Wolfheart

by Hallie Lee

  “Come on,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll protect you from Desi.”

  •

  We saw the flames as soon as we crossed the dilapidated bridge into the creek. Robin made a face, lifting herself to see over the rear window of my truck. “How will the fire trucks get over that thing?”

  “Very carefully.” I glanced behind me, assuring myself that the crossing was still in one piece. “Let’s hope the Creek People are making a dent in the fire by now.”

  “Doesn’t appear so.” She raised her brows in speculation. “You do realize how important it is to incorporate now, don’t you?”

  “I’m beginning to see its advantages.” After a flicker of satisfaction crossed her face, I added, “But things aren’t normally like this, Robin. Shady Gully is a quiet town—”

  “And reinforcements had to be called in from Belle Maison because of all the noisy goings on in your otherwise quiet town. And this all-nighter in Mayberry forced poor Max and Quietdove to alternate between scenes.”

  I kept my eyes on the road, feeling downright reprimanded.

  “And when you have to wait for a fire truck to come from Belle Maison to put out a fire, well, that’s simply unacceptable. That’s living on a prayer.”

  “I wouldn’t—” I stopped. Number one, there was no point in arguing because I wouldn’t win, and number two, the smoke was thick against my window and I needed to focus.

  “Slow down,” she nagged.

  I bit back a smile, sort of enjoying her feistiness. I reckon I wouldn’t mind having a woman hounding me all the time, as long as that woman was Robin. When I clicked my blinker, she chuckled.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Robin maintained her self-satisfied little grin until we reached Wolfheart’s house.

  When we parked, I took hold of her arm, preventing her from exiting.

  “I’ll be fine,” she argued.

  “Of course you will. You’re an independent woman and all that jazz. But remember,” I squeezed lightly. “I’m responsible for you. And Desi is scary.”

  The scene was sheer pandemonium. Half the creek had turned out, forming an old school volunteer-firefighting posse. A bucket passing line relayed water as fast as hoses filled them. Spry little tykes like young Fireman plucked the empty buckets as soon as they were discarded on the ground, running them quickly back to the hose for another round.

  “His house is okay,” muttered Robin. “It looks like it’s—”

  “His garden,” I said regretfully. I felt a stab of empathy for Wolfheart, recalling the devotion and work he’d put into his passion. I searched the faces of the old school fire fighters, until I finally landed a glimpse of Wolfheart.

  His face was covered in smut nearly as black as his hair, and his green eyes appeared flat and emotionless. When his line of vision intersected with mine, he looked away. Defeated. Wrung out.

  “Oh Brad,” Robin sprinted toward him, and he welcomed her in his arms. While I envied the easiness between them, I was glad he had an old friend to comfort him now.

  A rugged young man, the one they called Redflyer, pointed in my direction. “Well, it’s about time,” he said sarcastically.

  Before I could get my hackles raised, the scream of sirens punctuated his remark.

  I quickly corralled the frenzied bucket carriers aside, especially the little ones, as the big, red fire truck slammed to an impressive stop.

  We all watched as the professionals took over the scene, tossing massive hoses across their shoulders, and circling the flames with the intensity of soldiers.

  “Cool, huh?” The kid appeared out of nowhere, gazing at the firefighters in awe. “I want to do that.”

  I squinted at Fireman. “Looks to me like you were doing just that.”

  Unaffected by the compliment, he dashed over to Bella, who sat on the steps of the porch next to her mother. I approached tentatively, because while Bella was quite personable, Meadow was not known for her friendliness.

  Robin took a handful of blankets from the firetruck and wrapped them around Bella’s and Meadow’s shoulders. She offered one to Wolfheart, but he shrugged. “It’s going to take more than that,” he said with dead eyes.

  “Wolfheart,” I said in a somber voice. “I’m sorry. I mean that.”

  He regarded the flames in silence, watching as the firemen speared his beloved vegetables and herbs into slimy piles of roasted soot. “It could have been worse,” he said hoarsely, glancing at Meadow and Bella, no doubt considering the human toll spared by the fire.

  “The EMTs are here,” I said as Patty’s van, red and blue lights flashing, parked next to the firetruck. “I can have her take a quick look at the women.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Wolfheart nodded, aimlessly roving toward the patch of land he’d tended for years. The slush beneath his boots made a popping sound as it splattered against the legs of his pants.

  Once I got Patty settled with Bella and Meadow, I asked Robin, “Will you keep an eye on them for a minute?”

  “Of course.” She eyed Wolfheart. “I’m worried about him though. We might have to get Desi here.”

  I stalked over to Wolfheart with renewed purpose. “Brad, tell me what happened? Did somebody try to break into the house? Did you hear anything? See anybody?”

  He shook his head, “No. The smell of smoke woke me up. The sky was orange as soon as I opened my eyes.” Our gazes drifted to the firemen as they lugged rakes over the smoldering debris. It seemed to me Wolfheart winced with each comb of the tool.

  “It’s a damn shame,” I said, cutting a glance at Redflyer and his buddies, who lingered near Wolfheart.

  After a long moment, Wolfheart speculated, “Madhawk? Maybe he hoped it would spread to the house?”

  “Maybe. If so, he gets around for a dead man. Robin’s place on Osprey was broken into last night. Or night before last.” No sense even looking at my watch at this point.

  “What? What happened?”

  “Somebody enjoyed the hospitality of her lovely abode, and then showed their appreciation by trashing the place. The techs found blood, discarded bandages.”

  “You think it was Madhawk?”

  “I don’t know yet. Crazy times we’re living in, for sure.” I shook my head. “When I first heard about the fire in your garden, I halfway thought Jesse had been out here again.”

  “Again? When was Jesse out here?” Wolfheart exchanged a glance with Redflyer.

  I blamed the long, nasty evening for the slip of my tongue. “Just speculating,” I said vaguely, trying to backtrack. “You’re not his favorite person. And he’s worked up about Bella singing in church Sunday. You know what an oddball he is.”

  “Yeah,” Brad said, his green eyes turning black as they zeroed in on mine.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tony Chachere’s

  Wolfheart

  “I

  halfway thought Jesse had been out here again.”

  The key word being again. The idea of that slimy worm lurking around my home, my garden, and my family, filled me with rage. While the sheriff went on, babbling about Bella singing and Jesse being an oddball, all I could think about was why the dogs hadn’t barked.

  I scanned the yard, half blinded by the beams of the fire department’s lights. The brown mutt lay on his back, back right leg twitching as an EMT rubbed his belly. One of the other strays licked soot off his paws. I beckoned to him, and he hoofed over listlessly.

  “What’s wrong, boy?” I knelt, scratching him behind the ears. His breath smelled of steak, peppered with garlic, and Tony’s Chachere’s seasoning. “Did your paws get too hot?”

  “Is he okay?” Patty asked, hobbling over with a roll of bandages in her hand. “A couple of the cats had some pad burns. This guy looks okay though.” She handed me a handful of antibi
otic packets. “A little dab will help. Put some socks on him.”

  When I laughed out loud everyone looked at me oddly. Bella walked over, looking concerned as she rested her hand on my shoulder. “Mamaw would get a kick out of socks on the dogs and cats.”

  My legs creaked as she pulled me to my feet. I held her close. “She’d probably want to sew special ones that accentuated their eyes.”

  Robin joined us, carrying a cat with bandages on its paws. “Full disclosure. Desi called, and I had to answer while I had service. I understand reception is spotty all over the creek.”

  “Reception is okay around most of the homes,” Bella explained. “But the dead spot around the bridge has always been a problem.”

  Once Bella headed back to Meadow, I asked Robin, “Desi’s not driving out here, is she?” I didn’t bother looking at my watch. I knew the sun would rise in a few hours.

  “I think I talked her down.” She yawned. “You’re safe for now.”

  “Why don’t you go on back to Desi’s. You must be tired.”

  “I’m worried about you. I know how much your garden means—meant—to you.”

  “I’ll replant. And you’ll repair.” I eyed her. “The sheriff thinks it was Madhawk who tore your place up night before last.”

  “Someone did. They ate my food, slept in my bed, and destroyed Sunny’s paintings. Or tried to. I’m hoping I can have most of them restored. Whoever did it was gone by the time we bought groceries and headed to the lake yesterday evening.”

  Sheriff Rick dawdled over, offering the cat in Robin’s arms a friendly scratch beneath the chin. “I just got an earful from Redflyer.” He appeared rueful.

  “I tried to warn you, Sheriff,” I shook my head. “You should have stayed away from the sacred grounds.”

  “This is a cluster, for sure.” He peered at Robin. “Are you ready to head to Desi’s? Get a little rest?”

  Robin handed me the cat, and then squished it between us as she pulled me into a solid hug. “Desi and I will see you in the morning. Late morning.”

  “Hey Robin,” I called out as Ricky opened the passenger door for her. “You use Tony’s at your place?”

  “Of course.” She eyed me quizzically. “I may live in Kentucky now, but I know how to season food.”

  •

  After Bella went upstairs to get some sleep, Meadow and I rocked side by side on the front porch. She’d made us both coffees, and generously spiked mine with extra cream and sugar.

  “I needed this.” I set my gaze on the upper bough of the sun as it peeped over the horizon. “Thanks.”

  Meadow exhaled loudly, tapping her fingernails restlessly against her cup. “I heard the sheriff tell Quietdove he thinks Jesse did this. Can you imagine? How dare he even come out here?”

  “It’s a free country. He can go wherever he wants.”

  “No, he can’t. This is private property. Why are you defending him?”

  “I don’t think it was him.”

  “Oh, here we go,” she fidgeted.

  “Why don’t you just go ahead and light one up?”

  “What? I don’t—”

  “—smoke? Yeah, you do, and I don’t even care right now. I just need you to stop squirming. I can’t enjoy my coffee.”

  She pulled a cigarette from somewhere inside her shirt, and lit it with the practiced skill of a seasoned smoker.

  “Although I don’t know why you’d want to inhale any more smoke now.”

  When she shot me a pointed glare, I refrained from further nagging. “Jesse isn’t familiar with the creek,” I said finally. “He would have floundered around in the dark, alerting the dogs. I believe it was someone comfortable with life in the swamp.”

  “Who knows?” Meadow brooded. “It’s all so muddled lately. Especially now that the cops dug up the sacred burial ground.”

  “They didn’t dig. They sifted. That’s what I heard anyway.” I was incensed as well, but it would do no good to encourage Meadow’s resentment.

  “That’s semantics, Uncle. It doesn’t matter anyway. Between the grounds and this,” Meadow pointed to the garden with her cigarette. “There’s going to be hell to pay. I don’t think Bella should sing Sunday. Everything is too volatile now.”

  I glimpsed the orange ball as it finally erupted through the clouds. “You have a point. But I’ll be there. I’ll make sure she’s okay.”

  “Right. Just like you did with Mama.”

  I sucked in a ragged breath.

  “I’m sorry.” Meadow blew a gust of smoke in the opposite direction. “I didn’t mean that.” She waved her hand toward a brown dog as he rambled up the steps of the porch. She scratched the scruff of his neck with affection. And then: “I had a dream. About the Spirit Warrior.”

  Another jolt ripped through me. How I’d prayed to see my sister and her beloved Spirit Warrior again, but it seemed their spirits had chosen to avoid me—even in a fugue state.

  I didn’t respond. Only gazed wearily upon the rising sun, vowing to remain patient for that gift, trusting that it would come in due time. But the polluted haze of smog from the destruction of my garden stained the sun, denying me any peace.

  Eventually Meadow withdrew inside, no doubt finding my sullen expression too much to endure. Relieved to finally be alone, I lowered my hand to the dog’s ears, inhaling the dust as his tail pounded it into a small tornado.

  My fingers, blackened with soot, left smudges on his fur as I stroked him. When the mutt’s sad eyes settled on mine, I wondered if he too craved a quiet, profound moment with another soul.

  I removed my hand, cursing the sentimental fool I’d become.

  Meadow was right. Things were hopeless. And perhaps they’d always been, and foolish dreamers like Bella and me just couldn’t accept it.

  •

  Peony had been delighted to hear of my invitation to the bonfire at the big house with the swimming pool. She’d immediately sat me down at the kitchen table, wrapped a towel around my shoulders, and pulled out the shears.

  “No,” I argued, proud of the long, unruly locks that reinforced my menacing image. “I’m not trying to impress anybody.” But of course, I had been, and as Peony cut my mane, and the tufts of thick, dark hair fell to the floor, I liked the change. I looked like one of them now.

  “I look ridiculous.” I snarled.

  “Nonsense. You look handsome. And I’m tired of that shaggy mop hiding your beautiful bone structure.” She scrunched her face into a smile so tight her eyes disappeared. “And your pretty green eyes. Nobody can ever see them with all that hair.”

  I scoffed, watching as she slid a storage box from under her sewing table. “Let’s see if we can find something to show them off.” She bit her upper lip in concentration, rifling through layers and layers of ragged material until her face softened. “Oh, this is beautiful. Don’t you think?” She raised a swatch of emerald green fabric.

  I smirked. “I guess. If you think seaweed is beautiful.”

  She ignored me, scrounging deeper into the tub of castaway material. “I don’t have quite enough.”

  Shoot. “It looks like throw up anyway.”

  “But how about this blue? That would blend—” She whooped in delight. “Oh, and I love this gray. I know, we can make a patch-shirt.”

  “A what?”

  She handed me a pair of scissors. “It will be perfect, Brad. We’ll do squares. And I’ll sew you the loveliest patch-shirt to wear with your jeans. Let me draw you a pattern.” I moved closer, squinting at the precise squares she drew. “I’ll pin. You cut. Are you ready?”

  We spent the afternoon that way, merrily pinning and cutting squares, Peony chatting about party etiquette, and how it would be polite to bring flowers to the host. “I’ll put a fresh batch of wildflowers together. My mums are starting to bloom now that it’s fal
l, and I can trim some from the firecracker bush to make a bouquet. Won’t that be nice?”

  “Yes,” I answered. Although I couldn’t imagine myself presenting flowers at Megan’s bonfire. “That sounds great.” But Peony was happy, so I went along. “Listen,” I said as an outraged squeal resounded from the small bedroom. “It sounds like the little creature from the swamp is awake.”

  Peony looked at her watch. “Goodness. The time flew. Go see to Meadow, would you?” She hopped up to prepare a bottle, her face flushing with contentment. “And Axe will be home soon. Hasn’t this been the most wonderful day?”

  “I’ll go take care of the monster,” I griped, skulking my way to the baby’s room. Although I’d never admit it to my sister, I enjoyed holding the baby, and I found Meadow’s big mouth amusing. She apparently had a lot to say, and cried in frustration because she couldn’t properly express herself.

  I slowly opened the door a crack. My niece stood in her crib, her coal black hair plastered to her head.

  “Pssst.” I teased. “Hey, monkey.”

  The grumbling stopped. Her eyes, which had been closed tight in exasperation, flew open. A squeal of joy wracked her body. When I dawdled too long, she became indignant, squeezing her fists into tight little balls, demanding that I hurry. I couldn’t help but laugh.

  As she pounded the railing of Axe’s hand-made mahogany crib, I worried that the dowels he’d carefully measured to safety standards would shatter under her fury.

  “What?” I laughed, picking her up. “Why are you mad?” But she wasn’t mad any longer, as her little fingers tightly clutched my shoulder. She cooed in a ridiculous rhythm only she could understand, giggling the whole time I changed her diaper. We babbled nonsensically all the way back into the living room.

  Axe, dressed in dirty coveralls, burst with pleasure as he took his baby daughter into his arms. “Look at you, girl. Brother got you all powdered up.” He smooched Meadow until she dissolved in a full-fledged round of cackles.

  I always appreciated the title of brother. Axe’s thoughtful term of endearment was meant to assure me of my importance, and place, in the family. He danced around with Meadow in his arms, arching his brows at the outline of squares on the table. “Looks like the makings of mighty fine duds there.”