The Earthkeepers

by Shawn Underhill

  At that point he took full notice of Mom, leaning there against the counter with my letter in her hand, a lost expression covering her face. After looking quickly at me and Ginny once more, Dad’s gaze rested on her.

  “Ellie,” he said softly. “What is it?”

  Mom didn’t make a sound. Her only response was to hold my letter out to him. He took it and leaned back against the counter beside her. Just as she had done, Dad read it silently with a blank expression on his face. But rather than twirling his hair like Mom, instead he used the time to scratch his stubbly chin.

  Meanwhile, Ginny and I stared at them hopefully. We were practically breathless with anticipation. We barely blinked. My insides were jumping with butterflies.

  I think he’ll believe it, I said.

  I hope so, she replied.

  He has to believe it, after seeing our tracks mixed in with all those other animal tracks.

  It’s more than believing, she said. He needs to accept it as the truth.

  He will, I said. He has to. And just think, by tonight all these problems will be behind us. We’ll be eating blueberry pie, decorating the house, playing Christmas music …

  Don’t get ahead of yourself, she warned me. Before we can celebrate, we need to get this problem completely settled. There’s a lot at stake here … for all of us.

  Dad will remember, I told her. He’ll remember how to talk and how to listen. Then we’ll take him to meet Lobo. Lobo will convince him. I know he will. Then dad will tell Uncle Chuck to go jump in a lake. Then everything will be perfect.

  Right then Dad looked up from my letter. But rather than acknowledging me, as I was hoping for, he suddenly grabbed Mom by the hand and pulled her quickly out of the kitchen. As they passed the table going into the hallway, he pointed at me and said, “Don’t move.”

  I sat still, feeling a little disappointed. More so I was wondering what they were doing. The kitchen door closed. I heard their steps in the hall, followed soon after by the thud of the downstairs bathroom door closing.

  I spun in my chair to face Ginny. She was already on the move. She stepped toward the door with her ears pricked sharply, then held perfectly still to listen.

  I can hear them, she told me after a moment. Just barely. They’re trying to whisper.

  I could hear the clock ticking on the wall behind me, and if I held my breath, I could just make out my parents’ voices. But I could not be sure of their words. Ginny, however, was gifted with far more capable ears than myself. So for the next few minutes she listened closely and related their conversation to me as best as she could.

  ***

  “How could he know all this?” Mom said. “He was asleep when I looked in on him right before we went to bed. I’m positive about that.”

  “Maybe he was hiding in the upstairs hall,” Dad said.

  “We would have heard Ginny’s claws on the floorboards,” Mom pointed out. “You know she doesn’t let Ethan out of her sight. He could never sneak out of his room without her following him.”

  “I don’t know,” Dad kept saying. “Somehow he managed to hear us.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little strange that he’s not the least bit upset about selling the house?” Mom said.

  “I think it’s very strange, Ellie.”

  “And he just ate a lumberjack’s breakfast,” she said. “Is that normal behavior for a sad little boy?”

  “Forget breakfast,” Dad said. “Would you like to know what I just saw outside? Hundreds of animal tracks! And I don’t just mean a few squirrel and deer tracks. I found moose tracks, bear tracks, and by far the biggest coyote prints I’ve ever seen in my life. I’m talking bigger feet than Ginny. And guess whose tracks are mixed right in with them all?”

  “Bears,” my mother said. “I just can’t believe that.”

  “Oh, believe it,” Dad said.

  “How far out there are we talking?”

  “He walked over a mile, to the big beaver pond.”

  “To a meeting with animals …”

  “I don’t mind him being fascinated with animals,” Dad said. “I’ve told you, I was the same way as a kid. But goofing around with them in the middle of the night? What would drive him to even consider doing that?”

  “Maybe the animals came after Ethan was there,” Mom said. “Maybe they were curious of his scent.”

  “Maybe,” Dad said. “But I highly doubt it. The snow had just started before we went to bed, remember? That’s when Chuck finally left. So it must have been well after midnight before the snow stopped. There’s no snow—not even a dusting—over Ethan and Ginny’s tracks. He left the house after it was done snowing. That’s on top of the fact that he couldn’t have walked all that distance and then back again in much less than two hours.”

  “Are we bad parents?” Mom asked. “Is his imagination taking over because he struggles so with his speech?”

  “I’m not worried about his imagination at the moment,” Dad said. “Did you hear me, Ellie? I just found Ethan’s tracks mixed in with all those animal tracks! They were all out there around the same time, together.”

  “I meant,” Mom snapped, “thinking he can speak with them, Russ. This isn’t the first time he’s suggested to me that he and Ginny can speak with one another. Maybe … being so quiet, and spending so much time with her, he’s convinced himself that he actually can talk with animals.”

  “My God,” Dad said after a short pause. “This keeps getting weirder and weirder. Did we wake up in the Twilight Zone?”

  “Well, have you got a better explanation?” Mom said.

  “No,” he said. “I mean, this is déjà vu. I feel like I’ve had this conversation before. Only it was the other way around. Between Chuck and me. When I was a kid. It was over twenty years ago. But it’s familiar. It’s …”

  ***

  Ginny suddenly stepped back from the kitchen door. A second later I heard the bathroom door open. Heavy, fast steps thumped down the hall. The kitchen door flew open. My father burst into the kitchen with Mom rushing to catch up. I sat in my chair, unmoved as I’d been instructed, looking up at him. He pulled out a chair and sat down across from me.

  “No joking around, Ethan,” he said, leaning toward me over the table. “You’re not in trouble. Just tell me the truth. Promise to tell me the truth. Okay?”

  I nodded yes. I promise.

  “Did you hear us talking in the living room last night?”

  I nodded yes.

  “Were you listening in the hallway?”

  I shook my head no.

  Dad looked over at Mom for a second, then back to me and said, “Were you awake when Mom and me came upstairs for the night?”

  “No,” I said softly. I knew I needed to try my best to speak loud and clearly, then more than ever. Our home was on the line. So were many acres of woods that was home to my new friends. “No,” I said again, but this time with more authority.

  “Then how did you know what we were discussing?” he asked next. He leaned closer so that his face was barely a foot away from mine. “Ethan, if you weren’t awake, there’s no way you could have heard everything we said. Mom says she’s sure you were asleep when she looked in on you last night. So tell me, how did you know we were considering letting Uncle Chuck sell the inn for us?”

  “Ginny,” I answered without hesitation. Besides simple words like yes or no, mom or dad, Ginny was the easiest words for me to pronounce—I guess because I’d had so much practice saying it over the years. Plus, it was the truth. Simple truths are always easier to express than long and complicated justifications—like the kind of talk Uncle Chuck liked to use to make himself appear more important. People like him like to talk a lot, but in the end they don’t end up saying much of any real value.

  At my simple answer Dad broke eye contact with me for the first time since he’d reentered the kitchen. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling heavily. I guess my answer wasn’t the answer he was looking for. He ran his h
ands up over his forehead and back through his hair, the way people do when they’re getting a headache or feeling very tired. Then he stared straight up at the ceiling.

  I looked up to see what he was looking at. I couldn’t see anything of interest up there. That’s when I felt Mom’s hand on my shoulder.

  “Listen, sweetie,” she said softly. “We’ve talked about this before.”

  “Ginny,” I said, looking up into my mother’s face. “Ginny!”

  “Ginny can’t speak, Ethan,” Mom said. “It’s fun to pretend that she can talk, I know. But really she can’t talk to you.”

  This isn’t going well, I heard Ginny say. We can’t sit here all morning arguing about this. We need to get your father back outside to meet Lobo. He needs to know the whole story before your uncle arrives.

  She was right. Time was wasting. I reached for my pencil and paper which was still sitting on the table, saying silently, we don’t know where Lobo is.

  I’m sure he’s waiting nearby, as he said he would.

  Start barking, I told Ginny. And I’ll start writing.

  With that Ginny burst into a barking frenzy. Both my parents were instantly bewildered by this, because typically Ginny was a very quiet dog. She whined a little when she wanted to be let out, and would whine a little more emphatically when her dinner time was approaching. But she hardly ever barked.

  “What is it, girl?” Dad said to Ginny. “Are you in on this joke with him?”

  Yes! She barked, staring straight at him. Now get up and open this door! Or I’ll chew through it, I swear.

  My father sat up straight in his chair, looking back and forth from Mom to Ginny. Ginny barked louder and louder, until her throat was roaring a menacing tone. She began pacing and lunging frantically around kitchen, both pleading with my father and demanding for him to listen to her.

  “Has the whole world turned against me?” Dad said to Mom. “My brother wants me to sell everything, my son suddenly wants me to meet a moose, and now the dog looks like she wants to rip my head off.”

  Mom started to say something, but Ginny raised her voice even louder and completely drowned her out.

  “Look!” Dad said. “It’s like she’s scolding me!”

  I am! Ginny roared. Listen to me, like you did before!

  “Just put her out,” Mom finally shouted. “It’s hard enough getting information out of Ethan without all this noise.”

  By now I’d printed the name LOBO in large letters on a clean sheet of paper. I tore it from the notebook and handed it to my father just as he stood up. Ginny paused when I handed him the paper. The kitchen fell silent again. He glanced at it quickly, but then, just as he went to toss it onto the table, he did a sharp double take. His face suddenly changed from an expression of frustration to something far more serious. It was like a switch had been flipped, or a light had just gone on inside his head.

  “Lobo,” he muttered. “Ellie,” he said to Mom, “isn’t Lobo another word for wolf?”

  “I think so,” she answered. “Wasn’t that in Ethan’s letter?”

  “No,” Dad said, taking an awkward step. “I mean … Yes it was. But I think …”

  By now I was working on my next message, while both Ginny and Mom stared at my father, waiting for him to gather his thoughts into coherent words.

  “Coyote tracks,” he muttered next. Then louder he said to Mom, “Ellie, I think there’s a wolf outside. The prints I saw this morning … they were way too big for any coyote. I think these two must have seen a wolf last night. That’s where all this Lobo talk is coming from. That’s why Ginny is so—”

  At that point I sprang from the table and interrupted him by handing him my newest message.

  GO OUT AND MEET LOBO! HE NEEDS TO TALK TO YOU DAD!

  Dad shook his head in disbelief. He tossed the paper onto the table and knelt down before me. I tried to step back, but he caught me by both arms before I could escape.

  “Listen to me,” he said, in about as serious a tone as I’d ever heard him use. “I’m not kidding around, Ethan. Did you see a wolf in the woods last night?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes! Lobo. Wolves. A pack!”

  “Where?”

  Up by the pond, by the beaver lodge, I wanted to say. What I actually said was, “Pond. Pond!”

  Dad bolted upright and looked at Mom. As soon as he let me go I rushed for my notebook. My father seemed to have something urgent on the tip of his tongue, but at the same time he seemed too lost in his own mind to spit the words out. That was good for me, because it gave me enough time to write my next message.

  “My pictures, Ellie,” I finally heard him say. “My old drawing. The ones I saved from when I was a kid. They’re stuffed in an old box upstairs. You’ve seen those, haven’t you?”

  “Sure,” she answered. “But what does that have to do with—”

  “My favorite ones were always the wolves,” he said over her. “I loved drawing the wolves. I loved …”

  “I’m lost,” Mom replied, waving both arms as if to surrender. “I’m completely lost here, Russ.”

  By then I was forming a question mark at the end of my newest message. I jumped from my chair and held the paper out to my father. He took it without making eye contact with me. He raised the paper slowly and read it silently, while I stood there staring at him, waiting for him to acknowledge me in some way—any way.

  But he never did.

  Without a word Dad tossed the paper on the table. Then, like a man on a mission, he stormed out of the kitchen. Mom and I just looked at each other. We heard him climbing the stairs, presumably on his way up to the attic. And then, also without a word, Mom hurried after him, leaving Ginny and I to ourselves.

  Quick, Ginny said. He’s starting to remember. Let’s get outside and gather the others before they get back. Hurry!

  I ran for my boots, stepping into them without bothering to tie them. My limbs were trembling with renewed excitement. My heart was right up in my throat. I reached up for my coat, and without even taking the time to pull it on, I opened the kitchen door and ran out into to the bright morning.

  The paper on the table read:

  DAD, YOU MET A WOLF NAMED LOBO WHEN YOU WERE A KID. DON’T YOU REMEMBER?

  Chapter 10

  Ginny shot out of the house like a rocket and ran full speed for the trail. Every step of the way she was calling the names of our woodland friends.

  I followed along clumsily, struggling with my coat, but in way too much of a hurry to stop and pull it on correctly. The morning was bright and sunny, but the sun was a weak November sun—not nearly warm enough to be out without a coat for long. I wriggled one arms into my sleeves as I descended the back steps, and got the second one in as I crossed the back yard. Then I found my hat in my pocket and put that on.

  At the top of the hill I turned back and looked at the house. I pictured my dad up in the attic, rummaging around for his old box of drawings as he struggled to remember something from all those years ago. I wasn’t disappointed in him for forgetting, or offended that he wouldn’t simply take my word for what was happening. Rather, I felt sorry for him. How could he have known the wonder that I now knew and have forgotten it? What troubles or worries had forced such a simple pleasure so far back into his memory that he now needed childhood drawings to help him recall those times?

  Standing there pondering the matter, I could still hear Ginny calling for everyone to assemble, though she had moved deep into the woods by now. But now I heard a deeper sound, much closer to where I stood. The sound drew me quickly out of my thoughts, and as I turned to look down the trail, I saw a dark shadow filling it.

  “Hmm-hoom,” groaned Stomper as he came lumbering toward me. “There you are, little Ethan. I’ve been watching for you to appear since sunrise. M-hmm.”

  Good morning, Stomper, I said. I’ve just been trying to tell my father about you, and everyone.

  “Good morning?” he repeated. “Yes, I suppose it is a good mo
rning. It certainly is not a bad morning. Hmm, yes, good morning to you, Ethan.”

  Ginny’s gone to gather everyone, I said.

  “M-hmm,” he agreed. “I saw her run past me after hearing her calls. That’s when I came looking for you. Hmm, and as for your father, I have seen him also, from a distance. For a moment I thought he was you.”

  He’s much taller than me, I said as I moved up close to the moose. In the daylight he seemed even more massive and more muscular than he had appeared in the moonlight. Yet I didn’t feel afraid of him in the least. I reached up and scratched his shoulder while he stood still, wary not to step on me, leaning his shoulder into my hand.

  “Ah, yes,” he groaned. “It is a good morning for a scratch.”

  Where is everyone else? I asked.

  “Around, around,” answered the moose. “Mmm, you have a good scratcher. Every bit as good as tree bark, I’d say. Hmm, look around, look around, little one. No one is far.”

  “That’s right,” I suddenly heard the voice of Prowler the raccoon say. “None of us are far, haw-haw. But some of us are much sneakier and much better at hiding than others.”

  I looked up in time to see Prowler come bounding down from a tree. He ran past me, scurried up a smaller tree and alighted on a low branch which left him just above eye level to me.

  “Ha!” he laughed. “Look at you two. Like long lost buddies, you are. I hope you know, Ethan, you can’t bring Stomper in the house with you, like Ginny. Haw-haw!”

  I laughed out loud at the thought of seeing a moose clomping around in a house.

  “Hmm, no.” Stomper said. “No lodges for me. Truth be told, I distrust them.”

  Why? I asked, but before the moose could begin to attempt to answer me, we were interrupted by Prowler.

  “Say, Ethan,” said the raccoon. “You wouldn’t happen to have more of those yummy peanuts, would you?”

  I patted my empty pockets and shook my head. I rushed out of the house, I explained. There was no time to get any.