The End of the Wild

by Nicole Helget

“Well, hi there,” says Miss Tassel. Everything on her face is wide in surprise.

  “Grandpa’s here,” I tell Toivo. Like old habit, I feel I’ve got to get between the two of them.

  “Sounds like it.”

  “Maybe you should go out back or something,” I say to him.

  Grandpa’s knocking shakes the whole wall. I dash to the door and open it. Though Grandpa takes up nearly the whole doorframe, in the gaps I can see the rustling of dogs in the yard.

  “What in the heck are all these dogs doing here?” Grandpa says. “Every one of them looks flea-bitten.”

  Like a swarm of bandits, Millner’s dogs jostle around our house, biting at one another. Without Ranger, they don’t know the dog rules anymore.

  “They’re okay, Grandpa.”

  Grandpa turns around and roars, “Get out of here! Yah! Yah!”

  The dogs roar in return, shouting woof, woof with their long snouts poised like megaphones. Grandpa puts up his hands and yells, “Get! Get!” but the dogs don’t listen. They circle his truck, peeing on all the tires.

  Grandpa shakes his head in disgust and kicks some gravel and dust at them. They bark and howl.

  I don’t want him in the house, but I don’t want him riling up the dog pack, either. “Grandpa, why don’t you come in,” I say.

  Grandpa takes off his hat as he walks in and pats down his glossy hair.

  “Big John,” Toivo says. “What are you doing here?”

  “Heard the inspection was today,” says Grandpa. “Wanted to come over and make sure everything—and I mean everything—was taken into account.” His boots clomp on the floor. He’s stern-faced at Miss Tassel. “You the little lady who’s conducting this inspection?”

  One corner of her mouth turns down. “You can call me Dr. Tassel,” she says. “I have two—that’s right, two—doctoral degrees from the University of Michigan.” Her chair scrapes the floor. She stands and extends her hand. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr.…?”

  Grandpa takes it and gives it a shake. “Firm grip you have there,” he says, ignoring her question.

  “My father was a general in the army, sir. He couldn’t abide a weak handshake.”

  “I see,” says Grandpa. He’s coming down a little bit. Miss Tassel evens out some of Grandpa’s gruff. “I’m Big John, the children’s grandfather, owner of Greene Incorporated.”

  “Oh yes,” says Miss Tassel. “I know of you. My secretary has passed along many of your messages.”

  “And I want to make sure that you take a look at every bankbook, every credit score, and every bill collector that this son of a gun has had any interaction with.” Grandpa’s voice rises like a raccoon up a tree. “He ruined my daughter’s life, and I will not allow him to ruin my grandchildren’s, too!”

  “For God’s sake, Big John—” Toivo says.

  But Miss Tassel interrupts before Toivo can protest more. “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Greene, but as I said—or maybe I didn’t say—I don’t need your help. I know how to do my job.”

  “I want you to take photographs of the mold in the basement and take a square-footage measurement of this rinky-dink house that isn’t big enough for one of my horses, much less my three grandkids. And that crap he feeds these kids. My God! I wouldn’t feed it to my dogs.”

  “Grand—” I begin.

  He turns to me. “Now, Fern, you stay out of this.”

  “But, Grand—” I try again.

  “Fern,” he scolds, “I told you to stay out of this. Go to your room.”

  Toivo steps forward. “Don’t tell her what—”

  Grandpa steps up to Toivo with a meaty pointer finger aimed at his face. “Don’t you ever tell me what to do!”

  “Mr. Greene!” Miss Tassel’s got her hands raised, fingers splayed. “That is quite enough. Stand down, and I am not going to ask you twice!” Grandpa gasps, but Miss Tassel keeps going. “I am well qualified to handle this situation, thank you very much. And for your information, I myself grew up in a rinky-dink shack in Kentucky without electricity or indoor plumbing.”

  “Well, that’s fine for you, but—” goes Grandpa.

  Again, Miss Tassel pays him no mind. “We ate crawfish and shrimp and collard greens and beets,” she says, “all pulled out of the water or the ground by me and my brothers.” Grandpa stands there with his hands as big as dinner plates on his hips, his chest cocked slightly forward. It’s his intimidation pose. Except Miss Tassel doesn’t look intimidated. “And now I have two PhDs, so you’d best mind your tone with me, sir!”

  I’m shocked, paralyzed, and completely impressed. I have never, ever heard anyone talk to Grandpa that way. Even Toivo stands with his mouth hanging open.

  When I can finally breathe again, out comes a chuckle. “Wow,” I say to no one in particular.

  “Miss Tassel.” Grandpa hangs on to the s in Miss and practically spits out the T in Tassel. “These children are not keeping up with their studies, and it is his fault. My daughter would not have wanted these grandbabies of mine failing school!”

  “I understand your concern, Mr. Greene. I really do. But you’ve got to let me do my job here.”

  “Well, you’ll be hearing from my lawyer if this doesn’t turn out the right way,” Grandpa says. The screen door slams.

  I run to the window to watch. He stomps across the yard.

  Miss Tassel isn’t through with him yet, though. She goes to the kitchen door and shouts, “Go ahead! I’m working on a law degree, too!”

  Grandpa slaps the hood of his truck and kicks a tire. He rumbles up his diesel engine and tears out of our gravel driveway, kicking up dust.

  Chapter 20

  As Grandpa tears off, Toivo fiddles with his hearing aid. “Don’t worry, okay? Big John will calm down.”

  I nod. No matter how nasty Grandpa is to Toivo, Toivo never says a bad word about him—not to me at least. Maybe self-control is something they teach you in the military.

  Miss Tassel wipes her hands off on her pant legs. “Your jam is out of this world! Did you find the berries yourself?”

  “Yep,” I say. “Yes, I mean. Out there.” I point out the window toward the grove.

  “That’s wonderful. My brothers and I used to trap and scrounge, too. I miss it. Someone should write down all the things you can find out there.”

  “I am, actually. For the STEM fair. I’m going to make a field guide to all the edible food out there.”

  Toivo grins. Miss Tassel looks at Toivo, and she smiles, too. “What a wonderful idea.”

  A wave of relief washes over me, as though I just passed an enormous test.

  Miss Tassel turns to Toivo. “Mr. Heikkenen, could you give Fern and me some privacy for a little while?”

  Toivo raises his eyebrows. “What? I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

  Miss Tassel points to the door.

  “Oh, you want me to leave you alone? Yes, ma’am. Gotcha.” He grabs his pack of smokes and heads outside.

  Miss Tassel watches the door close behind him. She turns to me and zeros in on my eyes. “It’s all right if we talk for a minute, right?”

  I swallow and blink. My teeth feel too tight for my mouth. “Yeah,” I manage to say. I lay my hands in my lap and then plop them on the table and then fold them back on my legs.

  “Must run in the family,” she says. She leans forward across the table. “Fern, are you happy here?”

  “Mostly.” It’s almost a whisper.

  “Are you sad here?” she fires back.

  I hesitate, and I wonder if this is a trap. I decide to tell the truth. “Yes,” I drum my fingers on my thighs. “Sometimes. But isn’t that normal?”

  She ignores my question.

  “Do you feel safe here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you feel unsafe here?”

  “Never. Unless there’s a terrible storm or something that can’t be controlled.”

  She flips open a file and slides out six or seven piece
s of paper. “Now, where did I put my pen?” She searches her purse and scours her briefcase.

  “It’s behind your ear,” I say. “Stuck in your hair.”

  She feels for it. “Oh yeah,” she says. “Thanks.” Miss Tassel licks the tip of the pen and scribbles checks in boxes on the paper. “Okay,” she says. “One last question.”

  I sit very still and stare at the tip of her pen, in the air above the box she needs to check. She wiggles it a bit.

  “Fern, when you think about the kind of adult you want to be someday, the goals that you have, do you think Toivo is the father who can help you achieve those goals?”

  Blink. Blink. Blink.

  Miss Tassel has long nails that are painted orange. On the very tip of each thumb is a gold stripe.

  “Fern?” she says.

  What kind of an adult do I want to be?

  The kind who cares about her family.

  The kind who can take care of her family.

  The kind who works hard and has dirty fingernails and a stocked cupboard to show for it.

  The kind who is smart and has a good job, maybe as a science teacher like Mr. Flores or a marine like Toivo.

  “Fern?” Miss Tassel asks again.

  “Yes,” I say. “I can reach those goals with Toivo as my dad.”

  “Okay.” She smiles. She checks the box. And then she reaches over and takes my hand. “You understand we have a problem, right? You know that the law is fussy about guardianship, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is this where you want to be? With Toivo?”

  It hits me like a winter gale. “Yes. I get mad at him sometimes, and I don’t like that he’s working for the frackers, but yes.”

  “And what about Grandpa?”

  “I don’t mind seeing him when he’s not trying to take us away,” I say. “I used to like seeing him sometimes.” My entire body relaxes. It feels so good to just be able to say these things out loud to someone who really listens. My stomach even growls, and I remember I’ve not eaten anything all day. I remember I’ve hardly eaten anything for several days. I clutch my arms around my middle.

  Miss Tassel smiles. “That’s what I thought.” She rubs her stomach. “I’m hungry, too. Sometimes I forget to eat when I’m stressed.”

  “Me, too!” I say. I go to the fridge and open it. The bare lightbulb shines down on a whole bunch of shelves that are bare except for a half-empty bottle of ketchup, a couple of shriveled apples, and some cheap slices of cheese. I spy a few jars way in the back. I grab one and put it on the table.

  Miss Tassel straightens up and unscrews the lid from the pickled ramp bulbs. She smells inside the jar. She pulls out a ramp, a white bulb with a flat green stem. “Onion?” she asks.

  “Pickled ramp,” I correct her.

  “Ramp? What in the world is a ramp?” She puts the ramp up to the light and turns it round and round.

  “It’s kind of like onion crossed with garlic.”

  She pops the whole thing in her mouth and chews. Vinegar drips down her lips. “Hmmm. Why have I never heard of these?”

  “They grow in the woods in the spring. They look a little like lilies, but you can smell the difference pretty easy.”

  “You found this in the woods?”

  “Yeah. Lots of them.”

  She licks her fingertips and then spins the jar, stirring up the mustard seeds and caraway. She scoops up another ramp and chomps it. Then she fishes out another. Miss Tassel points at her mouth. “These are good. Crispy.”

  “My mom taught me.”

  Miss Tassel sorts through her paper circus. “You know what would be delicious with these? Crawfish on crackers.”

  “Mikko and Alexi sometimes find crayfish in the pond in Millner’s woods. Is that like a crawfish?”

  “Yes!” she says, smiling. “Seriously? I haven’t had a good crawdad in ages. You find them out there? In those woods?”

  I nod. “Not for much longer, though, probably, if those frackers ruin it.”

  The smile drops from her lips. “Now that would be too bad. I wonder what folks would think about that if they knew about all the plants and animals out there. Anyway, what do you know about fracking?” she says.

  “I know Kloche’s is going to turn my grove into a wastewater pit.” I put my chin up. “And I know that Mr. Flores thinks Kloche’s is a bunch of polluters.”

  “Hmm,” she says. “I’ve heard fracking causes earthquakes. They say it starts your drinking water on fire. Who knows?”

  “That’s terrible!”

  She shrugs. “I see both sides of the fracking argument, though. Overall, from what I know, fracking is cleaner than coal, that’s for sure.” She picks at her teeth. “Got my daddy and just about every brother of mine suffering of lung disease from the coal mines of Kentucky.” She swallows. “But you know what? That coal mine bought my education.”

  She takes her shoe off, scratches her foot. Then she slips her shoe back on.

  I hesitate. But before I can stop them, the words are coming out of my mouth: “Toivo says he can make a lot of money.”

  “I see.” She takes off her other shoe and wiggles her toes. She presses her toes against the floor until they all crack. Then she wiggles them again before she stuffs her foot back into the shoe. “I gather you’re not too fond of the way he’s making it.”

  “I don’t want him to be stressed out about money,” I say. “But I don’t want Millner’s woods to get cut down, either.”

  She stares at me as though waiting for me to continue. “I don’t have to tell you this because you’re smart enough to know it, but adults have to choose between a rock and another rock all the time.”

  “And a hard place?” I correct her.

  “That, too,” says Miss Tassel.

  A small mouse dashes along the floorboard near the table. I hope she doesn’t notice. I hold very still.

  But Miss Tassel spies it out of the corner of her eye. “Looks like you need a cat,” she says matter-of-factly.

  My shoulders relax. “Mikko’s allergic.”

  “A dog would do,” she says.

  “Yeah,” I say. “It would.”

  “Fern,” she says, “don’t ever be ashamed of being poor. I’ve never met a strong woman who had an easy go of things early on.”

  I remember Toivo saying the same thing. “Thanks, Miss Tassel.”

  “But don’t be too hard on Toivo for trying to get you out of it with an honest day’s labor. And the labor of a man who is trying to feed and house his kids is honest.”

  I just listen.

  “I’m gonna tell you something because you’re smart and I think you can handle it,” she says. “It’s wonderful to have principles. But adults have to eat theirs all the time when life gets on them. You can’t be so hard on people, Fern.”

  The scalp behind my ear burns. Cut the duck off Toivo is what she’s telling me.

  Chapter 21

  Toivo buys me construction paper, new scissors, and a hot-glue gun for my project. Probably that wouldn’t be a big deal to most people. But it wasn’t too long ago that buying little things like those wasn’t possible in our household.

  I make pencil sketches and write descriptions of my edible plants, roots, and mushrooms, kind of like baseball cards, and hot-glue them on my display. I have some photos, too, from Mr. Flores, for where the plants can be found.

  I’ve got one day to get this done. Tomorrow night the school will host the annual STEM fair. For today, I try not to think about the questions the judges will ask me. I try not to think about the other parents who will look at my project. I try not to think about all the other kids’ projects or how much better they’re going to be. I try not to think about how this project is my entire science grade for the whole year.

  I do try to think that if I do a great job, maybe Grandpa will loosen that belt buckle a notch, relax, and give up his war against Toivo.

  And I do try to think that maybe, just maybe, som
eone will like my project enough that they’ll think it’s important to save Millner’s woods, too.

  Alexi and Mikko tear around the house, chasing each other in a game they call Walnut Smear. They’ve stuffed their coat pockets with walnuts that fell to the ground and got snowed on, so the green covering is soggy and stinking up the house. Wherever a walnut lands, a green stain gets left. Mikko runs past me and trips on the hot-glue gun cord, sending the glue gun flying across the kitchen.

  “Hey!” I scold. “Watch it!”

  Alexi heaves a walnut at Mikko. He misses and hits the couch. Splat. From the inside of his sling, he pulls out another one, winds up, throws, and smacks Mikko right in the chest. Splat. Mikko scrambles after it, picks it up, and fires it back at Alexi. He misses and smacks the refrigerator.

  “Knock it off!” I shout.

  Alexi holds up another walnut.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I warn him.

  He leans against me and wipes his nose on my sleeve. He stares at the cards. “I want to help.” He holds his walnut up to the card I made about walnuts. “You should glue this on there. I’ll do it.” He grabs for the glue gun.

  “No way. That’s hot! You could get burned.”

  “Can we go to Abdisalom’s house, then?”

  “No,” I say. The boys are driving me crazy. “I really need to finish this. Can you guys just be good for a while? Why don’t you watch TV?”

  “This board looks too boring,” says Alexi. “It needs better stuff on it.”

  I shake Alexi’s head off my arm. I step back and stare at my board. Is it boring? I have my title, FOODS OF THE FOREST, in black construction-paper cutouts across the top middle. Then I have PLANTS on the left. ROOTS in the bottom center. MUSHROOMS on the top right. And NUTS on the bottom right.

  Mikko comes over to criticize, too. “Yeah, you need to jazz it up.”

  “I do not,” I say. “Go outside and quit being pests.”

  Alexi points to my sketch of a shaggy mane mushroom, which has a stalk and then a large cap. “Why’s that drawing of a Smurf on your STEM project?” he asks.

  “I think they all look pretty good,” Mikko says. He squints at the pheasant’s back mushroom card. “Hey, you spelled that wrong, though. That’s a pheasant’s back. F-f-f-f. F-f-f-f. It should start with an F.”