Once the snow had slightly melted under the warm afternoon sun, Alaric and Ulric climbed atop the roof to patch leaks; ’twas long overdue and, quite frankly, they were tired of listening to their father’s complaints. Both men had worked their fair share of keeping the cottage and farm intact, but their labor never seemed to satisfy Frederic. The summer months were tough as is, but the slippery surface of the house’s covering proved to be even more difficult.
“This shall be the death of me, brother,” said Ulric, as he caught himself before sliding off.
“Nonsense. Only plant thy feet where the thatch is visible, not on the slush.”
“Even the bare areas are slick.” Ulric eventually grasped the edge of the steepled roof and hauled himself upward. Out of breath, he sat for a moment longer. “This might be worse than plowing fields.”
Alaric chuckled. “Aye, ye might be correct, but at least we will have one less problem to worry about.”
“’Tis true.” Ulric surveyed the spacious land before him: rolling hills in the distance, covered in a blanket of white and glistening in the sun; the copious amount of trees creating the dark forest on the outskirts of town; the small village where he and Alaric spent the day before, filling their bellies with freshly-brewed ale. ’Twas not a bad life, but Ulric had the distinct feeling there could be more to it.
“Are ye attending the Christmas ball in a week’s time?” Alaric asked, pulling Ulric out of meaningful thought.
Ulric inhaled a deep breath of cold air, his lungs burning. “I have not decided yet. Mayhap Mitsy will be there, and she and I can share a dance or two.”
Alaric grinned deviously. “And how do the two of ye fare?”
“Well, brother. I think she is, perhaps, the only girl in Colchester I could marry.” Ulric felt uplifted by the idea of wedding Mitsy. ’Twould be a long road to reach that point, though; courting took nearly forever and a day, and Ulric was not the most patient man. Yet the notion of having Mitsy as his darling wife pushed Ulric into a happier mood. “Let us finish this troublesome roof, shall we? Afterward, we shall reward ourselves with a fine tankard of ale at Murdock’s.”
Alaric raised his eyebrows. “Brother, ye surprise me.” Placing a hand over his heart, Alaric added, “But I would not have it any other way.”
From a distance, both of their names were called. Looking in the same direction, they caught sight of Joseph, a small boy from the village, son to the blacksmith.
“Alaric! Ulric!” he cried out.
“What is it?” Alaric shouted.
The boy stopped short of their cottage, bending over at the waist to catch his breath. “A carriage has just passed through town. Seems we have new neighbors!”
Alaric and Ulric glanced at each other.
Ulric asked, “Where would they live? I have heard naught of a new homestead around here.”
“There is always the old Peabody mansion on the fringes, but nobody has lived there for years. The land is overgrown, the house is irreparable . . .” Alaric offered, but his voice trailed off. “My eyes saw men traveling through the streets yesterday, carrying loads of lumber and building supplies. Mayhap that was their destination.”
“Do ye wish for me to pry?” asked Joseph.
“Go ahead, and then tell us of thy news,” Alaric said, giving the boy a big smile.
Joseph grinned, running off in the direction of the Peabody home.
“I wonder who it could be,” said Ulric. “We have not welcomed new citizens since the prior year, when the McHannigans arrived from Scotland.”
“Could be anyone, brother. Let us not ponder on this matter for long. There is work to be done.” Alaric slapped Ulric once on the shoulder, and the two of them resumed work on the roof, until late into the day.
That night, after Alaric and Ulric entertained themselves with pints at Murdock’s, Ulric had begun preparing dinner for their father in the large, iron kettle. Alaric drank too much and passed out in his bed upon their return, but Ulric waded through the ale-induced haze long enough to prepare a decent meal for Frederic. As usual, Frederic sat by the fireplace, nose-deep in a thick, aged book, and grunted every few pages.
Cold seeped into every corner of the room, and Ulric could hardly contain a shiver. Even the fire was not providing enough warmth. The nights were becoming more severe with their impenetrable frozen blanket resting over the quaint cottage. Ulric was ready for springtime, though winter was barely upon them.
“News came today, father,” Ulric said. “Apparently, we have guests. From what I have learned, they fixed up the Peabody place and are moving in presently.” Ulric thought back to when Joseph returned earlier that evening, with information of the new landlords. The house was bought by a Theodore Lowell of London, and his wife and daughter would also be living there. Little was known about the Lowell family, but if one thing was certain, ’twas that Ulric would find out all there was to know.
Frederic grunted, showing no sign of interest.
Resigning from the absent conversation with his father, Ulric finished preparing the meal, stoked the fire, and retired to his room. He wished he and Frederic had a relationship where they could speak openly, but Ulric was afraid that time had long since passed.
Restless, Ulric stood at his window, allowing the cold night air to stroke his face. He shivered. The evenings were worse than he remembered last year, and he hoped spring would come sooner than expected. If he and Alaric could begin a harvest earlier, they would have less work to perform during the boiling heat of the summer months.
Small movement on the forest’s edge caught Ulric’s eye. Any townsperson out this late, and in the bitter weather, would be half out of their wits. But the shadow on the tree line stalked back and forth, and was far too short to be a human. A child, perhaps? No, that would not be accurate. Ulric squinted, as if that would help him see the figure more precisely. The shade stopped its slow strides and searched the nearby cottages, smoke billowing from their hearths.
Step into the moonlight, Ulric thought, so I may see ye.
As if on cue, the black phantom stalked forward, into an open field and into the moon’s glow. Ulric gasped. This was no mere man; ’twas a creature of darkness. A wolf, stockier and larger than any Ulric had ever come across. Its eyes shone, even from afar: a deep yellow, almost gold. The creature’s snout rose into the air, sniffed, and returned its head to a normal position. Every time the wolf breathed, a fresh, white wisp coiled out of its nostrils. Ulric had never seen anything so beautiful yet so frightening.
Unsatisfied with the other cottage, the creature turned its attention to the Conway residence, and its eyes met Ulric’s.
Air vacated his lungs.
Though ’twas deathly still for a heartbeat, the wolf’s lips peeled back, displaying long, pearly incisors. Its head tilted toward the heavens, and out of its mouth bellowed a lengthy, guttural cry. When it locked eyes with Ulric again, its body lowered into a pouncing position, and the creature kicked off and sprinted directly toward Ulric’s window, with no signs of slowing down.
“Saints almighty!” Ulric screeched. He hurriedly boarded up the window, and ran into Alaric’s room, doing the same. The front entrance was the last to be checked, but ’twas safe and secure, just as he left it before supper. He returned to his bedroom, taking refuge below the window, listening for any disturbance the creature would create.
None came.
Ulric sat in the same position for the night, wondering if the mad wolf sat opposite of him, waiting as he did. He could chance it. He could take a giant risk and open the window, but fear kept him in place longer than he anticipated.
When the sun rose the next morning and roosters crowed across the valley, Ulric gained just enough courage to open the window, only to reveal naught was there.
Chapter Five
Alpha Moon (Silver Moon, #0.5) Page 4