by Peggy Webb
I can’t bear to think about not having that again. I can’t bear to think that Michael might never come back to me. What would I do?
I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately, about the possibility that he won’t come back, that he’ll stay in a coma and be forever remote, beyond my reach.
Yesterday I decided it was time to have a heart-to-heart talk with him. “Michael,” I told him, “I’ve never wanted any man but you. The minute I saw you walking toward me in that bus terminal I knew you were the man I wanted to marry. And I’ve never been sorry, not one single day, even that time we got so mad at each other I left you and went to Mother’s. I can’t even remember what the fuss was all about. All I know is that you came after me the next morning and we spent all day in bed making up.”
“Can you hear me, Michael? If you can, squeeze my hand.”
I waited and waited, but nothing happened. And then I got scared that he might believe I was losing faith, and so I said, “That’s all right, darling. You just take your time.”
I lay down beside him and wrapped my arms around him and tried not to think about how frail he felt, how much weight he’s lost since June. “It’s all right, darling,” I whispered. “I know you’ll return to me. I’m right here, waiting for you.”
Chapter Five
I wish I could talk to you, Anne. I wish I could tell you how much I love you and how hard I’m trying to return to you. Bear with me, my precious. Don’t give up.
I’m coming back to you. I’m coming home.
Chapter Six
Hannah climbed with her cell phone and her backpack, expecting any moment to catch a glimpse of the wolfman, but there was no sign. The fact that she didn’t see him made her uneasy for several reasons. Had misfortune befallen him or was he merely toying with her, setting her up for a nasty surprise?
She turned around to check the trail behind her once more, but all she saw were her own tracks in the newly fallen snow. Soon she’d have to leave. The snow would get deeper, making it nearly impossible for her to track either the wolves or the wolfman and dangerous for her to fly. Ice on the wings of a small plane could spell disaster.
She pulled off her right glove and punched in her editor’s number.
“Jack, this is Hannah. What do you have for me?”
The connection was good, and she could hear him as plainly as if he were standing beside her in Denali.
“If what I think is true, we’ve hit the jackpot.”
“What did you find out?”
“A small private plane went down in that area twenty years ago. Three people were in the plane—Conan Wolfe, a professor of history at Cornell, his wife Margaret who taught art at Cornell, and his son Hunter. Only two bodies were found.”
Chills went down Hannah’s spine. She knew the answer even before she asked the question.
“Who did the rescue party find?”
“Conan and Margaret. There was not a trace of the son.”
“How old was he?”
“Nine… Hannah, we think the man you’ve found could be Hunter Wolfe.”
“Impossible. A child that age couldn’t have survived in this wilderness without help.”
“From what you’ve said, we think he got it…from the wolves.”
Possibilities swirled through her mind. Could it be true? There were the legends, of course. Romulus and Remus. There had been another case, documented, of a child having survived years in the wilds with no human companions.
“But Jack, couldn’t this man simply be some old reclusive mountaineer who prefers the companionship of animals to that of man?”
“How old would you say he is, Hannah?”
“It’s impossible to tell. All that wild hair and those skins he’s wearing.”
But the body…lean and fit. In spite of the skins she’d seen that for herself. She’d more than seen it, she’d felt it, and that was why she didn’t say anything to Jack.
“That’s why we want you to keep following him, Hannah. Get everything you can on film.”
“The snows have started and are getting pretty heavy.”
“Naturally we don’t want you to take any unnecessary risks. Just do what you can, and we’ll be there in a few days with a team.”
“A team?”
“To capture him—”
The words sliced through Hannah and she barely heard the rest of what Jack was saying. After she’d hung up she stood on the mountain ledge looking out over the park and feeling like a traitor.
This magnificent creature she’d found, this wild man who stirred not only her imagination but her blood, was going to be hunted down and carried back to so-called civilization where he would be kept in confinement and studied as if he were nothing more than a guinea pig.
Of course that wasn’t what Jack had said, but that was exactly what he had meant.
“What have I done?” she said.
More importantly what was she going to do?
All night Hannah wrestled with ethical and moral questions. In the wee hours of the morning, exhausted and almost unhinged, she somehow convinced herself that she was making a mountain out of a molehill, that Jack was too kind-hearted to do anything as barbaric as treat another human being like an animal. Clearly it would be in the wolfman’s best interests to have an opportunity to reclaim his name and take his natural place in society.
She dressed then made coffee. The wolfman was nowhere in sight. If only she could see him once more. Then maybe she would know what to do.
The coffee was too strong. She managed to drink half a cup then tossed out the rest, disgusted with herself. She hated indecision.
A sound in a stand of nearby trees alerted her, and Hannah whirled around expecting to see the wolfman. Instead she saw the branch of a spruce tree bow under its heavy load and dump snow to the ground.
“Where are you?” she said. “Are you still out there?”
She stood in the middle of her camp clearing listening to the silence, then finally went inside to get her gear. She had a job to do.
Hannah didn’t spot her quarry until mid morning. He was high above the campsite in a section of the park she had not explored. He stood on the ledge of a cliff in plain view, feet planted wide and hair blowing in the winds that howled around the mountain.
With the zoom lens it would make a perfect shot, but Hannah knew he would never give her the chance to get her camera up and focused. Instead she took a series of hip shots.
He watched her in perfect stillness, watched and waited. It occurred to Hannah that he had revealed himself to her deliberately. But why?
She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “Hello, up there. What do you want?”
He didn’t move. Had he heard? Yes, she would guess. The question was, how much did he understand?
“Come down. I want to talk to you.”
He didn’t respond, but neither did he vanish. Was she making progress with him?
“I won’t hurt you.” She held out both gloved hands. “See. I didn’t bring my gun. No gun.”
The sun that had been playing peekaboo all morning slipped from behind its cloud cover and bathed him in fierce light, made even more blinding by the reflected glare from the snow. Hannah reached for her sunglasses.
“Please come down. I’d like to talk to you.”
She’d never seen another human being achieve such stillness. If it weren’t for the wind through his hair and furs, she could have mistaken him for a lifelike carving.
“If you won’t come down, I guess I’ll have to come up.” She shifted her backpack, sighing. She didn’t relish the climb. Particularly not after a sleepless night.
As soon as she started to climb he began his own ascent, glancing over his shoulder every now and then to see that she followed. Hannah persevered for two hours.
“Thanks to Wheaties and Buns of Steel workouts,” she muttered. She could barely see the wolfman in the distance, still climbing. “Hold on,” she yelled. “What
do you think I am? A mountain goat?”
He backtracked a few hundred feet, then sat on his haunches and stared down at her. Hannah glared right back.
“If you think I’m going to give up, you’re mistaken. I never give up.”
She pulled off her backpack and ate beef jerky while she surveyed her surroundings. She was at a much higher elevation than she’d expected…and in far more treacherous terrain.
Funny, she thought, how you can be in the midst of a thing and be unaware of the danger until you stop.
She’d climbed with her dad several times—once on McKinley. But never from this side of the mountain, never from this remote godforsaken section of Denali. If she went much higher she’d need equipment, which she didn’t have. As a matter of fact, she probably shouldn’t have climbed as far as she had without crampons, rope and an ice ax.
She finished her sparse lunch, then picked up her backpack. She’d allow no more than an hour to continue following the wolfman, then she’d have to head back to camp. To do otherwise would be foolhardy.
Besides, she’d gotten hardly any footage of him, so what was the point?
Fascination.
Well, there you had it. After years of solitary journeys into the heart of steamy jungles and wild canyons and treacherous mountains, she was going around the bend.
“Stop this,” she said, talking to herself, and that was when she turned her ankle on a loose rock, lost her footing and began her terrifying fall down the side of the mountain.
Chapter Seven
The female lay at the bottom of the ravine. He crouched on the edge and peered down at her. She didn’t move. He watched her for a long time, then finally made his way down to where she lay.
He smelled the blood before he got to her. Not much. Just a trickle coming from a small head wound. It matted her long black hair.
Crouched beside the fallen female, he studied her. Memories tugged at him and he was startled to discover moisture trickling from his eyes.
He reached out and touched her exposed skin. It was soft and still warm, and it filled him with a strange comfort.
There was something else, too—deep primitive urges that had driven him to lead her high into the mountains in search of safe territory where he might finally mate.
He bent down and sniffed her skin, then flicked his tongue over its smooth surface and sudden fire attacked his loins. He had chosen well. They would produce many off-spring.
If she didn’t die.
He licked her face again, then nipped at her soft lips and whined. She didn’t move.
He sat back and studied the strange objects scattered around her. Her smell was on them. He pricked his skin on a sharp edge and a drop of his blood mingled with hers. She still lay with her eyes closed.
The pull of her was strong, and he curled up beside her and rested his head on her chest. The smell coming from her body reminded him of the meadow in summer. His loins stirred powerfully once more and he nipped at her neck trying to wake her.
A sound alerted him, and he looked up straight into the yellow eyes of a cougar. The great mountain cat was crouched and ready to spring on the fallen prey.
He leaped up, snarling, and the cat lifted its massive claws and spat at him. He could take the cat in a fight, and he wanted to, but instinct warned him to use the weapon he’d learned to make long before memory. He pulled an arrow out of his quiver, fitted it into the bow and aimed at the throat.
The cougar dropped, no longer a threat to the female.
He lifted his head and sniffed for further danger, then climbed out of the ravine and took watch on a ledge overlooking the fallen female.
Chapter Eight
November 4, 2001
The nursing home was in turmoil when I got here this morning. I heard the news first from the janitor because he was in the foyer on his hands and knees waxing the floor as if his life depended on it, and I nearly tripped over him coming in. I had my mouth open to apologize, but Bob beat me to it.
“Excuse me, Miz Westmoreland,” he said, “I oughtn’t been in your way.” I told him it was my fault, that I hadn’t been looking where I was going and he blurted out, “Well, everybody’s in a uproar today ’cause Mr. Raines just up and quit.”
According to Bob, the director couldn’t take it any more, being around sick folks all the time. That’s not what Vicky told me, though. When she brought in my breakfast tray she said, “I guess Mr. Raines is getting him a suntan right about now,” and then she told me that he had run off to Tahiti with Nurse Schuster, of all people.
Any other time I would have wished them well because I believe in following your heart. I believe that people who ignore their hearts and follow reason consign themselves to a prosaic existence stripped of all wonder, all joy and all magic.
Right now, though, I can’t think about the magic of true love: I can only think about what this change means for Michael. Sally Schuster was his primary care nurse, and Winslow Raines was in charge of everything that goes on here.
Who will make sure the glycerine swabs are lemon-scented? Who will see that the patients not only have their medicine, but their baths as well? Who will give the orders that clean hair is just as important as clean bed linens?
Mother came in to see Michael shortly after I got here.
“Anne, what are you doing, may I ask?”
Somehow that put me on the defensive, but then Mother frequently makes me feel as if I’m doing something wrong, even if I’m doing nothing more than pouring myself a glass of water.
“I’m gearing for battle,” I told her.
Actually what I am doing is jotting notes so that when I meet the new director I’ll know what to say, what to ask for. I learned that from Michael. He never went on a climb unprepared.
So, here’s another mountain I have to climb. Because Michael is not here to climb it with me…and sometimes for me.
Four months ago I could have done this with one hand tied behind my back. Even two months ago while hope was still high. There was no problem too big, no situation too daunting.
Now I feel as if I’m drowning. Even the simple act of deciding what to have for supper takes too much effort.
Last night I stood in front of the refrigerator for ten minutes, the sight of lettuce as foreign to me as if I had landed from Mars.
I want somebody to decide for me. I want Michael.
Well, there’s the phone ringing. I don’t feel like talking. Even a simple conversation seems too much effort.
But what if it’s one of the children? Daniel and Skylar to talk about Thanksgiving plans, or Emily and Jake just back from their honeymoon? What if it’s Hannah?
Lord, I hope it’s Hannah. I haven’t heard from her in days, and I know it’s about time for her to be coming home.
Chapter Nine
Hannah regained consciousness slowly, disoriented at first, then stunned by the magnitude of her dilemma. She was at the bottom of a deep ravine, surrounded by walls so sheer she had no hope of climbing out. Even if she could climb.
She assessed the damage. There was blood in her hair, but the wound on her scalp felt superficial. Her body ached, but everything seemed to be in working order except her left ankle. It hurt to move, and she could feel the swelling already pressing against her boot.
It was amazing that she’d survived such a fall with so little damage. She had her thick winter clothing to thank plus the scrub brush that had broken her long plunge.
She remembered slipping over the edge, remembered her surprise, then her outrage. At first she’d thought, I can’t believe this, then as she’d tumbled from bush to bush, Ok, this is not so bad. I’m going to be all right.
And then there was that last rude shock. She’d landed on her wings. That’s what her daddy used to call her shoulder blades. As she scooted and came to a stop her left foot had ricocheted against a rock. Pain shot through her, but still she was thinking, It’s over, when her neck whiplashed and her head bashed against a rock
.
Then silence. How long had she been knocked out?
Her watch crystal was broken but the dial still glowed. Six o’clock.
A long ululant cry filled the night. She could make out the shape towering above her, the wolfman with his head lifted toward the pale sliver of moon.
“Hello, up there,” she yelled. “Is there a way out of here?”
No answer. What had she expected? She was on her own.
Hannah felt around in the dark for her supplies. Parts of her camera were scattered across the rock. Her backpack had burst open and its contents spilled everywhere. She found one piece of jerky and started to eat it then reconsidered. That was all that stood between her and starvation. She’d ration it while she tried to figure out what to do.
Where was her cell phone? Her water?
She crawled in ever-widening circles trying to locate them, and finally gave up. She had no idea what was out there in the dark.
Huddled against the shelter of a rock she rolled herself into a tight ball for warmth. Tomorrow she’d find the rest of her things. Tomorrow she’d find a way out of here.
With her head pillowed against her backpack she gazed at the top of the cliff. The wolfman was still keeping watch. Somehow that comforted her.
In the morning she found the dead cougar. At first she thought another animal had killed him, then she saw the single jagged neck wound.
“You did this?”
She glanced at her protector. He had not moved from his spot atop the cliff, and in the daylight she could see why. It commanded a view of the entire area.
She wondered if he had slept. Probably not. He had the look of someone who was keeping guard, a tense, ready-for-action look. Hannah wished she had her camera.
She covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. Hysteria wouldn’t do. She had to stay calm.
“Did you kill the cougar to protect me?” she yelled.