Summer of the Wolves (5 page)

I
ran away from the barn, wiping my face dry with the end of my T-shirt. I probably had mascara all over my face. My shirt and jeans had dirt all over them and somehow I had to get home and shower. Everybody was still out on the trail. I followed the path toward the lodge. I couldn’t quit crying. I didn’t know where to go. Daddy was going to be so mad at me.

My knees were all wobbly, and when I breathed in, my insides shook, too. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t
stop the tears from squeezing out my eyes and rolling down my cheeks. A light-colored horse in a pen beside the barn walked over as I passed, poking its big old head over the fence. I moved to the other side of the path and kept on walking. That horse followed me with these great big eyes.

I kept having this memory of galloping down that path, almost falling off the horse, and tree limbs scratching my face. I saw myself, over and over again, falling and trying to hold on to the reins, and something in my shoulder kind of making this crunching noise, like before. That time, when they helped me up, my shoulder was at this funny angle. It hurt so much when the doctor had to push it back into place. I just hate it that I get so scared about this.

There was no way to keep Daddy from finding out. Maggie was bound to tell him. At least Diana had been nice enough to bring me back. I couldn’t believe Nick had seen that whole thing. He must have thought I was the world’s biggest baby.

I wished Mama was here. She wouldn’t have made me ride.

I about died when I saw Nick’s parents heading down the steps from the lodge. If they saw me crying, I’d be embarrassed to death. I ducked down a fork in the path with a little wooden sign that said “To the
Pond.” By the time I realized that the path led right into the woods, it was too late. I glanced back, and Nick’s parents were still standing there looking at the big wooden ranch map, so I just gritted my teeth and kept right on going. I saw flicks of water through the trees, kind of flashing like mica in a rock, so maybe the pond wasn’t far. I walked through shadowy places and then into patches of sun where those sweet little pink flowers bloomed.

The path wound deeper into the quiet of the woods. Cool air raised chill bumps on my arms. The only sounds were my own footsteps, muffled by the pine needles. Crawling sensations on my face made me think I’d walked through a cobweb. I was about to turn back when suddenly the pond was right in front of me. I heard gurgling somewhere near the other end and figured that was the stream that fed the pond. The water was dark, almost black, and the surface was like a mirror reflecting the trees along its banks. I knelt down and touched the water with my fingertips. Freezing!

The reflections reminded me of something Maggie had said on our trail ride about the Cherokee Indians. They believe every person, animal, river, and rock in the world is a reflection of a star in the sky. And they call the Milky Way “The Path of Souls.” Maggie had said that souls enter the path by Sirius, the Dog Star.
They leave by the star Antares, the Great Mother Wolf. Souls can get trapped in the Milky Way if the spirits don’t like them.

I sat down under a tree, took a deep breath, and stared at the still surface of the water. What was under there? It looked so dark. Today I’d felt trapped by being so afraid. Cool air from the pond kind of swirled across my arms. I got up and hurried out of the woods, hugging myself and staring at the long shifting shadows behind every tree. My riding boots hurt. Daddy had given me a key to the condo. I’d go back and take the boots off. Get the barn dirt and cobwebs off. Wash my hair.

The door to the condo was unlocked when I got back, and I headed upstairs to the loft. I pulled my new boots off over big old leaky blisters on both heels. Diana’s were beat-up, but at that minute I realized she probably didn’t have a single blister. I lined up my shower gel, shampoo, and conditioner on the bathroom counter, took a deep breath, and got in the shower.

The water pummeled my body, streamed through my hair, and made me feel more relaxed. Just as I was getting out, I heard Daddy’s voice downstairs. I held perfectly still, not breathing. If Daddy found out I was here, he’d know that something happened on the trail ride.

“Do you think Stephanie was okay riding today, Norm?” Lynn was saying. “I think she was pretty nervous.”

I stood as still as a mouse, holding my breath.

“Well, maybe she was. She’s always been kind of a scaredy-cat, Lynn, and I really want to get her out of that.”

“It’s hard, though, if you’re scared. You can’t just ignore the fear.”

I heard somebody open the refrigerator, then a cabinet door shut. “I think she just needs to get control of herself.”

I felt dizzy.

Something inside me was shrinking. I was shrinking. I felt smaller and smaller.

“I don’t think it’s that easy, Norm. Fears can be hard to overcome. We’ve all got them.”

“Stephanie’s a pretty girl; she’s got a great little personality; good grief, she’s so smart. Never less than an ‘A’ in school. She gets along well with everyone; the girl’s got it all. I’m trying to understand why she’s so afraid of everything, but it’s hard. Part of me wants to say, ‘Suck it up, kiddo, this is life.’”

My stomach started to hurt really bad. I took two Tums.

A
t dinner I could barely eat anything. I had to get back to see those wolves. I wouldn’t take Copper again, in case he got spooked. Maybe I’d take one of those bikes I’d seen in front of the lodge. Maybe even after dinner.

Maggie came over to our table, still in her riding stuff. “Did Stephanie tell you what happened during the trail ride this morning?” she asked.

“No, what happened?” asked Norm. Stephanie, sitting
across the table next to Nick, ducked her head when her dad looked at her. I looked away before Mom could catch my eye.

“She had a bit of trouble,” said Maggie. “I’d like her to spend some time at the barn, helping out with the horses, to get more comfortable around them before she rides again. How does that sound, Stephanie?”

Stephanie looked up from her lap. “Do I have to?”

“If you want to ride again, I think you should.”

“I don’t have to ride again.”

“If you don’t want to, then,” Mom started to say, but Norm interrupted.

“Sure you do,” he said. He reached across the table and patted Stephanie’s hand. She yanked her hand away. Maggie shrugged. “Well, come by the barn tomorrow morning.” She looked at me. “And now you.”

I sucked in my breath. Now Maggie was probably going to yell at me for dumping Stephanie at the barn. Taking Copper out alone. Right in front of Mom and Norm.

“Thanks for taking Stephanie back to the barn today. And you did a nice job of putting Copper’s tack away. Since you missed most of the trail ride, would you like to come out tomorrow morning with my advanced group? We’re leaving early—about six thirty or seven.”

I met Maggie’s eyes. The comment about putting the
tack away meant Maggie knew exactly how long I’d stayed on the trail by myself. She knew everything. Maybe even that I purposely hadn’t held Copper back when he moved up beside Stephanie’s pony. But she’d decided not to tell Mom and Norm.

“Sure,” I said, flashing Maggie a grin. “Can I ride Copper again?”

Maggie nodded. “Seems like you two clicked pretty good.” Then she went to the fireplace. Clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “After dinner, those who are interested come on out on the back porch. You’ll get to meet some wolves.”

I sat up straight. Wolves? Suddenly everything fell into place. The ones I’d seen today were the wolves Maggie was talking about. And that’s why Maggie had taken the meat from the kitchen. That’s why that boy had chased me out of the barn. All afternoon I’d been haunted by that wolf’s yellow eyes.

“Diana, aren’t you going to finish your ice cream?” Mom asked.

My sundae had turned to creamy soup in the bowl. “No, I’m full. I’m going out to see the wolves.”

I hurried to the back porch and grabbed what I hoped was the best seat at one of the outdoor picnic tables.

Stephanie came outside with Nick and sat beside me.

“Have you ever seen a wolf?” Nick asked Stephanie.

“I saw one today,” I said. They both stopped staring at each other for two seconds and stared at me instead.

“No way,” Nick said.

A kind of mean-looking man wearing a camouflage jacket and a salt-and-pepper beard came onto the porch. He glanced at us but didn’t smile or say hello. “Hurry up,” he said to someone behind him. “Bring them on the porch and wait here.” He went inside the lodge.

And then who should come onto the porch but the boy from the barn. And right behind him, coming out of the shadows, were two long snouts, yellow black-rimmed eyes, and powerful rippling shoulders. With long, rangy legs and paws twice the size of a dog’s, the two wolves were on leashes. It didn’t seem right. They had a strong, musky smell, like a forest during a rain storm, or damp earth covered with autumn leaves. A wild animal smell.

One of the wolves was so scared it was crawling on its belly. I could hardly stand to look.

The other wolf was the one I’d seen on the rock. It was bolder, but still walked with its haunches low to the ground, ready to bolt at any moment. I memorized its hooded head, its searing yellow eyes, its triangular gray ears. It paced back and forth, watching, listening, smelling. Its eyes, ears, and nose seemed many times keener than any human’s. Would the wolf remember me?

“Hey.” The boy flashed even, white teeth in a smile. He had straight dark hair that was a little longer than most boys wore it. He wore old jeans and a faded flannel shirt. “We met down at the barn, right? My name’s Russell.”

“Diana,” I muttered, feeling the strange heat flush my neck again.

“Any of you folks want to pet Waya?” he asked.

Stephanie shook her head, and so did Nick. I liked the way Russell’s hand rested on the wolf’s head, relaxed and gentle.

“Could I?” I asked.

Russell nodded. “Go ahead.” Russell had one chain link leash curled around each brown wrist. As I approached, the timid wolf slid along the floor behind Russell’s leg. The bolder wolf stopped her pacing and stared at me. Slowly, I reached out and let my fingertips brush the top of Waya’s head. She watched me with unwavering yellow eyes. Braver now, I ran my whole palm across her head and down the back of her neck. Her fur was coarser than a dog’s, stiff and thick. She didn’t move, just watched me with those yellow wolf eyes. She seemed to look through me. Then, she lowered her snout toward my hand. I stopped breathing. I stared into her eyes, wondering if I’d made a mistake. The cool wet of her nose barely touched my hand.

I looked up from the wolf to Russell.

“Good girl, Waya,” Russell said. Looking away from me, he added, “She likes you.” He stood up. Cleared his throat. “Okay, everyone find somewhere to sit.” I sat down again, practically shaking with excitement. A damp layer of oil or dirt from the stiff bristles of Waya’s fur coated my palm, and my hand smelled like wild animal. All the children sat or knelt in a semicircle, with the adults gathered behind them.

“I’m Russell Morgan. My dad is the owner of these wolf dogs.”

I was surprised that the grumpy-looking man was Russell’s father.

“This is Waya, which means ‘wolf’ in Cherokee.” Russell knelt and stroked Waya’s head and back. “And this timid one is Oginali, which is Cherokee for ‘friend.’ We’re in western North Carolina, which is the homeland of the eastern band of the Cherokee Indians, and the Cherokee have special reverence for wolves.” Russell crouched. He tried to comfort Oginali. Then he stood and held the chain leash tight as Waya paced the edge of the circle of curious people. “Waya and Oginali here are ninety-eight percent wolf. My dad got them from a Cherokee woman who breeds wolves with dogs. It’s against the law to keep a full-blooded wolf as a pet.”

Waya paced, back and forth, back and forth. Oginali
cowered behind Russell’s leg. I had never seen an animal so afraid.

“Wolves used to roam all over these Smoky Mountains, but now they’re extinct,” Russell said. “People have hunted down and killed every one of them. For some reason, people are scared to death of wolves. My dad keeps them because he believes they’re misunderstood.” Russell reached down to stroke Oginali’s head, as if he knew what that meant. I loved the gentle way he treated her.

Misunderstood? I met Waya’s eyes again. I knew a little about that.

Russell went on. “There’s been people trying to bring back the red wolf over in the eastern part of the state. But people are scared. They say wolves kill their livestock. They’re afraid they’ll kill people. But do you know how many people have been killed by healthy wolves in the US? Just guess.”

Russell hesitated, waiting for someone to answer. One person said, “A hundred.”

“No. Zero.” Russell held up his fingers to form a round zero. “None. Wolves are shy animals. They stay away from people if they can.”

Russell held up the thick chain that circled Waya’s neck. “If your dog runs away, he’ll get hungry and come back. But Waya here is ninety-eight percent wild
animal. If she was freed for only one second, she’d be gone forever.”

I quickly raised my hand. “Where do you keep the wolves?”

“In a pen,” Russell said. “Dad made the fence ten feet high so they can’t escape.”

I remembered the dusty ground, the empty overturned bowls. A wolf could starve to death in a pen like that. I had a vision of Waya disappearing into the shadows with a single bound. Waya would like that, wouldn’t she? To be free?

Someone asked what the wolves ate.

Russell pulled the sleeve of his shirt down over his hand and held it out stiffly. “People’s hands!” He grinned. “Kidding!” He popped his hand back out. “Waya and Oginali, they eat anything. Dog food. Meat. Cameras. Buckets. Fishing poles. Tents.”

People were laughing now.

“Me and Maggie, my grandma, sometimes drive around in a pickup and collect road kill to feed ‘em.”

Behind me, Stephanie groaned. I grinned at Russell. Gross-out stuff didn’t bother me. He caught my eye and grinned back, pulled a bowl from his backpack, and placed dry dog food out for the wolves to eat.

Oginali hung back, waiting for Waya to eat first. Waya scanned the crowd and the darkness, cocking
her ears, then tentatively lowered her head and ate. When Waya was finished she walked away from the dish. Oginali took two steps forward, practically crawling on the ground, then slunk back under the chair. Russell said that often Waya ate all the food, even if she wasn’t hungry, just so Oginali wouldn’t get any. Sometimes she would even pee on the food to keep Oginali from eating it.

“Why is Waya so mean to Oginali?” I recognized Stephanie’s voice coming from behind me.

“That’s the way wolf packs work. Waya is the alpha wolf, or dominant wolf, and Oginali is the omega. Every pack has an alpha and omega. The omega is the one who gets picked on. But Oginali gets something out of this, too. The alpha is always in charge of the safety of the pack. So Waya keeps watch, fights if she has to, to keep Oginali safe. Oginali doesn’t have to worry. That’s their deal.”

The wolf pack and the horse herd are not that different, I thought. Watching the two wolves, I wondered, Didn’t Oginali hate Waya for eating all her food? And didn’t Waya hate Oginali for always needing her protection?

“The most important thing in a wolf’s life is the pack,” said Russell. “You might think Waya is mean to Oginali, and if they were released, Oginali would
want to get as far away from Waya as she could. But if I let these wolves go, they’d most likely stay together. Oginali would probably follow Waya.”

I stared at the two wolves. How could that be?

Russell was talking to Oginali now in a soft voice, the same kind of voice I used to talk to Copper. I liked listening to his voice.

“No more questions?” The mean tone of Russell’s dad’s voice made me jump. He turned to Maggie. “Who has my check?”

Mr. Morgan was getting paid for showing us the wolves? That seemed wrong, as if Waya and Oginali were circus animals or something. I could tell Maggie didn’t like it, either. Or maybe it was just Mr. Morgan she didn’t like.

“Check with Warren in the office,” Maggie turned her back.

A few kids wanted to go over to pet Waya. No one petted Oginali because she had backed under a chair. I hung around, waiting for the rest to leave. After the last kid ran off, I sat on a picnic bench beside Waya, and I held out my palm again.

“Russell,” said his dad. “Put the wolves back in the truck.”

Russell stared at his dad, but didn’t do anything right away.

“What does it mean if a wolf likes you?” I asked Russell.

Russell picked up the food bowls. “I guess it means the wolf trusts you not to hurt it.”

I stroked Waya’s head, studied her golden eyes. “I would never hurt her. Never in a million years.”

“I wish my dad felt that way,” Russell muttered. “Hang on to her while I get Oginali,” Russell handed me Waya’s leash, then knelt and tried coaxing Oginali out from under the chair.

I held the leash while Waya paced back and forth, keeping her eyes on Russell. I noticed a shiny pink scar on Waya’s nose. Waya’s chain collar was buried deeply in her fur. I slid my fingers down behind the collar to see if it was too tight. No one was looking. I loosened it one notch.

During the presentation, Russell had said that a wild wolf’s territory was about forty miles. But Waya lived in that pen.

I looked at the leash wrapped around my hand. All I had to do was just let it go, just like that. Waya would be free.

Russell straightened up as Oginali crawled out from under the chair. “Thanks a lot,” he said. “You’re good with her. It’s like you and Waya have a kind of thing going. Want to help me put her back in the truck?”

“Sure,” I said. I wrapped the leash around my hand once more.

“We have to put Waya in first,” Russell said as we crossed the dark parking lot. “If Oginali gets in first, Waya will attack her.”

“That is so weird.”

“Last year, there was this guy in seventh grade,” Russell said. “No one would sit with him at lunch or on the bus. Everyone said he stunk. People teased him. It’s that way with wolves. Males and females, they single out the omega. Maybe she’s small like Oginali, but for whatever reason, they just pick and pick.”

Waya and Oginali strained on their leashes, tense, half-crouching, as they padded along beside us. Each time one of us spoke, the wolves’s ears cocked backwards listening.

“Same at our school,” I said. “But it seems like every year, someone different gets harassed.” One someone had been me, I thought. I knew what it was like, all right. Mom and Dad’s divorce had been terrible in every way but one—and that was getting to move to a new school when Mom had to sell the house. “I got picked on in third grade, the year my folks split up.” I’d never talked to anyone about it, and here I was telling Russell. But I’d started and I had to finish. I hesitated. I hid the shaking of my hand by tucking my hair
behind my ear. I didn’t want to alienate him. “No one would sit with me, either,” I said quietly, envisioning our lunchroom. “Or they copied everything I said for the whole lunch period. They smashed my lunch. Stuck chewed gum on my chair. Poured milkshakes in my soccer bag.”

“I know what you mean,” Russell said softly, like he was talking to Oginali.