Wals gasped. “Mani? Is that you? What are you doing in the River? You hurt?” Wals got an arm under his friend to help him up. “Can you stand?”
Mani moaned and shook his head violently from side to side, sending more water flying over Wals. “Rose?” he whispered hoarsely, looking up toward the cabin, concern etched on his dripping face. He let Wals help him stand and together they waded over to the clearing. Once on land, his legs gave out and he promptly sat, his face lowered onto his arms. Wals hovered nearby, concerned, but unsure of what to do.
“Uh, Mani? Any special reason why you’re naked?” Wals ventured to ask when his eyes again adjusted to the low light. “And, who’s Rose?”
“Slol wa yea shnee.” Mani’s breathing evened out and he looked around as if he was getting his bearings. He then looked up at Wals, his eyes clearing. “Ah, you’re not Rose,” he remarked in English.
“You hit your head on a rock or something?” Wals asked, worried about his friend. “You’re talking kinda weird. What language was that?”
Wolf shook his head again. “What did I say?”
“Heck if I know. Sounded like you bit your tongue and sneezed. Did you bang your head on the rocks?” he asked again, becoming more concerned.
“Maybe. Not sure.” Mani felt through his thick black hair. “No. I can’t feel any lumps.”
Wals came and squatted in front of his friend. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
The blue eyes narrowed into slits as he glared at his hovering friend. “Fourteen,” he answered through clenched teeth.
Wals relaxed and gave a lopsided smile. “Okay, you’re fine. So, what are you doing skinny-dipping in the River in the middle of a lightning storm, Wolf?”
The features on his handsome face evened out. Ignoring a direct question as was his habit, Wolf instead commented, “I am glad to hear you’re back to using my nickname. Thought I was going to have to start calling you Walter.”
Wals grimaced. He preferred Wals just as he knew Mani preferred Wolf, which was short for his last name of Wolford. Once, in a rare moment of disclosure, Wolf had told Wals that his first name came from Sumanitu Taka which meant Wolf in the Lakota tongue. “So your name is actually Wolf Wolford?” he remembered asking at the time and had received a silent glare for his brilliant observation.
Once his concern for his friend’s health was pacified, Wals became worried again and looked back toward the River. “What about this Rose you mentioned? Do I need to go look for someone else? Was she swimming with you in the River?”
Wolf got shakily to his feet. At six-feet tall, he was only two inches taller than Wals, but with the way he carried himself, he always seemed taller. Wals eyes strayed to Wolf’s muscular chest. There was an odd patch of white hair in the dark mat of hair that covered his upper torso. When Wolf swayed slightly, Wals took a step closer in case Wolf wasn’t as steady as he thought he was. “No, there was no one with me. She doesn’t care for the River,” he answered briefly, shaking his head again to clear it.
Wals waited for more of an explanation that he really knew wasn’t coming. Wolf was more of an observer than a talker. He watched his friend head toward the cabin and veer toward the dark pile of clothes he had found before the weird lightning storm. It was then that Wals realized the clothes were Wolf’s Security uniform. As the halogen light flickered again, he could see the blue of the pants and the white of the shirt and hat as Wolf got dressed. He could also see Wolf grimace as he pulled on the shoes.
“Feet hurt?”
Wolf looked up. “No. I just hate shoes.”
Wals smiled in the darkness as the light went out again. “You working tonight, Wolf?”
Wolf looked confused and paused in what he was doing. “What day is it?”
This was an interesting development. “Tuesday,” Wals answered slowly, amused. Must have been some party I missed on the Island. Why is it I always hear about the great parties when they are over?
“Tuesday,” Wolf repeated quietly, thinking. Time is moving differently again, he thought to himself. I left three days ago, yet it was only one night. They must be waiting for me. Out loud he answered his friend, “Yes, I’m working tonight.”
“That’s too bad. Maxx is playing at The Club tonight. I heard Julia will be there,” he teased. Julia worked on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride and it was obvious she found the dark haired, well-built Wolf fascinating.
Not answering Wals, Wolf strode toward the hidden dock where he correctly assumed Wals would have a canoe tied up. The feisty redhead was equally appealing to him, but…. Wolf let out a small, frustrated sigh unheard by the trailing Wals. There wasn’t an opportunity in his life right now for a Julia—or anyone else for that matter. He didn’t know if there ever would be.
The intense blue eyes narrowed again. Someday his life would be his own again. Someday he would find Her. His lifemate was out there. The gray-tipped hair that fell against his collar an inch over regulation bristled as he strode towards the canoe.
Someday he would be allowed. Someday it would be over. But not today.
Today he still had work to do.
The Island – 1816
The sixteen-foot tall log walls of Fort Wilderness loomed in front of Rose as her mare carefully picked her way down the rocky path. The mare’s steps were slow; Rose’s attitude reluctant. Today was Market Day at the Fort. Today was the day food, fabric for clothing, and household items were ferried over from the docks at New Orleans. Today she would stock up on supplies for the coming month. And, today was the day she dreaded more than any other day out of the month.
On either side of the brown mare hung woven baskets holding most of the produce out of Rose’s tiny garden. Those vegetables she would trade for what she needed to round out her food supply. Hoped to trade, she reminded herself with a sigh. She never quite knew what to expect from the local women and the soldiers still stationed at the Fort.
One more time, Rose nervously glanced to the side of the path. On one side was the ever-present River lined with low shrubs, reeds, and water flowers. She could hear families of noisy ducks and mud hens who lived there. On the opposite side was the dense forest that separated her lone cabin from the Last Outpost of Civilization—Fort Wilderness. But, no matter how many times she anxiously looked for him, she knew Wolf wasn’t there. He usually went with her on these trips, hidden in the lacy ferns and the covering undergrowth of the forest, watching, protecting. She hadn’t seen him for two or three days now. This wasn’t necessarily unusual for Wolf, for he seemed to somehow sense when she needed his support during these infrequent trips to the Fort. But now, he wasn’t there.
Her mind carried her back to when she had first met Wolf. He had proven his loyalty and his protectiveness to her on that fateful day long ago. He had earned her trust, but she, on the other hand, had subsequently earned the scorn of some of the Fort’s inhabitants. Leaving the mare at home, she had decided to walk to the Fort that day. It had been a beautiful, peaceful spring day, early enough that the mist was still rising from the ever-moving green water. There hadn’t been as much to trade back then. She was still struggling with the lonely lifestyle after the fire in her cabin had gone out and she hadn’t yet gotten her garden properly established. She recalled having words with the gambler who had taken over her husband’s position. Shocked that no one had stood up for her when he insulted her, she had ducked, shame-faced, into the supply store. Once her trading was done, she hurried out of the stockade gates and turned toward home. Hearing a commotion behind her, she looked back to see the gambler, backed by half a dozen soldiers, walking slowly after her. She hurried her steps, knowing she could never hope to outrun them, hoping they would tire of the chase and give up. She had stiffened when a rough hand grabbed her by the shoulder, spinning her around. Foul breath assaulted her as the gambler verbally abused her again, calling her every vile name he could think of. Panicked, she looked over his shoulder for help, only to see the soldiers urging him o
n, a half-empty whiskey bottle in one of the men’s unsteady grip. The bright sunlight shone on something below her vision. Looking down, she was terrified to see a knife in the gambler’s hand. She remembered then hearing a low rumbling noise getting louder as it was coming from behind her. The vicious look of victory on the gambler’s face changed to one of stark terror in a split second. A snapping, snarling black fury leaped past her and caught the gambler in the middle of his chest, flinging him backward and landing in front of the stunned soldiers. Being unarmed in their hurry to torment the beautiful blond, the men turned and fled back to the Fort, leaving the gambler to face the black demon on his own. The knife had flown out of his grip in the assault and he held his hands in front of his face to protect himself from the biting, clawing animal, his screams for help going unheeded. When he eventually realized the snarling had stopped, he cautiously opened his eyes and wished he hadn’t.
Intense blue eyes filled with hatred glowed with an unnatural light. The dripping fangs were a mere inch from his exposed neck. There was a low growl coming from the open mouth, deep, penetrating, one that could be felt deep within his own chest. The wolf just stood there, his teeth bared, not moving. The message was obvious—Let Her Be. Still terrified, the gambler tensed when the wolf shifted. Stepping off the man’s chest, the wolf stood in front of Rose, his head lowered, feet apart, back legs bunched for another leap. Getting slowly to his feet, blood dripping from cuts on the back of his hands, never taking his eyes off the wolf, the gambler slowly backed all the way to the Fort. When he was around the corner and out of sight of the black terror, he turned and ran into the cantina and slammed the door.
After that day, the gambler was never seen at Fort Wilderness again. Rumor had it he went across the River to New Orleans and caught the riverboat, disappearing. Rose was now safe from the gambler, but it was a different story with some of the soldiers, for they began to treat her with contempt. However, they didn’t dare come near her if they thought the wolf might be nearby. Gossip spread—as it always did—about the odd woman who lived alone in a burned-out cabin and called on the animals to help her. Her beauty alone was enough for the local women to shun her. Add a large black wolf into the mix, and she had no chance for friendship, no sense of belonging.
Two sentries were watching her from the lookout towers that stood next to the huge wooden gates that had been swung open for Market Day. She stole a quick glance up at their smirking faces. The gold braid and buttons of their blue Calvary uniforms caught the bright morning sun. Under the pretense of adjusting her reins, she did one final quick search for Wolf hoping to see his blue eyes amongst the greens and browns of the forest. No blue eyes. No Wolf.
Straightening her shoulders and holding her head high, she knew she had to get through this. She nudged the mare forward and entered the dusty parade grounds of the fort. The mare was left at the livery stable with a kind man, Private Smitty. He gave her an encouraging smile and unlatched her baskets for her. As she left the stable, the two woven baskets were reluctantly handed over to the soldier in charge of the bartering. She was rudely pointed over to some half-logs that were used as benches and told to wait. The shingled awning of the stable provided her some shade as she fanned herself and watched the comings and goings of the Fort.
On a little pedestal surrounded by river rocks, stood the tall flagpole. The fifteen stars on the U.S. flag were unseen as the flag hung limp in the motionless air. She saw three of the local women laughing and gossiping around the stone-enclosed well in front of the Regimental Headquarters. Rose was aware of their scrutiny, just as she was aware of the fact that they didn’t call over a friendly greeting or ask her to join them to share all the latest news. She tried not to notice their new dresses and plumed bonnets. Unconsciously brushing the trail dust off of her white apron, she tried to keep her focus on the displays of deer antlers that were used to decorate the roof of the three-story-tall Headquarters building.
But that didn’t help divert her upset mind. The antlers reminded her of the death of the deer—even though the meat was necessary for survival. The death of the deer reminded her of another death—one that was also prominently displayed. On the wall between the supply store and the cantina was nailed a well-preserved skin of a different animal. Rose didn’t allow her eyes to stray there, for she knew what it looked like and it made her ill each time she thought about it. It was the silver and brown fur of a wolf. It had been a magnificent animal, though a smaller wolf than hers.
The soldiers who remained at the Fort after the hostiles had left the Island were eager to add another skin to their wall. They wanted her Wolf.
Rose thought about entering the Headquarters and filing another protest with Major General Andrew Jackson. He had been assigned here after the Battle of New Orleans, and she knew him to be a fair, if strict, man. She even got up from her uncomfortable seat and walked over to his open door, her long lavender skirt stirring up dust on the parade ground as she walked. The chattering of the women at the well stilled as Rose walked past them, back straight and eyes straight ahead. She ignored the loud whispering when she reached the open door. However, before she went inside, she first looked in through the glassless window to make sure the Major General was there. She could see him working at his ornate desk, an oil lamp providing meager light in the darkened room. Behind him, a painting of President James Madison was proudly displayed under red, white and blue bunting, and a gold eagle with outspread wings was nailed near the ceiling. Long rifles stood propped against the logs of the wall, easily within reach should they be needed, with powder horns hanging next to them on a wooden dowel. She could see a tall four-drawer chest with a mirror atop off to the side of the room. There were a few chairs in the room, stools mostly, with woven mats as the seats. As she watched, Jackson took a drink from the pewter mug sitting on the desk amidst spread-out papers of maps and Dispatches.
Seeing the extra chairs were empty, Rose took a deep breath to steady her nerves and was going to enter when she heard a deep man’s voice in the office, a different voice than that of the Major General. Surprised, she peeked through the open door and saw a tall man dressed in buckskin with a furry cap on his head. Standing at ease, unaware of her scrutiny, the man gestured calmly as he spoke. There was another man in the room a step behind him. Dressed similarly in the clothes of a hunter, he too held a long rifle in his hands, a powder horn slung across his chest and a knife stuck in his belt. Rose hurried away from the office and resumed her seat in the shade. She had never seen these two Army Scouts before, but she immediately recognized the two men. Why, everybody knew about Davy Crockett and Georgie Russel!
Seeing these two men in the Fort somehow made Rose feel more relaxed. Wolf wasn’t outside the gate watching her, but she felt a little more at ease, a little more protected. She knew from their reputations that they were fair men. Fierce fighters, but fair. She even managed a smile for the soldier, Private Daniel Crain, who came and told her it was her turn in the Supply Store. Her smile showed her dimple and her even, white teeth. The soldier misread that smile, and taking a step closer, smirking, he began reaching for her. In an instant, her frown returned as she hurried around him, almost running toward the Supply Store. As she left, she could hear him swear at her and spit on the ground just as she reached the door of the single-story, squat store. She could also hear the laugh of the women when the soldier walked over to join them. Slipping his arm around the waist of the curly-headed brunette, he began to loudly tell the other women what a stuck-up biddy she was. Always eager for more stories to tell about the blond, the women clustered closer to Daniel who was clearly relishing the attention.
The clerk behind the counter had offered her less than she thought her vegetables were worth, but she had expected it and took it with stoic silence. The crazy woman who lived by herself with a wolf wouldn’t know any better. Rose knew any argument on her part would be curtly put down, and she would fare worse the next time. She carefully piled the flour, sugar and
tea in one basket and arranged the scant meat and other provisions in the other. Being the last customer they had called in, she knew there was no one waiting to trade behind her, so she took her time packing so as not to damage any of her precious supplies.
Struggling to get the baskets into position so she could carry them both, she was startled to hear a deep voice coming from behind her. “Can I get that for you, ma’am?”
A ready protest died on her lips as Rose swung around when a man’s hands easily grabbed up her two baskets. “Davy Crockett!” she managed to say in her surprise. Nobody ever helped her. She even forgot her manners in calling him by his first name even though they had never been properly introduced.
“David,” he calmly corrected as he always did. He stood there waiting with a kind smile on his rugged face.
Rose came out of her trance and returned his smile. “Oh, why, thank you, sir! This way please. My mare is in the livery stable.”
After securing her baskets to the sides of her horse, Davy ran a knowledgeable hand over the mare. “Beautiful animal, Mrs…..”
Rose blushed. “Mrs. Stephens. And thank you for your assistance.”
“Mrs. Stephens,” he acknowledged with a nod. “I have to admit, ma’am, that I knew who you were before we met. You see, I was hoping to meet your wolf.”
Even though his facial expression didn’t change from being pleasant, Davy was inwardly surprised at the anger in Rose’s expression as it instantly altered her beautiful face.
“That’s the last thing I would do, Mr. Crockett!” she fairly spat at him. “For I know who you are, as well. Lead somebody with your skills to Wolf? Never!” she heatedly exclaimed, hurriedly pulling the mare over to a wooden stool so she could mount without assistance.
Davy put out a restraining hand, stopping just short of actually touching her. “You misunderstand me, ma’am. I’m not like these here soldiers,” he told her in his deep voice, indicating with his chin the men who were lounging outside the stable. “I know the stories. I know your story, ma’am. I also know the story of the skin on the wall.” He broke off when she paled and cast her eyes down as emotion overtook her. “And I am sorry about men like that. But, there is nothing we can do about them. Sometimes evil natures run deep. I just wanted to see him. That’s all. Story is he is a beautiful animal. You say you know who I am. Then you should also know that I am not known to be a liar.”
Wolf! The Legend of Tom Sawyer's Island Page 7