Out of the Wilderness

by Deb Vanasse

  Josh stopped abruptly, putting a hand out behind him to alert Pete.

  “What?” Pete began.

  “Shhh!” Josh kept his eyes focused on the patch of gray and white. He could barely detect the texture of fur through the trees.

  The creature stepped past the cover of the trees and stood as still as they. Then Josh saw the wary fleck of the tail, and the head turned to look them full in the face. Josh hoped Pete and Shannon would stay still.

  The green eyes seemed to freeze them in time. The whiskers twitched and the ears, spiked with longish hair, quivered ever so slightly. Josh hoped that Pete could see it as well as he could.

  Suddenly the animal bounded away from them, its large feet leaving clear prints in the snow.

  “Was that a mountain lion?” Pete asked, his voice hushed.

  Josh shook his head. “A lynx. It’s really a treat to see one that close. They’re very wary, secretive almost. And mostly nocturnal. Probably just finishing his night of hunting.”

  “And I suppose their hides are worth plenty.” Josh turned at the sound of Shannon’s voice.

  “As a matter of fact, they are,” he said dryly.

  “So why don’t you run after it and shoot it?”

  Josh let out a sigh of exasperation. “Because, contrary to what you may think, I don’t kill every living creature I see, just for the fun of it.”

  “Could have fooled me,” was her curt reply.

  Josh felt the anger move through him like a bitter wind. She was acting as judge and jury of him and his whole way of life. Not that it was a way of life he planned to hang on to indefinitely. But for now this was who he was.

  He gave her a hard stare. Then he turned to Pete, making his face soften. “Let’s have a look at those tracks.”

  “OK,” he said willingly.

  Josh forged through the snow, hearing only Pete’s struggling footsteps behind him. Good, he thought. Let her stand there and freeze. Better yet, let her turn around and walk to the cabin. Maybe she’ll get lost.

  He stopped and knelt beside the lynx tracks, and Pete knelt beside him. Pointing his finger, he traced along the outline of a print.

  “Look at the size of it. A lynx’s feet act like snowshoes, distributing its weight so it can travel across deep snow. These fuzzy edges of the print are from the fur that covers each paw, right down to the ground.”

  “Have you ever caught one?”

  Josh shook his head. “My dad has, but only two the whole time we’ve been here. Like I said, they’re elusive. But they’re quite the prize. Their fur is soft as silk, and their meat is tender and tasty.”

  Pete looked thoughtful a moment. “Do you ever feel sorry—when you kill an animal, I mean?”

  Josh looked Pete square in the eyes. “Sure I feel sorry. Anybody would. These animals are incredible. But we’re not destroying them just for the sake of destroying them.”

  “Still, you like it, right? Hunting and trapping?”

  “I like parts of it. There’s the thrill of pursuing something, the suspense of waiting to see if you’ve succeeded. And there’s the practical end of it, selling the furs, putting meat on the table.”

  Pete’s face darkened. “Shannon doesn’t eat meat,” he said softly.

  Josh took a deep breath. “I know. That’s her choice. I wouldn’t try to tell her how to live her life.” He let the rest of his thought remain unspoken: So why should she tell me how to live mine?

  They rose and turned back toward the creek. When they reached the machine, Shannon was already back in the sled, frosty as the cold December air.

  10

  Ever since Josh could remember, he’d thought of January as the longest month of the year. It was especially so at Willow Creek. For the few hours of daybreak, the sun hung distant and low, casting a hazy light stripped of warmth. Then each brief day stretched into an interminable night of unbroken darkness and quiet.

  Temperatures dipped to thirty, then forty below, so even a brief trip to the outhouse made Josh’s face sting with cold. Other than the squeak of dry snow beneath his boots, the woods resounded in utter silence, as every other creature stayed burrowed against the elements.

  Josh stoked the woodstove each hour or so during the cold spell, fighting back the frigid air that seeped through the planks of the floor and into the cabin. A thick layer of frost crawled up the panes of the windows, and the cabin seemed to shrink, its walls bearing down upon them. They went to bed edgy and tense and woke feeling the same after countless hours of fitful sleep.

  “I hope Nathan’s doing all right in this cold,” Josh’s father worried. “We’d better go check on him.”

  “You can if you want,” Josh snapped. “I’m not going out in this weather. He can take care of himself.”

  His father stared out the window at the drifted snow. “Just so he doesn’t go and do something foolish, hiding out again where we can’t find him.”

  “Now you’re sounding just like him.”

  His dad turned, glaring. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Josh shrugged and looked away. He felt his lips twitch with the words. Crazy. You’re talking crazy, like Nathan. He bit his lower lip, holding back the thoughts that clamored for voice.

  “There’s nothing wrong with Nathan,” his dad challenged.

  “I didn’t say there was.” Josh forced his words to sound calm and reasoned. “I only said you sounded just like him, making big deals out of nothing. Even Nathan wouldn’t go off for no reason in this kind of weather.”

  His dad looked as if he were about to respond, then turned back toward the window.

  “And wherever Nathan went before, it worked out fine,” Josh reminded him. Nathan had returned happy from his time alone, his eyes bright with the excitement of whatever adventure he had enjoyed, though he would respond to none of his father’s prodding about where he’d been.

  Josh had the odd feeling that Shannon, of all people, knew about Nathan’s hideout. The day after their trapping expedition, she had made a remark about following tracks on her own. But when Josh had pressed her for details about what kinds of tracks and where they had led, she refused to say any more about it. He would have chalked her silence up to her longing to protect an animal from his traps if it hadn’t been for the comments she’d made about the lynx. On the day the Donaldsons were to leave, Pete had been retelling the encounter for Josh’s father when Shannon added, “Nathan says some species of lynx are endangered.”

  Both Josh and his father had shot her a look. “You talked to Nathan again?” Josh asked.

  Shannon flushed. “Right before he left,” she explained. Strange, Josh thought, that they would have discussed the lynx before Shannon had even seen one.

  But if Shannon knew of Nathan’s whereabouts, she didn’t say, and Josh didn’t press her. He reminded himself that the mystery surrounding Nathan’s hideaway was a weight that hung in the balance, ready to tip the scales of Josh’s future. He needed to keep prodding at his father’s worry, shaping it into a need to give the cabin to Nathan and move on to Wasilla.

  That was one good thing about the cold spell, Josh realized. “Just so it’s not this cold the next time the Donaldsons come.” Josh spoke the words gently. “Then you would really have to worry about Nathan.”

  His dad turned abruptly from the window and pulled out a chair to sit at the table. “He’d have to swallow his pride and come stay with us if it were this cold,” his father reasoned.

  Josh shook his head. “I don’t think we’ll see Nathan swallow his pride, no matter how cold it gets. You’ve said it yourself, Dad. He’s independent.”

  He watched the furrows form across his father’s brow. “But it would be a life-and-death situation.”

  Josh shuddered inwardly, remembering the last life-and-death situation involving his brother—the bear. “I don’t think Nathan finds death too high a price for his principles,” Josh said quietly. “He loves the risk.”

  For a moment, Jo
sh’s father buried his face in his hands.

  When he looked up, he admitted, “Maybe town is the best option for us, then. Let Nathan stay in this cabin by himself. Cut the risk.” He shook his head. “I just don’t know.”

  Josh forced himself to stifle the thrill of rising hope. He maintained his silence, letting his father’s words sink back to their source. In his heart of hearts, Josh knew the only way his dream could come to pass would be if his father was sure it was best for his firstborn. The younger son would have to be patient and wait.

  He watched as his father wrapped himself in layers of jackets, coveralls, wool socks, boots, hats, scarves, mitten liners, and thick leather mittens. Frostbite could result from the slow quarter-mile walk to check on Nathan, but even if the machine would start, running it at these temperatures would be tough on the engine. His dad’s mouth was set with grim determination. He would walk. He placed Nathan’s well-being above his own comfort and safety.

  Frigid air blasted into the cabin when his dad opened the door to leave. Josh felt the cold settle around him as the door shut, his father stepping wordless into the woods. He went to the window and watched the figure, small against the towering spruce, disappear down the trail.

  The trees stood, stiff and motionless, in the dead calm of the arctic air. Days had passed since a squirrel last scurried from branch to branch or a chickadee last clung to a frosty twig. Each tree was a lonely sentinel against the cold, with sap thick and sluggish deep inside.

  Josh laid a hand over the frosted glass, feeling the cold spread across his palm. He felt like one of those spruce, shut down by the cold, just barely alive. Hope, he reminded himself. There is hope, if Dad could only be convinced that our leaving would be good for Nathan.

  But his hope faded like the fleeting winter daylight when his father returned.

  “I don’t know, Josh,” he said, shaking his head. “He doesn’t look good to me. Too thin.”

  “Nathan has always been thin.”

  “But now he has this gaunt, starved look about him. I asked him what he’d been eating lately. Said he couldn’t remember, that it didn’t matter.”

  Josh tried to think of how to turn this bit of information toward his purpose. “Maybe he’s running short on supplies. If we left him here, with all of our food, and brought him provisions from town every so often, he’d do better.” He drew in a deep breath and continued. “Did you suggest it to him—staying here, I mean, and us going to town?”

  His dad shook his head. “It didn’t seem right. Not with him like this.”

  Josh struggled for the logic of his reply. “But we’re here now, and you say he’s not doing well. So we’re not helping much, are we? A change couldn’t hurt.”

  “I just don’t think he should be left alone. Not in the dead of winter. Maybe come spring, or summer. But not now.”

  Josh felt the weight of the words settle in his chest. Spring or summer. Maybe. The dull routine, the emptiness, the loneliness of their existence, spread out before him like the endless wilderness. He had managed this long, resigned to the situation. But the faint light of hope had unsettled his darkness. He couldn’t let it go.

  He withdrew into silence, turning the matter over and over in his mind. He fell asleep considering the situation, examining the options, and awoke doing the same.

  Three days passed. The cold spell broke, the thermometer climbing to ten below. And Josh had come to a conclusion: He would have to speak to Nathan himself. He would reason with him and get him to insist that they leave. Their father would listen to Nathan.

  It was a simple plan, but it was made difficult by the fact that Josh had never cultivated any sort of relationship with Nathan. He had, in fact, avoided talking with Nathan any more than he had to. Nathan didn’t care. He needed no one, least of all a little brother. Josh could only hope he’d listen and be convinced.

  “OK if I take the machine and check my line?” Josh asked. He hoped his dad wouldn’t want to come along.

  His dad looked up from the dishes. “Go on ahead. I’ll finish these and straighten up a bit. Maybe walk over to Nathan’s.”

  Josh thought quickly. If his dad found him unexpectedly talking with Nathan, he might become suspicious. Better to avoid the surprise.

  “I thought I’d stop by and see Nathan myself.”

  “Really?” His dad looked up from the soapy water, raising an eyebrow.

  “See, I’ve got this report to do for my English class. On an American writer. I was thinking maybe I should do Thoreau. Nathan knows plenty about him.”

  A smile spread over his dad’s face. “He sure does. I’m glad you’re able to tap some of your brother’s expertise. He’ll be pleased.”

  Josh returned the smile. He was proud of himself for covering so well. He did have a report to do for English, but that was small compared to his real project, convincing Nathan.

  It took a few pulls, but the snow machine started without any tinkering. Another good sign, Josh thought with satisfaction.

  He wound his way through the trees under a crystal blue sky. The air, though brisk, felt invigorating after the long days inside. A faint breeze stirred the tops of the birches. Josh hoped it was a Chinook, the wind that brought warm air from the south once or twice each winter, a welcome reminder that the frigid cold wouldn’t last forever.

  He pulled the machine beside Harry’s cabin and knocked loudly. The curtains were pulled tight and there was no sign of movement within. He pounded again and waited.

  Finally, the door opened a crack. Josh could barely see Nathan’s face through the darkness of the cabin.

  “Josh?” Nathan’s voice wavered.

  “Could I come in?”

  Nathan swung open the door. He stood, his long hair matted about his face, with a blanket wrapped around his slender frame.

  Josh stepped inside and pulled off his boots. “Just woke up, did you?”

  Nathan lifted a hand to rub his eyes. “Been sleeping a lot lately.”

  Josh took off his coat without waiting to be asked. He shivered in the chilly room. “Did your fire go out?”

  Nathan yawned. “Guess so.”

  “Where’s your wood pile? I’ll help you stoke it.”

  Nathan pointed to two logs propped in a corner by the woodstove.

  “That’s it?” Josh asked. He reached for a log and opened the stove while Nathan looked on. Stirring the ashes, he set the log in the midst of a few glowing embers and watched until the fire took.

  “Cold spell broke,” he said, clamping the stove door shut. Nathan sat on the bed, barely visible in the darkened room, leaning against the wall, his knees tucked up to his chest. He looked like a child.

  “Mind if I open the curtains?” Josh asked. Without waiting for a reply, he pulled aside one set. Morning light streamed in.

  Nathan squinted. “Bright out there.”

  “Past time to rise and shine. You’d better get out there and cut some wood.”

  “Is that why you’re here—to tell me what to do?”

  This was the wrong way to start, with Nathan on the defensive. He’d have to change the subject, fast.

  “Actually, I was hoping you might be able to help me out with a report I’m doing for correspondence. It’s on Thoreau. I’ve got all the facts about his life, and I’ve read a chapter from Walden, but I’m stuck on his contributions to literature.”

  Nathan stroked his beard, the familiar gesture that showed he was thinking. The burning log in the stove crackled and popped. “His contributions. I’ve given that considerable thought. He made people stop and ponder nature and the wilderness.”

  Nathan paused. “But he sold them, and himself, short.” His words sounded angry. “After two years he gave in and went back to society. That’s where he went wrong.”

  Josh felt the heavy weight of Nathan’s stare, challenging him to respond. This wasn’t going as he’d hoped.

  “You won’t find me making the same mistake,” Nathan continued.
“I’ve been figuring out ways to do it better.”

  “Better?”

  “Living truly as part of nature. Without all of this.”

  Josh looked around to see what he could be referring to. “All of what?”

  “All things manmade. Canned food and dried beans. Furniture. This cabin.”

  “But Nathan,” Josh reasoned. “You have to eat.”

  Nathan shook his head. “Not out of cans. I’m eating as they do.” He gestured toward the wall at the foot of his bed.

  Josh saw that Nathan’s collection of bear pictures and drawings had grown. There were several more photos, cut from magazines, of black bears in particular, along with more crude sketches of the animals. One sketch featured the full face of a bear with eyes that, though roughly drawn, seemed to stare right through Josh.

  “They eat raw fish and berries,” Josh said. “You can’t get those in the winter.”

  “I’ve got some berries stored. That’s what I’m eating now,” Nathan said. The pride in his thin voice was unmistakable.

  “Nathan, you’re not an animal.” Josh felt foolish stating the obvious. “You’re not equipped like a bear for survival. You don’t have the fur, the claws, the instincts.”

  “Little brother,” Nathan said, a weak smile touching his lips. “Haven’t you ever heard of those cases of children raised among wild animals? They take on the characteristics of the animals and thrive without any of the trappings of civilization.”

  “But you can’t just go out and live with a bunch of bears.”

  Nathan’s smile spread. “Can’t is a word I’ve never had much use for.”

  Josh stifled the growing sense of alarm that rose inside him. He had to remember why he came. Through this tangle of crazy ideas, there had to be a way to convince Nathan to urge their father to leave. He took a deep breath.