowly, Seth stepped closer, not wanting to startle the calf. It was standing against the far wall—shurrr, shurrr, shurrr—scraping its flank against boards.
“Ticks, huh?” Seth asked. Winter ticks crawled up on plants in the fall, grabbed a ride when a moose walked past, then burrowed their heads into the moose’s skin, sucking blood. Researchers had found thousands and thousands of ticks on dead moose. Trying to rid themselves of ticks, moose sometimes died from rubbing too much fur from their skin.
“If you let me tame you,” Seth said, “maybe I can help.” He wrinkled up his nose. “I hate ticks.” Once, he removed thirty-three wood ticks from his old cocker spaniel, after one of Max’s runs through the woods. Another time, a full tick dropped from Max onto the kitchen floor; Seth’s mom stepped on it—pop!—making a red mess on the white tile.
Seth lowered the bucket of fruit and lettuce into the box stall. The calf stopped rubbing and eyed the bucket. Then it turned a circle and, with a flick of its ears, started rubbing its other flank against the wall. Where it had rubbed, two lines of exposed skin appeared. It was hurting itself on something sharp!
Without thinking, Seth stepped into the stall toward the calf. The calf backed itself into the opposite corner, long ears flattened. Its breath came in short blasts, nostrils wide.
“Don’t worry,” Seth said, watching the calf and running his hand over the wood-framed wall. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
His palm hit a sharp point. “Ouch.” He quickly examined the blunt end of a rusty nail. Now what? Would the calf need a tetanus shot? “We better take care of this,” he said, keeping an eye on the calf. Its hooves, though not as large as an adult’s, were still splayed and pointed. Seth hoped the calf wouldn’t use them.
He inched toward the stall door, slipped out, and found a hammer. Then he eased back in and tapped the nail flush with the board. With each pound, the moose flinched, legs shuffling, as if ready to spring over the walls.
“There,” Seth said, hammer at his side, “scratch away.”
The calf stared at him, its long top lashes and darker hair around its eyes giving it a sad, lonely expression.
“Listen, if I keep you in here,” Seth said, “then you’ll be safe.… ” He pointed to the wide door that led to the enclosed pasture. “If I set you free, then … well, who knows.… ”
He wished Fudge could talk, could tell him what to do. If he followed his father’s advice, he shouldn’t let himself even think about the calf. Better to not get too attached. But he wanted to help. What was wrong with that? The ice-cream bucket sat untouched. “Eat up, Fudge,” Seth said, then left the stall.
He refilled Quest’s water bucket, shoveled out old straw and steaming horse dung, then began brushing Quest’s thick winter coat with the toothed curry comb. Quest chewed, lifting his head every other minute from his hay to look toward the calf.
As Seth pushed the blue wheelbarrow toward the pasture door, he paused. Smacking sounds came from Fudge’s stall. Seth snuck a glance at the moose, eating from the ice-cream bucket. He smiled to himself.
Opening wide the door, he pushed the straw and manure-filled wheelbarrow outside and emptied it onto the growing brown mound, which would eventually become fertilizer for Mom’s gardens.
Turning back to the barn, Seth heard a distant howl. He stopped abruptly.
The song started low, a single voice rising, then was quickly joined by a chorus of high-pitched and throatier howls. A pack. The song rose and fell, undulating, traveling over the treetops.
Seth scanned the woods, a jagged wall of black against the low sun. Pines on the southwest fence line cast spiny shapes across the pasture. The howling grew eerily louder—piercing—then as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.
In the silence, a tremble climbed from Seth’s tailbone to his teeth.
Chapter 5
A large antlered buck, a Canada goose, and a bear hide decorated the pine walls of the Schultzes’ family room. Seth glanced at the bear’s white teeth and pink plastic tongue, then turned back to study the red-and-black checkerboard.
Matt was ahead by three chips. Seth was cornered, down to one.
“You’re sunk,” Matt said, stretching back in his navy sweater, hands clasped behind waves of brown hair. “Give it up.”
“Matthew!” Mrs. Schultz called down the stairs, her voice raspy. “It’s already dark out. Night before deer opener, the station is going to be swamped. Dad won’t be back until after ten.” The Schultzes owned the Stop and Go in town.
“Okay,” Matt called back.
“Get those cows in now,” Mrs. Schultz continued. “Don’t keep putting it off.”
“Okay, okay.”
Seth looked at the checkerboard and shook his head. “Looks like it’s a draw.”
“A draw?” Matt said, standing. “I won and you know it. C’mon. I better go.”
The Schultzes’ house smelled new. Two years back they bulldozed down the old house and built a two-story log home.
Matt headed up the shiny wooden stairs from the basement, and Seth followed, slowing as he passed a wall of football photos. In more than one photo, Matt sat high on his teammates’ shoulders, grinning.
Seth hustled out the back door after Matt, who was pulling on his new green-and-gold jacket. Matt hadn’t lettered yet, but when you were the son of Mr. Schultz, former football player, and brother of two earlier star players at Great Falls High, you knew you’d get a letter eventually, Seth figured. It was as if you were born to play football, to be part of the team. Seth wouldn’t mind trying out for football, too, but with his luck and lean build, he’d probably end up warming the bench.
Alongside the cow barn, a pole barn was stacked full with hay bales, which the Schultzes had managed to put up just days before snow fell.
Seth stepped into the metal barn after Matt. Two four-wheelers sat near the door, alongside three snowmobiles and a trailer. The barn smelled of cows.
“I heard a wolf pack howling,” Seth said, voice bouncing off the high ceiling.
Matt stopped cutting twine on a bale. “When?”
“Just before I came over,” Seth said, helping toss hay into the cows’ troughs, “before you got off the bus.”
“Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
Why hadn’t he? Because he thought Matt would spout off about wolves, sounding like the two men at the hospital? Was that it? “Uh,” he said. “I don’t know.”
Matt stepped through the corralled half of the barn, a dirt floor with a few round patches of cow dung, and opened the wide doors to the pasture. Mooing, the reddish brown cows and a handful of calves pushed inside.
“Whoa … slow down.” Matt counted as they passed, “… Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen…”
He looked questioningly at Seth, who sat on the corral rail.
“The calves,” Matt said. “I only count four. Where’s Star?”
Beyond the open door, a crescent moon glowed. The temperature was plummeting. Seth rubbed his hands together—should have worn gloves. He didn’t want to say it, but he didn’t have a good feeling about this. They needed to hurry. “Got cutters in case the calf got itself stuck in barbed wire?” he asked.
“Yup,” Matt said, hurrying to the workbench near the door and pulling a tool from the cluttered Peg-Board. He stuffed it into his jacket pocket and waved Seth over to a four-wheeler.
Riding double, they set off across the Schultzes’ snowy field, be
yond the barn’s amber light. They bumped up and down, running a flashlight across woods that bordered Matt’s farm, woods that turned into wilderness, stretching for miles across northern Minnesota into Canada.
Cold snuck under the back of Seth’s jacket. They crossed the wooden bridge that spanned a frozen shallow stream, winding slowly back and forth, checking out a mound of bare dirt here, a low bush there.
“Where is she?” Matt called, his voice nearly swallowed by the motor’s roar. “She just disappeared.”
Seth didn’t answer.
At the north side of the pasture, well beyond view from the barn and house, the four-wheeler stopped close to a barbed-wire fence. Lights shone on the calf, lying on its side, the familiar white patch marking its dark nose.
“Star!” Matt exclaimed.
Could it still be alive? Sick or injured? Had they made it just in time? Seth clung to a thin rope of hope, but it quickly slipped from grasp. A dark ring stained the snow near the calf’s belly and hindquarters.
The boys jumped off and slowly edged closer, snow crunching under their boots. Seth held the icy flashlight, swinging it over the calf’s head and neck, its stiff tongue, toward its body. Just like the deer they’d found, the calf’s abdomen was cleaned out. From its hindquarters, chunks of flesh were gone.
Wolf tracks surrounded the site. Tufts of reddish brown hair were scattered everywhere. The wolves must have fled abruptly, alerted by the four-wheeler lights bobbing over the field.
Matt picked up a few hairs, rubbed them between his fingers, and swore under his breath. The headlights caught his face, eyebrows scrunched, mouth wrinkled like a raisin. He struck at the air with his fist. “Stupid wolves!” he shouted. “She was my favorite!”
Seth realized then that the calf was one of the two calves Matt had bottle-fed six times a day that summer after its mother died of pneumonia. Star probably meant to Matt what Fudge meant to him. He wanted to say he was sorry, that he really felt bad, but the words stuck in his throat.
Wolf Shadows (Fesler-Lampert Minnesota Heritage) Page 2