by Kim Fielding
“I don’t know.” Samuel gave him a long, grim look. “But I have my suspicions.”
“Would Father have—”
“He’d turn out his own son, Orris. Just for loving someone. You don’t think he’d give a hoot about a servant girl, do you?”
“No,” Orris sighed. “I don’t think he would.”
Allen’s general store was busy this afternoon. Allen, his wife, and his half-grown son were all helping customers, while other people milled patiently among the bins and display cases. A few men gathered around the stove, talking loudly. Orris winced slightly when he saw that one of them was Dunning.
“Spencer,” Dunning said, addressing Samuel and ignoring Orris as usual.
“Hello, Dunning.” Samuel greeted the other men as well, and they nodded back.
Orris pretended to examine a display of spices in metal tins while the other men discussed plans to incorporate Beaverton into an official town. From what Orris could tell, those who lived in the town itself and had businesses there favored the notion, feeling it would bring progress and prosperity, while the farmers opposed it. Orris couldn’t see what possible difference incorporation would make, one way or the other, but he didn’t share his views.
After two of the men moved to the front of the store to talk to the shopkeepers, Dunning turned to Samuel. “You lost any more livestock?”
“A few of the sheep had the scours, but—”
“I mean to the wolf.”
“Oh. No, we haven’t had any sign of that.”
“Me neither. Bastard must’ve died after I shot it.”
Orris felt his stomach tighten and his hands clench into fists. He turned around to glare at Dunning. “You didn’t have to kill it. You could have just scared it away.”
At first Dunning looked slightly startled and confused, as if he hadn’t realized Orris was capable of speech. Then Dunning’s lip curled into a sneer. “Soft,” he spat.
“I’m not soft. I’m just opposed to killing when it’s not necessary. Wolves just want to eat. This used to be their territory before you came here.”
Dunning stomped closer and jabbed his fat finger toward Orris’s chest, but Orris didn’t back away. “If it was up to me,” Dunning snarled, “I’d gut and skin every one of ’em. I used to hunt ’em for the bounty. They’re thieving filth, and anyone who don’t see that… well, that man’s got a problem.”
Orris raised his chin and looked Dunning in the eyes. “Maybe I have a problem with you, Mr. Dunning.”
The last time Orris had been in a fight was when his next-oldest brother tried to steal one of Orris’s tin soldiers. Orris had been seven or eight at the time, and his brother had beaten him soundly—and ended up with the toy too. Orris didn’t know how a skirmish with Dunning would end. And he never got a chance to find out because Samuel grabbed Orris’s arm and dragged him outside, then shoved him roughly into the side of the wagon.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Samuel yelled.
“I don’t like him.”
“He ain’t my favorite person either, Orr, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna pick a fight with him over something stupid.”
It wasn’t stupid, Orris thought. He crossed his arms and glared sullenly.
With a quiet sigh, Samuel took a step closer. “Look. I know he’s treated you poorly from the beginning. He’s an ignorant jackass. But he’s also our neighbor, and fighting him isn’t going to turn him into a nice man.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Samuel clapped him on the shoulder. “Wait out here, all right? I’ll be out soon.”
Orris nodded before climbing onto the wagon seat.
The family spent another peaceful evening in the parlor. Samuel didn’t mention the incident with Dunning, although he occasionally shot Orris a slightly worried look. His older daughter was teaching the younger one to knit, which was entertaining. This time Orris waited until everyone else was ready to retire before he too stood.
“Good night,” he said, and he received a chorus of return good wishes.
He didn’t undress when he got to his room, though. He paced. There was very little room for it—just a few steps in each direction—and he kept jostling the washstand. But he couldn’t stay still.
For the first time in his life, he wished he were a religious man. He would have prayed for guidance. As it was, all he could do was walk back and forth, back and forth, his face often buried in his hands.
He didn’t know how he reached a decision, but he definitely knew when. A certainty settled in his mind as if it had landed there from above. He grabbed a piece of paper from a shelf and his pen and ink. But then he replaced them, unused. Walking quietly so as not to wake anyone, he left his room and went to the anteroom, where he grabbed his coat and hat. He quickly laced up his boots.
The clouds had parted enough for the full moon to shine through, clearly illuminating his way. But when he reached the forest, the trees blocked most of the light. He stumbled and tripped his way uphill, swearing softly under his breath the entire time. He didn’t lose his way.
The clearing glowed like a theatre, with the cabin set center stage. The entire scene was timeless—nothing about it suggested the end of the nineteenth century. A medieval hermit could have lived in that cabin, or a prehistoric Druid. Civilization might as well be hundreds of years in the future.
Orris took off his boots and stripped out of his clothing, which he left in an untidy heap at the edge of the clearing. He began to shiver, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t think he’d feel cold for long. He strode to the middle of the clearing—to the spot where he and Henry had made love—and stopped.
And then he shouted as loud as he could: “I’m here! I’ve decided! I’m ready!”
He didn’t hear anything behind him. But he felt the gaze of glowing eyes. He turned around slowly.
The wolf was six feet away. Droplets of moisture glistened on his fur, and blood stained his muzzle.
“I’m here,” Orris repeated, this time in a whisper. He fell to his knees, spread his arms, and tilted his head to better expose his neck. But he did not close his eyes.
The wolf looked at him for the space of several heartbeats, then threw back his head and howled—an ancient cry of grief and triumph. The entire world echoed with the sound. Only when the last reverberations died away did he shift his weight slightly backward. He leapt.
And then the wolf bit.
Epilogue
The wolf stood on a small outcropping of rock. If he peered carefully through the trees with his keen eyesight, he could make out the small farmhouse below. A warm light glowed in several of its windows. When he cocked his ears forward, the light breeze brought him hints of human laughter. It was a good sound.
Not far from the house, a few cows dozed in a pasture, and near to them was a paddock with sheep. He liked the taste of sheep, but he wouldn’t hunt these. His mate would be displeased if he approached the farm, and besides, he’d eaten already that evening. He and his mate had brought down a wounded elk and feasted grandly. His belly felt nicely full now, and when he licked his muzzle, he could still taste blood.
His mate—a larger, lighter-colored wolf—hopped lightly onto the rock beside him and made a small chuffing sound. The smaller wolf gently bashed the side of his head into his mate’s shoulder. The larger wolf responded with another chuff and then a playful nip at the scruff of his neck.
Although nights were short this time of year, many hours remained before daylight. There was still plenty of time to run side by side through the forest, breathing in the scents of endless numbers of living things. Still time to chase one another, to engage in mock battles, to howl together over the joy of companionship, the sheer joy of life. And when dawn broke, they would still have energy to fall into bed together and find completion in each other’s bodies.
The larger wolf chuffed for a third time, mouthed at his mate’s muzzle, and then turned to run off into the moon-dappled woods
. The smaller wolf followed without a backward glance.
About the Author
Kim Fielding is very pleased every time someone calls her eclectic. A Lambda Award finalist and two-time Foreword INDIE finalist, she has migrated back and forth across the western two-thirds of the United States and currently lives in California, where she long ago ran out of bookshelf space. She’s a university professor who dreams of being able to travel and write full time. She also dreams of having two daughters who fully appreciate her, a husband who isn’t obsessed with football, and a house that cleans itself. Some dreams are more easily obtained than others.
Kim can be found on her blog: http://kfieldingwrites.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KFieldingWrites
and Twitter: @KFieldingWrites
Her e-mail is [email protected]
For a complete listing of Kim’s titles, visit her website: http://www.kfieldingwrites.com/kim-fieldings-books/
Also by Kim Fielding
Available March 31, 2020
Can you hear it?
Whispering in the dark.
Secrets only the dark knows.
Joseph Moore, choir director for the First Baptist Church of Lenora, Nebraska, has secrets of his own. Terrible, lonely secrets. One that involves natural human desire. One that calls forth powers he cannot begin to understand. Both with the potential to destroy him and those he loves.
Now the world is changing. The darkness, the shadows, the ghosts, are closing in—and Joseph and his lover, Kevin, are being stalked by a merciless demon, hell-bent on possession.
Can you hear it now?
There in the dark.
It's whispering your name.
Preorder now!