Fly by Night (33 page)

“Lacey's pups,” the woman said as Amelia heard her unzip something on the floor and watched her take out two bottles, shaking them both in one hand.

“Who's Lacey?”

Charlotte handed one bottle over to Amelia.

The woman exhaled in an emotional way and lowered her head for an instant. Then she held the one pup under her belly, securing its jaw up as she touched its lips with the nipple from the bottle. The pup latched on and began sucking down the formula, the front paws paddling as if swimming. Immediately, the quiet one began shrieking.

Charlotte took a deep breath before she spoke.

“Lacey's their mom,” she said and looked at Amelia with angry eyes.

Amelia's thoughts raced. “Their mom?” she asked as she positioned the black one as Charlotte had, and held the bottle in the same way. The pup also grabbed on.

Maybe that's why they'd both seemed so somber; maybe she'd taken the pups and Lacey was looking for them.

“Yesterday evening the road crew called me after they picked up a dead nursing female. It was Lacey. Somebody shot her,” Charlotte said. “She'd been carrying a dead rabbit in her mouth. I went and got her after they called, her body's in my garage. TJ and I've been out looking for her den since the call, never thought to look at Gloria's.”

“Somebody shot her?” The horror of the image stayed with Amelia. “Why? Why would somebody do that?”

Charlotte was quiet as if composing herself. “Wolf hunt's on, Amelia. Lacey's a wolf/husky cross who's more wolf than husky. Sad circumstances often come with having a wildlife biologist as a husband.”

The woman sighed deeply and looked at Amelia for several moments.

“Was Lacey your dog?”

“Lacey was everybody's dog,” Charlotte said, her voice curt, loaded with sorrow mixed with anger.

They sat, not speaking. The black pup lost suction and began to shriek.

“Sometimes you gotta keep trying,” Charlotte said. “A rubber nipple's different than Mom, so every time the suction breaks, keep shoving it in. Sometimes takes 'em a while to get the hang of it.”

Amelia gripped his belly again and lifted his head to arch up, pushing the nipple into his mouth until he latched on. His front legs too began paddling like he was dog-paddling.

“What is this?” Amelia asked.

“We call it paddling; it's how they use their feet to stimulate the mother's milk by kneading her nipples.”

The dark pup's hind legs splayed out behind him on her thigh. He moved up his front paws to clutch the bottle. After gulping down a few swallows, he began grunting contentedly before the suction would break. Then he shrieked as his head rooted from side to side, trying to locate the nipple again before he latched on to finish off the rest of the formula. His tail moved from side to side like a furry earthworm. The pearly nails of his front paws gripped the fabric of her jeans with such pressure she could feel it. Clinging to her for fear of losing what little he had.

Neither spoke as the pups finished the formula, listening to their squeaking noises of contentment.

“Do we give them more?” Amelia asked.

“In a while,” Charlotte said. “Not good to give too much at first. They've gone without since Lacy was shot.”

Amelia nodded, stroking the back of the black pup as he laid belly-down on her thigh.

Charlotte turned over the squirming gray pup. It immediately began squealing, fighting, and shrieking as she looked underneath.

“A girl,” Charlotte said. “Like your mama.”

Amelia took out the dark one and looked underneath. “This one's a male.”

“Black like Jethro,” Charlotte said.

They sat watching the pups. “So you've done this before,” Charlotte said. “I can tell.”

“Not with dogs,” Amelia answered her. “Abandoned baby walruses, several seals, otters, orphaned baby dolphins but no dogs.” She sighed. “I'm usually sort of afraid.”

“Of dogs?” Charlotte let out an ironic chuckle. “You feed animals who can roll over and crush you to death but you're afraid of dogs?” Charlotte looked at her in surprise with an ironic smile.

“Yeah, well.” Amelia smiled shyly. “Maybe no more.”

“Well, better summon up some courage,” Charlotte chortled. “We've got five at home, and two are siblings to these two.”

They sat watching as the pups fell asleep. Charlotte handed the grunting female back to Amelia.

“Tuck them back into your coat where you had them, next to your skin,” Charlotte said. “Always keep them together.”

Once in her coat they molded together, wriggling up to the same spot on her chest in the crook of her armpit. She zipped up her coat and rocked them, patting them as they made soft grunting noises through the fabric.

“You mentioned a wolf hunt?” Amelia was confused.

Charlotte continued. “Yes. Last year wolves were delisted as being protected under the Endangered Species Act. Now you can purchase a permit to go kill a wolf, trap, use dogs to tear them apart.”

Amelia looked around and shook her head furiously; remembering photos of early twentieth-century bounty hunters from an undergraduate wildlife biology class as they'd proudly displayed racks with rows and rows of dead wolf carcasses hanging upside down. The goal had been to eradicate both native people as well as wolves from North America. She'd remembered learning how deep the European hatred and fear of wolves was. It had followed them onto the North American continent. The goal had been eradication with heavy bounties placed per head and wolves were hunted to the point of extinction throughout the northern tier states. The parallel belief that both wolves and Native Americans had no place in North America, with a battle cry from General Philip Sheridan who'd stated that “The only good Indian is a dead one.” Same had been with wolves, Little Red Riding Hood and all.

“She was a wild girl, never could keep a collar on her, but everybody up here knew her. Lacey's the town dog. On the docks, the streets, the rez. Sweet, friendly, not one mean bone toward anyone.” Charlotte pulled one side of her unzipped parka closer.

“Had to be goddamned out-of-towner trophy hunters with their fancy hunting dogs wanting to say they'd bagged a wolf.” The woman's voice shook with anger. “Probably the only time the bastards get hard.”

Amelia's eyes opened wide. “I'm so sorry.” She touched Charlotte's shoulder.

“Gloria, TJ's mother, always left out food for Lacey when she lived there,” she explained. “Everyone did. And for Jethro too. Lacey's had one or two litters under that porch over the years. All the pups get adopted.”

“Why didn't Lacey get adopted?”

Charlotte was quiet.

“We all tried to adopt her, we have some of her grown pups, wanted to claim her but she'd never let us,” she said. “Apparently only a bullet could. Lacey belonged to the wild.”

“I'm so sorry.” Amelia didn't know what to say.

“She was out finding food, the road crew said. Someone probably shot her in the woods, seeing the rabbit dangling from her mouth, thinking they'd bagged a
real
wolf.” Charlotte's eyebrows raised with the word
real
. “Sounds like she dragged herself, bleeding and mortally wounded to the road, trying to cross, get back to her den with the rabbit when a car came.”

“Oh my God.” The image was too much. Amelia covered her eyes. All the hair on her body stood electric, sensation flooded her, feeling the animal's angst, dragging herself bleeding across the road, back to her pups, blinded to her own safety by the instinct to return.

“I'm so sorry.” Amelia choked up, raising her hand to her mouth. “I'm so, so sorry.” Seeing the dog's struggle play out in her mind's eye, she couldn't stop the imagery from repeating over and over, the will to get food back to her pups. Amelia sat quiet, absorbing the emotions.

“Bet Jethro was with her.”

“And he is…” Amelia looked over.

The woman sighed deeply before answering. “Their dad.”

Charlotte looked at the bulge under Amelia's coat. “That black one is the image of him.”

Amelia thought of his little jaws, his unfocused eyes that fought to make sense of the new shapes and smells.

“Hunters probably saw her red collar after they'd shot Lacey and took off, the bastards,” Charlotte said.

“And Jethro?” Amelia asked quietly.

She sighed and shook her head. “Hasn't been seen.” She looked up at Amelia. “They run together. They're mates.”

“There were no tracks around the house, nothing. Bryce looked, we both did,” Amelia said.

“Might have gotten him too,” the woman said. “He's bigger, even more wolflike except for the collar.”

Amelia looked up. “A big dog just crossed the road. It ran into the woods; in fact we swerved to avoid hitting it, which threw us into the skid. Bryce thinks it might have been a wolf.”

Charlotte looked closely at her. Amelia saw her eyes narrow and didn't know what it meant. The irises were so dark Amelia couldn't see her pupils.

“Describe it.”

“Sort of gray and white—”

“Nope.” Charlotte cut her off and looked out the window. “Jethro's a black wolf, same size, about a hundred pounds. Amber eyes. That sounds like one of the pack members who live up on the ridge by Gloria's house.”

Amelia felt the breath of the pups as they began to warm.

“What'll happen to Jethro?”

Charlotte looked at her.

“Dunno,” she said. “Might turn up, might not. Might keep going back to the last spot he saw Lacey, wherever that was. They do that. Over and over again, they keep returning, hoping their mate'll be there,” Charlotte said and looked out through the windshield to where Bryce and TJ were digging with shovels, working to free the Jeep. “For now, Jethro might be spooked, hiding in the woods.”

Amelia turned to her. “So what about the Endangered Species Act?”

“What about it?” Charlotte ground out the question, her voice brittle as she shot Amelia a side glance.

“I thought wolves were protected.”

Charlotte looked at her in a way that no one ever had, as if measuring her against the weight of all things.

“Yeah.” The woman turned. “They were until that changed. It's called cronyism.”

And it was as if she and Charlotte felt the heaviness of the rabbit in Lacey's mouth as the animal rushed back to her babies, before the sharp pierce of her flesh, that no matter how painful, she held on to her kill, knowing that she needed it, knowing she'd been gone too long from the den but dragged herself along the path and onto the county road she'd crossed hundreds of times before, bleeding out as the sounds, sights of traffic were getting fuzzy, too fuzzy for her to make sense of the approaching vehicle.

Then Charlotte looked away. The moment was too strong for Amelia and she almost couldn't breathe.

“Sounds like you and I have lots to talk about,” the woman said while looking out the window, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.

Amelia sat thinking. One of the pups began twitching under her coat. Soon the other followed as if giving chase until Bryce's voice startled them all as he tapped on the window. She depressed the button to roll it down.

“TJs getting out jumper cables.” His voice sounded bright. “Killed the battery alright.” He snorted a chuckle as he looked over the side of TJ's truck. “Now this is what I call a real man's truck,” Bryce said, his voice lusty with admiration.

Amelia couldn't focus on his words. It was the type of disorientation that comes from being startled from a daytime nap by a ringing phone.

Bryce stopped. “Hey, Am?” He touched her cheek. “Amelia.”

She looked at him.

“Are you okay?” He made the okay sign that divers make underwater. She thought his blue eyes looked even more watery, like the sea in the odd light of the storm.

“I-I don't know.”

“Bryce.” He turned toward his name. TJ was calling him back.

“Be right back,” he said and then turned back once before joining TJ.

Snow was falling so heavily she could no longer see to the end of the truck's hood and listened to sounds of TJ and Bryce discussing strategies for freeing the Jeep. Their voices seemed amplified by the quietness of the hillside.

“I'll give you a jump, then tow you out as you give it gas.” She heard TJ's voice trailing off with the business of extraction. Sounds of tow chains, winches, and motors whining, opening and closing of the truck's back gate. More snow shoveling and digging and scraping, TJ and Bryce called to each other.

Charlotte looked at her and smiled. “These two are gonna get big.” Charlotte let out a sigh. “Lacey was almost ninety pounds; Jethro probably closer to a hundred, if not over. Never weighed either of them, it's just a guesstimate. He had that narrow-chested, long-legged conformation of a black wolf, those golden eyes of his. Lacey's were blue.”

Charlotte sat up and reached for the cooler.

“Time for another feeding,” she said.

The two women worked without speaking. Charlotte shook both bottles and Amelia handed over the gray pup in exchange for a bottle. This time she clutched the black pup with her forearm as she held the bottle, hoping he'd feel safe, hoping he'd keep the nipple in his mouth.

“Gosh, you look so much like TJ,” Charlotte said with amazement, watching Amelia as she fed the pup.

“Think so?” Amelia said. “I never think of myself as looking like anyone. Even my son doesn't look like me.” He'd resembled Christopher Ryan from birth.

“Eyes,” Charlotte said. “Shape of your face.”

Suction broke and the gray pup started howling with such conviction that it made them both laugh.

“Oh, sorry,” Charlotte said with a soft voice. “I'm not paying you enough attention,” she said in a funny voice.