Wolfheart

by Hallie Lee

  “A boy who burnt down a church,” Lenny clarified.

  “On accident,” Robin rebutted.

  When everyone looked at me, I shrugged. “It was me. I did it.”

  As the easy chuckles faded, Desi pressed me with her usual directness. “Now that it’s over, and Madhawk is dead, why don’t you tell us what happened the night Peony died?”

  “Geez,” Lenny breathed, stretching out in his lawn chair. “Way to be subtle, honey.”

  “Actually, I’d like to hear too,” Sheriff Rick chimed.

  As they all waited expectantly, I toyed with the idea of getting up and leaving. I had no legal obligation to wrap up the case in a nice bow for the sheriff, and I wasn’t sure I could even verbalize the events of that horrible night. But as I considered their faces, even the sheriff’s, I detected no suspicion, and no judgment. Only concern.

  “It was my fault. I blame myself,” I began. “I left Peony’s a little before dark, and I sensed Madhawk’s rage simmering just below the surface. He was twitchy and irritable. But I let—I let Hania follow me home.”

  “Hania?” the sheriff asked, leaning in.

  “The older he got, the more he enjoyed the late nights in my garden. Scurrying up squirrels and rodents was play for him. And I was tired. I didn’t have the energy to force him to stay home at Peony’s.”

  The sheriff dipped his head back in realization, closing his eyes. “The dog.”

  “I remember him,” Desi said. “I thought he was more of a wolf.”

  “He was both. Born a wolf, but domesticated like a dog. But more than anything, he was Peony’s beloved Spirit Warrior. He adored her, and protected her—from a number of threats.”

  “Like Madhawk?” confirmed the sheriff.

  I nodded. “Hania was a deterrent. Madhawk was terrified of him. And on this night,” I lowered my head, “he was with me.”

  “You aren’t to blame,” Robin said.

  But I thought differently. Feeling lonely, I’d wanted Hania’s company, needing the presence of another living, breathing soul. As aging males, he and I shared a special kinship. Ordinarily surrounded by females, our nights in the garden together were a reprieve from all the chatter.

  Usually, he’d instigate a game of Hunt, which had always been his favorite. Nudging the back of my legs with a low growl, he’d swing his head from side to side, taunting me with the tattered blue wolf in his mouth. I’d start off pretending indifference, as was our ritual, and when he’d almost given up on a game, and loosened his grip on the stuffed animal, I’d wrestle it from his jaws and take off as fast as my old legs would carry me.

  Hania rarely chased me. The appeal of the game for him had been the act of stalking me. The true wolf came out in him then, showcasing his instinct and cunning. Always the victor, he’d nip at my ankles until I grew tired, and finally tackle me with a celebratory romp.

  After a rowdy game of hunt, we’d settle into a rhythm, just the two of us.

  While I hoed and weeded, finding the steady movement therapeutic, Hania would rest his snout on his paws, keeping one eye open in case a random, daring squirrel ventured into his territory. Many an evening we’d pass this way, enjoying the companionable silence, while waiting for the cicadas to take possession of the night.

  “On this night,” I continued. “Bella came running for us. She could hardly breathe. She was in a frightened, panicked state. Hania, immediately alert, sensed her fear, and beat a path to Peony’s ahead of us. You could smell the sweat, the urgency in him, to get to Peony. To protect her. His strong, muscular legs pushed as hard as they could, but I think—I think he knew.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Lenny.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’m projecting, but in that moment, I believe he felt the weight of letting her down. Like he’d failed her.” I sighed, weary with the memories. “I raced after him, and Bella raced after me. I’ll never forget that journey to Peony. It seemed like it took forever, although it was probably only minutes. Behind me were the sounds of Bella’s panicked gasps, and her tears, and ahead of me Hania snarled and growled, the fur on his back raised in fury. He was a warrior preparing for battle.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Desi said thickly, resting her hand on my arm.

  “While Meadow had done her best to fight Madhawk off, she couldn’t match his strength. Both she and Peony were hurt when we got there, and as Hania exploded through the door ahead of Bella and me, he immediately went for Madhawk’s throat. But it was as if Madhawk knew he had one last chance…to beat him. One last chance to break his heart.”

  “Oh no.” Desi mumbled shakily.

  “And he used it to lift Peony in his arms and”—I gestured—“slam her head against the mantel.”

  Robin stood, moved to my other side, so that I was bookended with support.

  “Hania erupted with rage then, launching himself on Madhawk, nearly slicing clean through his arm and shoulder. Madhawk ran toward the back door, trying to escape Hania’s wrath. Hania chased him, furiously ripping at his face and neck, and they both tumbled out the back door.”

  “What condition was Peony in at this point?” asked the Sheriff.

  “Not good. But she was conscious enough to hear when Hania cried out.”

  My eyes coated as I relived those horrible moments. “Bella and Meadow were kneeling beside Peony, and my sister cried as Meadow held a cloth to her wound—with grief as much as pain.”

  “Oh man,” Lenny commiserated.

  “Hania stumbled in, and made it to my sister’s side. He literally tucked himself along the length of her body. And she rested her hand on his head, near his ears. He was soaked in blood from where Madhawk’s knife had cut him, and his eyes were heavy with agony, but they never left Peony’s. Never. Until the end.”

  I blinked back the heaviness in my eyes as I considered Desi, Lenny, and Robin, and then the sheriff, who nodded as if he’d just found the corner piece of a puzzle. “Just before she died,” I said finally. “My sister asked me, pleaded with me with every ounce of life she had in her—”

  “What?” Desi asked.

  “She asked me to bury him. Quickly. So that his spirit would meet her on the other side. She made me promise. And told me to hurry.”

  “So that’s who you buried in the sacred grounds?” The sheriff asked gently.

  “Yes,” I breathed. “And Madhawk was dead on the back steps when I left.”

  •

  Somewhere between late afternoon and sunrise, the atmosphere went from shocked and despondent to hopeful and festive. Once the volunteer firemen determined the grounds safe, the people of Shady Gully found their own unique ways to contribute.

  Daryl, Bubba, Quietdove, and Youngdeer hauled the cross from the wreckage of the church, and once they deemed it restorable, chat bounced around as to which restoration company might be affordable. After the discussion, Redflyer got his hands on some sandpaper, and began sanding the wooden cross himself. Sterling and Petey, fascinated by his skill, quickly picked up his instruction, and pitched in on opposite sides of the cross.

  Sprite sent Fireman to his store for more sandpaper, and within a few hours, the old rugged cross gleamed with new character, more distinctive now after its own distress. The act of raising the cross, and leaning it safely against a massive oak tree, sparked a sense of reverence among the crowd.

  The spirit of harmony spread as Mrs. Shanna May, Meadow, and Granny Lacey salvaged some blackened silver trays, goblets, and candleholders from the church hall, and purposefully set about restoring them to their original shine.

  Charlie Wayne enlisted Micah, Bella, and Violet to help him fry some fish Thaddeus had caught on Osprey earlier in the week, and as the smell wafted through the four way stop, it was impossible not to feel a spur of hope.

  The bonfire of lost pews and other ruined material burned brightly as
night fell over Shady Gully. Despite the length, and emotional drain of the day, everyone seemed reluctant to leave.

  While Luke, Sheriff Rick, and I tended to the fire, we slid marshmallows on hangers for the kids, and then sent them to Robin and Desi, who finished them off with graham crackers and chocolate.

  “This is what I wish for Shady Gully,” Luke said, indicating the congenial atmosphere.

  “Yeah well,” muttered Sheriff Rick. “It would sure make my job a lot easier.” He turned to me. “I’ve got a crew coming your way tomorrow to get that bridge fixed. Properly this time.”

  “Who’s paying for it?” I asked, knowing instinctively it would come at a high price.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with the bureaucratic red tape later, but I ain’t gonna wait around for the state. Let’s just say we got an anonymous donor.”

  The three of us looked directly at Robin, whose colorful blouse was spotted with chocolate. When I turned back to the sheriff, his goofy smile made me laugh.

  “Hey Luke!” hollered Charlie Wayne as he served a basket of fish and fries to a picnic table full of old timers, including the ornery Chester. “We just took a mock vote over here, and your incorporation passed unanimously.”

  “I’m still on the fence,” countered Sprite. “But I’m leaning your way.”

  Bella dashed over, snaking her arms around my waist. “Uncle Wolf, guess who looks like she’s not miserable?”

  I chuckled. “Your mama?”

  After a pleased smile, she left my side for Luke’s, who puffed up with pride as she reached for his hand. “Guess what? Granny Lacey wants to register to vote, and Redflyer and old man BlueJay said they’re not opposed to the idea of incorporation. If it means they’ll have a voice in town.”

  “There ya go,” Sheriff Rick nodded. “Luke, you’re like a blind hog that found an acorn. I can’t believe this thing might actually happen.”

  Luke eyeballed me. “You know, Mr. Wolfheart, uh…Wolf—”

  “Go ahead and call me Wolfheart, Luke.” I shot Bella a look. “For now.”

  “I was just going to say, you’d be the perfect person to champion them.”

  “I already do.”

  “I know you do, but this time, you’d have power. If you ran—”

  “Okay,” I avoided Luke’s challenge as Quietdove trooped over with a dripping smore in his hand. “One thing at a time.”

  Quietdove wiped his chocolatey mouth with the sleeve of his deputy’s shirt. “Hey Bella, the guitar boy with the funny name wants you. He’s tuning up for another number.”

  “Gotta go,” she pecked Luke on the cheek.

  As I watched bold little Bella prance to the center of the four way stop with an air of confidence, a wave of joy swept over me. She’d broken barriers. She’d crossed lines. Even though Meadow had discouraged her, and I’d feared for her, she’d made her way.

  Suddenly optimistic about the future, I moved in as Sterling strummed his guitar and Bella glided with the music. As they began to sing, it seemed all of Shady Gully closed in on the four way stop.

  Desi and Robin sang ahead of me, holding up their hands with tearful praise and a rousing, “Hallelujah!”

  After the intro, Sterling crooned the first verse, then faded into the background, allowing Bella to take center stage. As she moved her arms from side to side, Bella’s expression erupted in joy as she mesmerized her audience with a rousing, emotional chorus.

  I always appreciated that moment in worship music, just after the chorus repeats a few times, and the audience loses their inhibitions and belts out the melody.

  Bella was there now, and as she sang out the first few verses, she opened her arms wide, and the gathering rewarded her with a resounding proclamation of faith.

  On and on it went, worship songs, smores, fried fish, and a sense of community. As I stepped back from it all, roaming along the perimeter of the heady scene, I closed my eyes and welcomed the sounds of harmony and hope.

  A familiar figure suddenly wrapped her arms around me.

  “Meadow,” I grinned into her hair, tugging her closer. “You’re not miserable.”

  She laughed. “You’ve been talking to my daughter.”

  “I have. I admit it.”

  She looked over my shoulder, passed Luke’s auto body shop, toward the patch of woods beyond it. “Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “He was here. I saw him.” She scanned the trees again. “Just for a minute, while Bella was singing. But I know it was him. I’m not crazy.”

  “Who?”

  “Hania.” She squinted in the direction of the woods. “He didn’t howl. He was just there, watching. Clear-blue eyes. A collar of pristine white fur. He was healthy. He looked…well.”

  I nodded.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Of course, I believe you.” I hugged her. “I believe in the middle of all this chaos and destruction, you’ve found your faith.” When she started to interrupt, I went on, “Look at Bella up there. All that joy. That hope. She found it in Jesus. Look at her, Meadow. Just look at her.”

  Meadow paused, considering Bella who was singing with her arms outstretched, her face rosy with conviction.

  Thoughtful, Meadow peered behind me once more. “I’ve gotta go. Just before I walked over here, Granny Lacey was giving Mrs. Shanna May her recipe for zucchini bread. I need to warn her.”

  My heart overflowing, I watched as Meadow hurried back to the festivities.

  After a moment I turned toward the woods behind the auto body shop. I saw nothing but trees, thickets, and foliage. No matter. I didn’t need to see to believe. As I walked back to the bonfire, I bid the great Spirit Warrior a final farewell—confident in the knowledge that he and my beloved sister, Peony, were reunited at the feet of Jesus.

  Acknowledgements

  & Thanks

  T

  his book is fiction. That means I made it all up. For real.

  As always, I’m grateful to Mike Parker and Wordcrafts Press for your expertise, your guidance, and especially, your patience.

  A huge thank you to Jeff and Steve for the regular spit-balling sessions, the amazing publicity opportunities, and of course, pushing me to be fearless.

  I’m forever thankful to the tech savvy genius in my life, Rachel Buettner.

  And to my most treasured first-readers, Tammy Lynne Belgard and John Brothers, I’m forever grateful. You make my work better. You voluntarily scour for inconsistencies, mistakes, and typos; and even challenge me on seasonal foliage when necessary. You are better than all the thesauruses, encyclopedias, and farmer’s almanacs combined!

  I’d like to extend a very special thank you to Taylor Hatchell, who shared his in-depth experience and firsthand knowledge of raising a wolfdog. Cheers to you and your “best” dog, Ariel.

  As always, my FRIENDS of HALLIE newsletter subscribers, my amazing Launch Team, and my Cozy Corner Chatters hold a very special place in my heart. Thank you, Jennifer Adams and Mark Cermak, for your dedication and constant support.

  On a personal level, the transition from writer to published author has been overwhelming, exhilarating, challenging, and humbling. Thank you to my talented writer friends, Charly Cox, Janetta Fudge-Messmer, Jeffrey Pentz, and Emma Lombard. I’m grateful to have you in my corner.

  And finally, to my family, Bruce, Bree, and Phil—your genuine delight, your unconditional support, and your steady dose of reassurance means everything to me. You are, and always will be, my best people. I love you.

  Note to Readers

  Hallie Lee

  T

  hank you for spending time with me in Shady Gully. I hope you enjoyed Wolfheart’s story. In Paint Me Fearless, he was initially a toss-in character, a mere villain to challenge Desi and Robin. But he had other plans. He evolve
d, became noble, and then insisted on his own book.

  If you enjoyed Paint Me Fearless and Wolfheart, and look forward to Book Three in The Shady Gully Series, please take a few minutes to leave a review on your favorite social media site or wherever you purchase your books!

  And please, mosey on over to my website, www.hallielee.com, and sign up for my newsletter. When you become a FRIEND OF HALLIE, you’ll get all the Shady Gully News FIRST, including release dates, cover reveals, contests, giveaways, recipes, and more! I’ll see y’all back at the Cozy Corner in Book Three!

  Until then—Stay Fearless!

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  Also Available From

  WordCrafts Press

  In Search of the Beloved

  Marian Rizzo

  Little Reminders of Who I Am

  Jeff S. Bray

  Maggie’s Song

  Marcia Ware-Wilder

  Oh, to Grace

  Abby Rosser

  The Mirror Lies

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  PART I