Aspen in Moonlight

by Kelly Wacker

  “Stop overthinking it, Sula, or you might talk yourself out of something good.” Betty tossed a hand towel over her shoulder and walked over to Sula. She put her hand on Sula’s shoulder, squeezed it, and frowned. “Good grief. You’re bound up tighter than spool of baling wire. You ought to go out for a run, let your hair down for a while, balance your chi, or whatever it is that happens when you’re out there. You always say it makes you feel better.”

  Sula nodded. Envisioning a run through the forest suddenly reminded her of something she wanted to do before she left town. What Betty had just suggested would make it a lot more efficient, and she was right that it would also make her feel more in balance. Her anxiety about Melissa remained, but now she had something immediate to do to take her mind off it, even if momentarily.

  “That’s a good idea, Betty.” Sula stood and tried her best to put on a convincing smile. She reached out, wrapping her arms around Betty in a bear hug, and kissed the top of her head. “You’re the best, you know it?”

  Betty patted her on the back and pulled out of her embrace, popping her with the towel. “All right, all right. Now get out of my kitchen.”

  Sula went home, grabbed her backpack, and headed out the front door, walking briskly toward the trees across the meadow. As was her habit in moments like this, and especially when the sun was still up, she paid close attention to her environment, to the sounds and movements of birds and animals. Or the lack thereof, as silence could tell her as much or more about what was going on around her. Even though her land was private, finding a stray hiker, lost tourist, or worse, a poacher, was always a possibility.

  She unwrapped a honey candy, popped it in her mouth, and tucked the wrapper into her pocket. Everything seemed normal as she walked across the meadow. A gentle breeze cooled her skin from the warm summer sun. As she approached the pines, she heard a tremulous buzzing. Cicadas, newly emerged from the ground and singing in a chorus, were seeking their mates for the season. She wound her way through the trees and headed up the slope to a particularly old ponderosa pine.

  The muscular-looking tree was tall, nearly a hundred feet. It had a flat, rounded shape, and its bark, smooth and grayish, bore the scars of old fires, some probably from a hundred years ago or more. This tree would have been a seedling when Sula’s ancestors first stepped on to the docks of New Amsterdam in the seventeenth century. Putting her hand on the trunk, she touched it as if greeting an old friend. If trees could talk, this one would have some stories to tell.

  She took off her backpack, unzipped it, and placed it on the ground by the tree. Then she undressed, folding her clothes neatly and stowing them in the pack. She tucked her shoelaces into her boots and placed them underneath. She had learned to do this after once coming back to find that a mouse, or some other small rodent, had been chewing on the laces while she was away.

  Standing naked in the open air under the protection of the great tree invigorated her. She took a deep breath, stretched her arms out wide, and then rolled her head side to side, stretching the muscles in her neck and shoulders. Breathing slowly and deeply, she relaxed her arms, turning her palms forward and thumbs out. As her mother and grandmother had taught her so many years ago, she closed her eyes and found that indescribable place within, a spot that was a feeling, a sensation without form, yet somehow felt expansive, like a cavern deep in the earth, immense and vast yet undetectable from the outside. She folded herself into that place, and when the hamask came on, it took over—unfolding, bending, and stretching her.

  Slow and controlled was the least painful way to shift, but that was like saying that putting your hand in a flame was less agonizing than putting it in a pot of boiling water. It was excruciating. When approached mindfully, the pain was less shocking and more manageable. Sula focused on breathing…slowly in, slowly out…but it didn’t lessen the intense discomfort as much as prevent it from taking control of her thoughts. If she allowed herself to focus on the agony, it would scatter her mind.

  As the forest sounds fell away, her temperature rose, and she made sure her mouth was closed and her teeth aligned. The chattering that the hamask often caused could break a tooth or lacerate her tongue, if she wasn’t careful. The first spasm hit her, forcing her to the ground. On her hands and knees, she dropped her head as her shoulders bunched and heaved, her back arched and extended as her center of gravity shifted.

  She breathed deeply, pulling air in through her nostrils and holding it, until the second spasm released its grip. She blew air out slowly through her lengthening nose. The rocks biting into the palm of her hands and soles of her feet became less noticeable as the flesh thickened into the pads of large paws and her nails extended into thick, curved claws. Her muscles shuddered, thickening and elongating in smaller rippling spasms. With an irritating tickling sensation, dense dark-brown hair sprouted all over her, lengthening into a thick coat.

  The third and final spasm was the least intense; with it, her senses returned, and the pain lessened. Keeping her eyes closed, she focused on sound first—the breeze whispering through the pine needles above, a crow caw, caw, cawing in the distance, the nearby rustle of a ground squirrel seeking the safety of its burrow. Her sense of smell returned with acuity, her nose twitching as she inhaled the dry scent of the earth underneath her and the fragrant sweet grass in the meadow down below.

  She opened her eyes, the only part of her now that didn’t look much different from her human form, although her vision was now sharper and more attuned to movement. Surveying the area around the old ponderosa pine with her ursine perspective, she grunted with satisfaction. As she moved away from the old tree, the breeze shifted, bringing a subtle and unexpected scent to her nostrils.

  Sula swung her shaggy head sideways, scanning the rocky hillside. Contrary to the popular myth that bears had poor vision, her eyesight was as keen as her sense of smell. In a moment she found the source of the sweet scent—red dots against a green-and-gray background, a boulder raspberry bush growing from a cleft in the rock. Clusters of bright-red, thimble-shaped berries dangled enticingly from arcing canes. The sun was hitting them, the heat causing them to release the alluring fragrance that Sula’s now exceptionally sensitive nose picked up. She couldn’t resist.

  Sula scrambled up the rock, her strong legs propelling her with an ease that belied her massive bulk. Lowering her haunches to keep her weight centered to her rear to avoid slipping off the rock, Sula stretched forward, and extending her agile lips, she delicately grasped and plucked the dangling berries off the cane one by one. Bruins weren’t the only ones with prehensile lips—horses, camels, even primates had them—but a bear’s were the best. Their ability to loosen, twist, and stretch, to delicately grasp and hold tiny succulent fruits was a marvel to behold. And it was even better to be the one with the lips. Without so much as a scratch on the nose, hers could expertly navigate the thorniest of brambles to pluck a plump and ready berry.

  She chewed and swallowed the last of the sweet raspberries. With her wide, flat tongue she licked the berry juice that had dribbled down on to the fur of her chin. Would she find any more today while she explored, looking for those illegal traps Lee had described on the phone? He said they seemed to be set for mountain lion, so she wanted to check an area along the border of her land and the national forest before night fell. She skidded off the rock, landed on all four feet, and broke into a comfortable walking run.

  In a few hours she arrived at a low ridge, the dividing line between her land and the adjacent national forest, although no fences marked it. The herd of elk that used it as a shortcut between the two lush valleys on either side certainly didn’t care who owned the land. It was also a good place for a mountain lion to stalk its prey. Since the national forest was accessible to the public, it seemed logical it would also be a good place for a human to set a trap for a mountain lion. She stayed downwind, her nostrils quivering as she surveyed the air, trying to pick up any scrap of a human scent. She felt on edge and so remained vigil
ant. Finding a spot protected by trees and some large rocks, she sat, observed, and tried to think like a trapper.

  Where would she set a snare for a mountain lion? The trap, or traps, more likely, would be locking cable snares or steel leg-hold traps spiked into the ground and probably secured to a sturdy tree. They’d be placed along a trail frequented by the cat; otherwise it would be a lot of work to lug the traps and set them up for a shot in the dark.

  Sula scanned the area, looking for any trace of a path a mountain lion might use. They were elusive and shy, but they were also creatures of habit. While a lion might follow the route the elk were using, it was more likely to cross their path. Mountain lions liked to run along ridges and would be more successful ambushing dinner from the side.

  After a few minutes of concentrated searching she noticed a thin snaking line, a delicate path crossing the elk run. She scanned the area around it for any disturbance, a pile of leaves or sticks crossing the path. A silvery glint at the base of a tree caught her eye. Aha! There it was—around the base of sturdy pine lay a cable that seemed to disappear into the ground. The poacher must have covered it with soil.

  Sula tamped down her growing rage. She wanted to run right over and rip out the trap, tearing apart anything, anyone, who got in the way. But she needed to stay focused and remain extremely cautious. She had no fear of the trap itself, for she knew where it was and how it worked, but she was concerned about being so close to the edge of her land, her safe place. The poacher would be monitoring it and would also likely be armed. Her teeth, claws, and formidable strength couldn’t protect her from a well-aimed bullet.

  So, she sat and watched, and listened, and sniffed the air until she was certain no humans were nearby. She heard birds of different species chattering and singing in the distance. They extended the range of her senses and sounded as if nothing was bothering them, no strangers were tramping through their woods. She would have preferred to wait until nightfall to investigate the trap and remove it in the dark, but she surmised that the poacher would come back then to check the trap and, if successful, would shoot the mountain lion and drag it out without anyone seeing. She needed to do it now.

  Keeping her ears pricked and her nose on high alert, she moved cautiously toward the trap. As she suspected, two snares, loops of strong steel rope cables rested delicately on a layer of aluminum foil placed on top of coffee cans set into holes dug in the ground and covered with a thin layer of dirt. A few leaves were artfully scattered and branches placed between the snares to guide the cat’s feet. The mountain lion by avoiding stepping on them, an inborn habit that made it incredibly quiet as it traversed the forest, would put its paw right into the center of the cable loop. The aluminum foil would easily break under the weight of the cat, and before it could react, the snare would encircle and constrict its leg. Tethered to the tree it would panic and struggle, unable to do anything until the trapper came and shot it, if it was lucky. Some trappers would let dogs loose on live animals. The thought sickened and enraged her.

  Suppressing a growl, Sula put her nose close to the covered cable, sniffing it and the area around the tree. She caught a whiff of human, masked with an acrid pine scent that was out of place, likely from some product that hunters put on their clothing to disguise themselves from their prey. She pulled the scent deep into her nostrils, the characteristic blend now imprinted in her memory. She’d hunt for this poacher, and if he was lucky, she’d find him while in human form and hand his ass over to the authorities. If he crossed on to her land and she was in fur, well, she wasn’t sure what exactly she’d do, but it wouldn’t be pretty.

  The cables were secured with a large carabiner that was easy enough to unclip. While a bear’s claws were usually associated with big, aggressive actions, they were also capable of completing quite delicate tasks. Her cousins up in Alaska regularly enjoyed clams using their claws to dig them out from the sand and then to pop them open to retrieve the tender morsels inside. Sula had once fileted a trout with hers just to see if she could do it.

  After the cables were free from the tree, they were no longer a threat. She scraped them into a pile and with a single claw popped the foil-covered cans out of the holes. A couple of swats with her heavy front paws crushed the cans flat, and she folded and smashed them over the cables to make a package that she picked up with her teeth. The ground was dry, and she wasn’t leaving many prints. That was good, as it would make the job of covering her tracks easier. She shuffled around, back and forth over where she’d been walking, taking care to obscure anything that looked even remotely like a paw print. No doubt the trapper would be confused when he came back.

  The sun was dropping quickly and beginning to dip below the hillside in front of her. Much as she wanted to stay and wait for the poacher to return, she needed to take the evidence and report it to Lee properly. Clamping down on the remains of the trap between her teeth, she headed back home taking a different route, pausing regularly to confirm that she left no trace behind.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The recycling center is down the street, Smokey.” Lee Martinez took a sip of coffee from a blue mug with “Property of Buckhorn P.D.” printed in large white letters, scowling at the dusty pile of steel cables, aluminum foil, and crushed coffee cans Sula had just deposited on his desk. She had stopped at his office on her way to the conservancy.

  “It’s a mountain-lion trap I found on the edge of my land and Roosevelt.” Sula stood with her hands on her hips. Her anger hadn’t dissipated since finding them yesterday, and she wasn’t making any effort to mask her emotions.

  Lee stroked his mustache and frowned. “Yeah, about those traps—”

  “What? Do you know who’s setting them?”

  “Yeah. I think I do.” He glanced up at her, and the creases in his tanned forehead deepened. “And you’re not going to like it.”

  “I’m not sure I can dislike it any more than I hate this.” Sula pointed emphatically to the remains of the trap on the desk.

  “I got a message from the sheriff’s office that Wildlife Services is working in the area.”

  Sula felt her blood pressure rise. “What the fuck, Lee. They’ve never been around here before. Why are they here now?”

  “I don’t know, Sula. We’re just a small-town police department. The feds don’t tell us anything. Hell, Wildlife Services doesn’t hardly tell anybody anything. A deputy happened to see the very small warning sign they’re required to post for public safety and logged it. That’s all I know.”

  “And the next thing you’re going to tell me is that you can’t do anything about it.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Sula pitched forward across the desk, pointing her finger forcefully at Lee. “If they so much as put a toe on my land, I will—”

  “Careful, Sula.” Lee raised an eyebrow. “Remember, you’re still talking to a law-enforcement official.”

  Sula leaned back, putting her hand down. “I will call you to arrest them for trespassing.”

  “That’s better.”

  Sula huffed, blowing air out between her lips. “I’m not okay with this, Lee.”

  “I’m not either. You know my hands are tied.” Lee’s expression was sympathetic. She knew him well enough to see that it was genuine.

  “I know.” Sula didn’t like his response, but she understood it. “Well, thanks for telling me.” She turned to leave his office.

  “Hey,” Lee called out after her. “Take this stuff with you.”

  “That trash?” Sula paused to look at the heap of metal and then kept walking. “It doesn’t belong to me.”

  Melissa woke up with the sun, as was her habit, and decided to put her laptop in her backpack and walk to the lodge to get internet access instead of taking her usual morning hike up the hill. The air was crisp and cool, and when she arrived, the hummingbirds were already at work, dipping in and out of the flowers in the hanging baskets. She was the first person there, it seemed. The great room was emp
ty, and the coffeemaker was prepped but hadn’t been turned on. She flipped the switch and, while waiting for it to brew, sat down at one of the long tables and took out her laptop. She scrolled through several messages on her phone while it powered up. Beth had sent her pictures of her family at a lake, the kids looking tan and happy. Her mom wanted to know if she and her dad could visit for a day or two; her father wanted to try out some fly-fishing in the area. Melissa replied that she’d check, but she was pretty sure they could stay with her at the cabin.

  Melissa texted Sula to see what time they’d be leaving for Denver tomorrow. Sula had offered to drive, saying that since she’d extended the invitation, she ought to drive and let Melissa enjoy the view. Melissa explained in reply that she loved driving in the mountains, that it was a special treat. Sula acquiesced but said she’d be responsible for the hotel in exchange. That seemed fair enough.

  Melissa got up and poured herself a cup of coffee, and when she returned to the table, she brought up a map of Colorado on her laptop and started planning the route she wanted to take. She felt giddy anticipating spending a couple of days—and a night—with Sula, whose manner had changed so much from when they first met. After confessing that she found Melissa enchanting and then giving her that knee-buckling kiss before dinner, Sula had lost her reserved demeanor and seemed so much more relaxed. After their meal they had sat together on the porch, side by side in a swing, and talked. Sharing kisses in between words felt somehow old-fashioned and definitely romantic. Even so, it took Melissa by surprise when she mentioned to Sula that she was planning to go to Denver to see an exhibition of regional landscape paintings, and Sula had replied that she would have to be there on Tuesday for a meeting and would she like to go with her?