When I turned to point it all out to Riley, she was over in front of Studio 140 watching an artist painting out on the sidewalk. The artist was working on a picture of a city. There was something familiar about the way he worked. A small crowd of people stood around him while he painted. He sort of danced back and forth in front of his painting, and he kept a loose conversation going with a woman standing to the left of his easel. While Riley watched him dance, I tried to figure out how I knew him.
There was a couple standing next to us talking about the artist. We eavesdropped while the man was doing a play-by-play of the action.
“He names his strokes,” said the man. “That was a scream.” A moment later he said, “That was a kiss.”
At that exact moment the artist backed away from the painting and tipped his head sideways as he examined his work. Then he smacked his lips and turned toward the man with the commentary. “You’re right, that was a kiss,” he said. The commentator broke into a huge smile as the woman next to him snuggled into him.
The artist was looking straight at me at the time. The man couldn’t see him wink at me with his left eye, but I could. That’s when I realized who he was.
“You’re Kent Paulette, aren’t you?” I said.
“I am,” he said. He moved the brush from his right hand, and after checking it for wet paint, he held it out to me.
“I’m Jasper,” I said, shaking his hand. “And this is Riley.”
“Hi, Riley,” he said, shaking her hand.
“My sister, Carol, is a potter, and she’s a big fan of your painting. You have a gallery in Blowing Rock, don’t you?”
“Derfla,” he said.
“Yeah. Carol and I came there once. We got a painting of a bear for our mom a couple of Christmases ago.”
He smiled. “I hope she liked it.”
“She loved it.”
“That’s great,” he said. Then he glanced down at his paintbrush and added, “Well, I need to let you get over to the festival.”
* * *
Sister Lee’s is right on Main Street. It’s very bright and clean. Fred had told Riley that Sister Lee’s is where you’d take your grandmother, and Dunn’s Deli was where you’d take your college student. Without knowing which Martha would be more like, Riley chose Sister Lee’s. It was 10:30 when we got there, which was the time they had posted that breakfast would end, but they were willing to make us breakfast sandwiches and hot chocolates.
While we waited for our food, Riley noticed a sign on the wall. “My dad would like this place,” she said.
I followed her eyes to the sign on the wall.
“The soup of the day is sausage and bean with a cornbread muffin,” she explained.
We were almost done with our breakfast when a tall woman with short, jet-black hair walked in and scanned the room. She was wearing jeans, a jean jacket, and a red flannel shirt. I guessed she was about the same age as my mother. Riley stood up and waved her over to our table.
“Are you the reporter?” asked the woman.
“I am,” answered Riley. “Thank you for meeting with us.” After shaking hands with the woman she turned to me, “This is my colleague, Jasper Lilla.”
“Hi,” I said.
She shook my hand. “Martha Bonhoffer.”
“Please sit,” said Riley, extending her hand toward an empty chair.
Except for eyeing each of us more closely, Martha didn’t move. “Forgive my asking, but you two look awfully young to be newspaper reporters. What paper did you say you were with?”
“The Powder Horn,” I told her.
“It’s the Watauga High School paper,” added Riley.
“You’re high school students,” said Martha. She clamped her lips together and sort of snorted a heavy breath through her nose.
“Mom,” called a woman who had just entered the coffee shop. She was as tall as Martha. She dressed like Martha, except she had no jacket and her flannel shirt was blue. Her hair was also black, but long and pulled back in a single braid.
Martha, still standing, waved the newcomer over to where we were standing.
“What’s wrong?” asked the woman as she got close enough to see Martha’s face.
“They’re in high school,” said Martha, as she nodded her head toward Riley and me.
“Let’s go,” said the woman, taking Martha’s arm and turning her toward the door. Over her shoulder she scowled at us. “I don’t know who you think you are, but we aren’t here for your entertainment. Why don’t you go find something else to make fun of?”
Riley and I looked at each other. We hadn’t made fun of her, and I’m sure Riley didn’t mean to mislead her about how old we are.
Just as they got to the door I shouted, “I’ve seen the white wolf.”
They stopped and looked back at me. Actually everyone in the place stopped and looked at me. The room was packed with people. A lot of them were probably there for the Woolly Worm Festival, but I had no way of knowing. What I did know was there were a lot of them and they were all looking at me like I was a zoo animal.
As I stood there trying to disappear, Riley hurried over to them. “He really did,” she told them. “Twice.”
They looked around Riley at me, then at each other. The daughter shrugged her shoulders, which seemed to be the signal Martha was waiting for. Riley led them back to the table.
“This is my daughter, Mary,” said Martha as she sat down.
“Hi,” grunted Mary as she sat next to Martha. I think she was still suspicious of us.
“We aren’t here to make fun of what happened to you,” explained Riley. She sat next to Mary, leaving the seat across from Martha for me.
I hadn’t gotten all the way in my chair when Martha asked, “You saw him, too?”
“The white wolf. Yeah, I saw him,” I told her.
“Twice?” she asked.
I nodded. “The first time was when I got chased and cornered by some Dobermans.”
“Security dogs,” added Riley. “He was trespassing.”
It was true. I was trespassing, but it still sounded unsettling to hear Riley say it. She made a sorry-about-that face when I looked at her.
“I wasn’t doing anything bad, but I wasn’t supposed to be there. The dogs weren’t supposed to be there then either. They were early.”
“What happened?” asked Mary. She didn’t sound so suspicious anymore.
“They chased me through the woods and cornered me in front of a cliff. I was able to climb up on a ledge that was just out of their reach. I was there for about half an hour.”
“Didn’t you have a phone?” asked Mary.
“He dropped it,” answered Riley.
Martha and Mary looked at Riley and then back at me. I nodded. “I was taking a picture when they first started chasing me. I guess I panicked.”
“I know the feeling,” said Martha. She grabbed Mary’s hand and squeezed.
“Eventually I fell off that ledge.”
“Actually, he didn’t fall off,” said Riley. “The ledge gave way under him.”
“I was sure I was as good as dead. I couldn’t look, but I swear I felt hot breath on the back of my neck.” I paused and looked to see if they were still listening. They were leaning toward me, like they wanted me to get on with it.
“That’s when the wolves showed up?” asked Martha.
“Yeah. They were lined up on the cliff above me, and the big white one was in the middle.”
“You’re sure it was white, all white?”
“I’m sure,” I told her. “Other than once, when the white one looked right at me, they didn’t pay any attention to me at all.”
“The white one looked at you,” repeated Martha.
“He did. Right square in the eyes.”
“Me, too,” said Martha.
“What happened with you?” I asked.
“Why don’t you finish your story, and then she’ll tell you hers?” said Mary.
“The whi
te one looked at me long enough for me to know that he knew I was there. Then, when he looked back at the dogs, the wolves jumped off the cliff and chased the dogs out of sight.” I looked at Riley and said, “That’s it.”
“Was that recently?” asked Mary.
“That was about two and a half years ago,” I said.
Mary looked at her mom. “That’s after yours, isn’t it, Mom?”
Martha nodded. “It was in May 2012.” Her eyes moved from me to Riley and back to me. “I remember because I was about to retire.”
Martha’s eyes were open real wide.
Mary patted her hand and asked, “Do you want me to tell it?”
Martha looked sad to be asked that, but she nodded yes.
“You must forgive my mother,” began Mary. “She did what she thought was the right thing to do after it happened. She told the police. They didn’t believe her. Then she did an interview with the newspaper. She thought people should know what happened.”
Martha nodded.
“I read that interview,” said Riley. “That’s how we found you.”
“It was after that interview that it started to go horribly wrong,” continued Mary. “She got crank letters and phone calls. Wolf experts wrote the editor saying her story was impossible, that there haven’t been wolves around here for decades. She went from being a respected teacher and librarian to being the town joke.”
Martha hung her head down.
Mary put her arm around her mother’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mom.” To us she added, “It was a pretty harrowing event when it happened, but she handled that much better than all this ugly backlash.”
Martha looked up at me. “What happened when you told?”
“I only told her,” I said, pointing at Riley. “I didn’t tell anybody else.”
“You’re smarter than me then,” she sighed.
“We don’t know what to think about it, but we’re prepared to believe you,” Riley told them.
“Show them,” Martha told Mary.
Mary nodded. “Mom’s writing about it. I’m helping. Her therapist thought it would be therapeutic.”
“She doesn’t believe me,” said Martha.
Mary didn’t disagree. She opened her purse and retrieved some papers folded and stapled together. “This is the account of what happened. The therapist told her to write it in the third person. She said it would be less emotional that way.” Mary slid the pages across the table to us. “Why don’t you read it, and I’ll get us something to drink? Then we can talk about it.” She stood up. “What would you like?”
Twenty-Seven
Martha’s Story
The phone rang, and for a brief moment Martha almost regretted her decision. “It’s easy,” the Lexus salesman had told her. “You can control almost everything, even your iPhone, from the steering wheel.”Easy for my grandson, she remembered thinking. Just after the third ring went quiet, she found the phone button and pushed it with her thumb.
“Hello, Mary,” greeted Martha before her daughter could speak.
“Well . . . how is it?” asked Mary.
“How is what?” replied Martha, knowing full well what she was being asked.
“Your graduation present.”That’s what Mary called Martha’s new car. It was really a retirement present, but since she was retiring after thirty-five years as a school librarian, itwas a graduation from school in a way. It was also the first and only extravagance Mary had ever seen her mother indulge herself with. Mary’s father had abandoned them when she was a child, leaving Martha with a newborn baby and a load of debt.
“It’s too fancy for me,” declared Martha. “I’m thinking of taking it back.” She wasn’t thinking of returning the Lexus at all. Although she was still disoriented with all the gadgets it was equipped with, the driving was exquisite. The seat fit her perfectly, the steering wheel moved effortlessly, and the gas pedal worked like it was an extension of her foot. She drove it off the lot and got it up to ninety-five miles an hour before getting scared. She had no idea how fast it would go, but clearly it would go faster than she would.
“You’re such a Martha,” said Mary.
“You’re no Mary,” came the familiar banter. It was a ritual they began just after Mary’s adolescence when they became as much friends as mother and daughter. Truly, each, in her own way, was more Martha than Mary. Both were independent, responsible, hardworking, and maternal.
“Where are you anyway?” asked Mary.
Martha looked around at the winding road with thick woods on either side. “I don’t know for sure,” she said. “Somewhere between Elk Park and Banner Elk.”
Mary laughed. “Well, have a good time, Mom. Don’t forget about your doctor’s appointment.”
“Yes, Mom,” said Martha as she hung up.
Accelerating through the next turn made her giggle, but then something caught her eye and made her jam on the brakes. Her tires squealed, and the rear end wobbled as she screeched to a stop.
Parked on the side of the road was an old red pickup truck with the rear passenger side up on a jack. A man lay face down next to the jack.
Martha pulled her car behind the pickup and jumped out. “Are you okay,” she said, rushing forward.
The man didn’t move as she knelt down next to him. She knew immediately that something was strange when she touched him. There was no warmth in his body, but he felt more like a stuffed animal than dead. Her hand recoiled. A sick feeling in her stomach swelled as she slowly retreated from the body, only then noticing the absence of exposed skin and the unnatural curve to the elbows.
A dummy,Martha told herself as she backed farther away without taking her eyes off the scene.Who would play such a cruel joke?
The answer she didn’t want came suddenly as a strong arm draped across her from behind, clamping her against someone who was much taller and much stronger than she. “Thanks for stopping, darlin’,” said a deep voice that made her shudder as she flailed.
He just laughed and tightened his grip, lifting her off her feet as if she were a rag doll.
She wasn’t strong enough to loosen his grip, so she dug at his forearm with her nails. His denim jacket repelled her efforts to claw at him as easily as his strength had repelled her attempts to wiggle free.
“Help me,” she screamed as he began lugging her into the woods.
She went quiet as her terror sank into something well beyond panic.
As he walked he carried her on his left hip, still using only his left arm to subdue her. Then he stopped suddenly and slung her to the ground. She was jolted as she landed on her tailbone.
“Why are you doing this?” she pleaded.
“I’m a lion,” he said, “and you’re a lamb.” He retrieved his cell phone from his back pocket. “It stinks for you, but that’s the way it is.” He placed his right foot on her left arm, pinning her to the ground while he typed something on his phone.
He’s talking; that’s good. Talk to him. Make him see you as a person. She wasn’t sure where in her memory that strategy came from, but she had no other options.
“I’m Martha. Martha Bonhoffer.”
He watched her talk, but his expression didn’t change. He pressed his foot harder on her arm.
“I have a daughter named Mary and a grandson named Frankie.”
He kept watching expressionlessly as he put his phone away.
“I’m a librarian.” Her voice trembled. “Actually I was a librarian, and now I’m retired.” She swallowed hard. “I’m a retired librarian.”
“You’re a lamb,” he said flatly. He bent down beside her head and tried to grab a handful of her hair.
She pushed at his hands, but he easily gathered her wrists and clamped them together in his huge right hand. Then he reached again for her hair. Once he had a firm grip on her hair, he let go of her wrists. Standing, he lifted her halfway up his thigh.
“Please don’t do this,” she blubbered as she struggled. “I was trying to help y
ou. How could you do this to me? I was trying to help you.”
She was sobbing so hard that she could no longer see. He began dragging her along the ground. Her head banged against his knee when he stopped abruptly. He lowered her to a seated position and then went rigid.
Martha wondered if he had heard something. She couldn’t see anything. Fear stopped her from crying out for help again. She wiped the tears from her face. That’s when she saw the wolf standing at the edge of the clearing directly in front of them—the biggest wolf she had ever seen. It was all white, and it just stared at them.
Once she could focus again, Martha noticed that the wolf’s eyes were fixated on the man standing behind and above her. The man slid his hands under her arms and lifted her up, holding her there between him and the wolf.
Coward, she thought.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a high-pitched growl directly behind them. The man swung her around so that the two wolves were now on either side of them. The first wolf was still standing in the same place at the edge of the clearing to her left, and the second was on her right. Martha felt the man’s grip tighten as a third and fourth wolf emerged from the underbrush in front of them. Pushing her forward, he began creeping backward.
Everything was happening in slow motion now. She noticed that none of the wolves were baring their teeth, which would be a sign of aggression. She also noticed that none of them were paying her any mind at all.
Standing perfectly still she gathered her arms around herself. Now there were six wolves—three sets of pairs, and the man was backing away from them.
Without so much as a glance at her, the wolves directly in front of her moved past her. Once they were beyond her, she began making her way toward the road.
“Hey,” her assailant called out to her. “Aren’t you going to help me?”
She looked back over her shoulder. The man was in the middle of the clearing, completely surrounded by what were now four pairs of wolves. The wolves were all in wider stances—heads bent forward, their back hair standing on end, all clear signs of aggression.
Jasper Lilla and The Wolves of Banner Elk Page 9