She saw Randall turn and lower his pole.
“Forget it,” she said quietly. “I’m going to bed.”
Behind her she heard Ian say, “Nika . . .” but then he was silent again.
She unzipped the door so fast, it got stuck, and a squad of mosquitoes streamed in before she could get the zipper moving again. She smashed as many as she could against the walls of the tent, hoping to thin out the ranks waiting for their nightly blood donations.
As she curled into her sleeping bag, she listened to the papery sound of the nylon rain fly flapping in the breeze. She was glad she’d made a run for the tent before Ian actually said the words never ever do that again. Was it possible that no one had told him about the skunk? No doubt, if he knew about her trips with Thomas to see Luna, he would be even less happy with her. To say nothing of Bristo’s animals.
By the time Ian and Randall came to bed later, she was asleep. In the middle of the night it rained, and a small river flowed beneath the floor of their tent, seeping into their bags. As she awoke and tried to get used to the damp sleeping bag, she couldn’t help thinking that Ian had said it wouldn’t rain.
For several days the young human with the silver box came alone and sat quietly while the sun moved the shadows of trees. The wolf stretched out on a large flat rock and watched, smelling food. She paced back into the forest in her loose-limbed way, returning later to a new position on the ledge. There she stayed until a cloud at the horizon sliced across the sun. As usual, after the human was gone, the wolf sniffed the area where he’d been. On these days, across the hill beyond the eagle’s nest, on a tapered wedge of rock, she found food.
Chapter Fifteen
Nika thought if she stayed in the warm soggy bag much longer, her skin would wrinkle up like her fingers did when she stayed in the bath too long. Randall and Ian had already gotten up. She finally crawled out and searched the tent for something to wear that wasn’t wet. After shimmying into clammy jeans that stuck to her skin and an almost-dry T-shirt, she headed back to the wonderful wooden box with a hole in it that took the place of an outhouse.
When she came back, she announced, “I have a new name for the biffy. Not the outhouse, but the outbox.” Randall laughed.
Ian said, with mock seriousness, “From now on, the outbox it is.”
She plunked oatmeal into her plastic bowl, adorned it with dried cranberries and brown sugar, and sat on a log beside Randall. When she looked sideways at her brother, he was smiling at her, with that irresistible grin he had. She punched him in the arm and smiled back.
Ian seemed upbeat this morning, too. Nika hoped that meant talk about Khan was history.
“After we get the dishes done and put the wet bags and clothes out to dry in the sun, I want to show you guys something.” He scraped the last bite of oatmeal from his bowl and licked the spoon. Then he pulled the hot water pot from the fire and gave it a squirt of dish soap. It took just a few minutes for the three of them to get the dishes washed and upside down on rocks to dry.
Their campsite was on a sheet of granite as big as two backyards, extending from the fire grate down to the lake. Soon socks were lined up, jeans draped over bushes, and the sleeping bags laid open on rocks in the sun.
“Better than a clothesline.” Ian glanced at the neat rows of wet things.
Next he pulled several aluminum pots and cups from the food pack and started up a path toward a hill flanked by a wall of trees. Over his shoulder he asked, “Ready?” Randall scampered after him. Ian didn’t even wait to see if Nika would come but crashed back through the trees out of sight. When Zeus circled back to jump on her and whine, Nika decided to follow.
The path became steep past the first trees. They climbed higher and higher until they were on a ridge where they could see down the blue distance to faraway shores of the lake. She smelled that sweet herbal smell again, the one she’d smelled on the Big Island. Ian bent down, grinned, and pointed. He picked a handful for both of them to see. Blueberries. Small ones. These were like the green berries she had seen on the Big Island, except they were blue. A whole hillside of blue. Nika put one in her mouth. The taste was sharp and sweet, better than the fat puffy blueberries from the store. Ian laughed as he watched her face. The three of them went to work. For a long time there was no sound except the drumming of blueberries onto the bottoms of aluminum pots.
“Wow,” said Randall, looking at an inch of blueberries at the bottom of his pot.
“Look over here, Randall! These are big ones!” Ian exclaimed.
Nika moved to a new patch of little bushes heavy with berries, eating most of what she picked. Ian looked her way as she stuffed another handful in her mouth, as though she were unwrapping a gift he’d given her. He smiled, then returned to picking. She was blown away that the blueberries just grew here. Nobody planted them. Maybe they had been growing here for a thousand years. Or more. Eagerly she began filling her own pot.
For the next two days they stuffed themselves with blueberries, putting them in pancakes and oatmeal or just eating them by the handful. Randall’s favorite was blueberries in hot pudding after dinner. Ian had brought a special hard plastic box to protect the berries in the pack, so they could bring some back to Pearl.
Even though the wolves and Thomas were never far from Nika’s mind, she began to enjoy the adventure. Ian took them to explore Serpent Lake by canoe, poking into sand beaches for a swim, looking for the deepest spots off rock ledges to fish. She’d toughened up, not much minding that she had swellings and welts from various insects, or that her skin was peeling and tanned from hours in the sun. Except for the flood that first night, the weather stayed clear the whole time. They swam off the rocks at their campsite whenever they felt like it. She even caught two fish. Ian sang silly songs around the campfire and taught them the words. He showed them how to cook pancakes and noodle-mix dinners over the fire. Randall caught a northern pike almost as long as Ian’s leg. Ian took at least sixty pictures before they let it go.
The last night on Serpent Lake, they built up the campfire and sat together watching the setting sun flare through folds of clouds, changing layers to peach and pink and purple. Close to them on the lake they heard the familiar haunting two-tone call hang above the surface of the darkening water. Then came the two-tone answer. It didn’t matter how many times Nika heard loons—the mysterious music always thrilled her. They sounded like Native American flutes she’d heard at the farmer’s market, or oboes in school orchestra. Another call came from a different direction. Soon eight or ten loons flew down one by one to land on the water. The night was so quiet, they could hear each splash as birds joined the group. The loons drifted together as the plate-size moon rose up behind the black outline of trees on the other side of the lake.
“It’s almost like one of the loons called a meeting,” Randall said.
“It’s pretty cool to camp like this for a week or longer, to really get into the rhythm,” Ian said, making two trips to bring cups, packets of cocoa, and a pot of hot water over to where they sat. “Next time we’ll go for longer.”
Next time? Nika thought. What did he mean? But he didn’t say anything more.
Nika decided the main questions she wanted to ask couldn’t wait any longer. “Well, I know we’ll be going home soon. So I’ll just ask. I mean, why didn’t we ever know you before?” She looked at Randall. He sat up straighter and glanced at her with a worried expression.
Ian paused and then spoke. “I know I mentioned in my letter that your dad and I weren’t very close. I went off to college when he was still a little boy and then to jobs overseas.”
Both Randall and Nika sat very still.
“Also, I guess I was the kind of guy who loved his work so much, I let other stuff go. I saw you, Nika, as a baby, and then after getting my degree in wildlife biology I took off, going from job to job, and school to school. You probably can’t understand this, but years can go by like that. It was Kate and Sean’s fault, too. We all just gav
e up trying to communicate. I heard through friends that Randall was born and then that Sean lost his job and joined the military. Then we lost him in that munitions accident overseas.”
Randall scooted closer to Nika on the rock.
“After his funeral I left calls for your mom. She never called back. Then she moved your family to California. I figured she would remarry. I ended up studying wolves in the remote forests of Finland and Russia and was completely out of touch for a few years.
“When I finally came back, I wondered about you kids. So I sent a Christmas card, and it came back. I imagined Kate had moved on and that that was what she wanted.” Several moments passed. “And then that letter came from Ms. Nordstrom.”
If he ran off to Russia once, what would stop him from disappearing again? Nika wondered. Maybe there were wolves in Ethiopia or Tibet that needed studying . . .
Then Ian cleared his throat and looked at her. “I’ve told Randall about the job in Red Pine.”
Hearing a single splash, Nika looked out at the dark water. A fish perhaps, or a frog.
“And Ian says I can help out at the Center,” said Randall, tapping her arm. “We can stay all summer, Neeks. Awesome, huh?”
Two loons now started up a back-and-forth conversation farther down the lake. They sounded lonely, as if they were calling at the beginning of the world. A third loon made its wild hysterical laugh.
Ian rose to his feet and began putting food and gear away for the night. “Hey, Randall, would you—”
But before Ian got the words out, Randall grinned, grabbed a bucket, and hopped down to the lake in the thin light, as agile as a mountain goat. He spilled half the water coming back, but still had plenty to put out the fire.
It must have been three in the morning when Nika got up to go to the outbox. Zeus dutifully shook himself and joined her. In the pressing dark, the tangy damp air, and the tiptoe stillness, she was grateful for his company. Following the path back from the outbox, the narrow cone of light from her flashlight darted through the trees. Reaching the tent, she stopped to listen to the rat-a-tat-tat of loon wings hitting the water at takeoff. Ian had told her about how they have a hard time getting airborne because they’re heavy in the front, for diving, and their bones aren’t hollow like other birds’. Over by the fireplace rocks, she was surprised to see the black outline of Ian, the sky behind him impossibly bright.
“Why don’t you get Randall and come out here?” he asked quietly.
She stood by the tent for a minute, wanting to crawl back into her bag. Then curiosity pulled at her, and she wiggled through the tent door to shake Randall’s foot. “Ian says come,” she said, shaking him again. Like a sleepwalker, Randall rose, staggered outside, and fell into line behind the weaving beam of her flashlight.
When they found Ian by the fire grate, he put his hands on their shoulders and slowly guided them forward over the smooth rock toward the lake. It was funny, but she felt different now that she knew why he’d been gone from their lives. It hadn’t been all his fault.
“Now look up,” he said.
Nika couldn’t understand what she was seeing. Randall rubbed his eyes. The sky was flowing with shivering scarves of pastel-colored light. Greens, pinks, pale yellow—there were ribbons unfolding, a swelling glimmer as the horizon pulsed and faded. There were skittering falls of light. They sat down on the still-warm rock.
“Northern lights,” Ian said. “The aurora borealis.”
The light oozed and shuddered, a show just for the three of them. Each time one section of the northern sky faded, another tumbled with new light shapes.
“Wow,” Randall whispered.
It was like being in church, Nika thought, or an art museum. You whispered because voices would disturb the beauty.
Always the science guy, Ian explained, “It’s caused by energy that streams with charged particles coming from the sun. They flow through twisted bundles of magnetic fields connecting with the upper atmosphere. Like sun storms, kind of,” he said.
“Wow,” Randall said again.
Nika thought Ian sounded like her science teacher last year. Silently, she watched for each new blossoming wave of light.
“But it doesn’t much matter what causes them, does it? They’re incredible,” Ian concluded in the pin-drop quiet.
Nika hadn’t wanted to come on this camping trip, but now, after the northern lights, the blueberries, the paddling on the clean water, the wing beats at sunset, her heart felt new and fresh. The sky was singing, and she loved the song. And she didn’t pull away when Ian looped arms around them both and hugged them closer. She huddled into his warmth, shivering. Finally, he helped them to their feet and guided them back to the tent.
In the morning, after packing her personal things, Nika slipped away to be by herself for a few minutes. Randall was squeezing in a last bout of fishing, and Ian was beating up the pancake batter. She picked her way down the rock to a perfect flat spot and noticed again the smooth grooves carved in the rock face, like giant claw marks. She touched the grooves, then rolled back until she was flat against the cool embrace of the rock.
Yesterday, Ian had told them that the grooves in this rock had been made by glaciers ten thousand years ago. Almost eight hundred times her lifetime so far. As she lay back with her eyes closed, she wondered if there had been wolves here back then. Ian really dazzled them when he said the rock itself was 2.7 billion years old. Billion with a B. She felt like a moth or an otter on this ancient rock and wondered how humans had got to thinking they were so important, with their bad TV and endless malls, when this rock had been here almost since the beginning of time. Ian had been saying that wild places are important because there’s no other way to know completely about how deep nature is except to lie on a rock like this, listen to water slapping the shore, watch dragonflies patrolling, and to smell deep down what the earth has always been. Now she understood.
Just then Ian called, “Breakfast! Come and get it!”
She didn’t know what it was, but something felt different this morning. She climbed back up the rock and joined Ian and Randall in front of the snapping fire. Ian held out a plate of pancakes covered with maple syrup and blueberries.
She took the steaming plate, looked at Ian, and smiled. “Thanks, Uncle Ian.”
For a minute he looked surprised, then he answered, “You’re very welcome, Niece Nika,” and handed her a camping fork.
One morning the silvery-tan wolf heard a boat pass slowly by. There was no metal sound. When the two humans came that afternoon, the light-colored wolf stayed deep in the trees. After they left, there was meat unlike anything the wolf had eaten since being with the woman. There were large slabs of the best meat, ripe wild meat with the taste of the forest. First chasing the eagles away, she ate until her belly bulged. When she couldn’t eat anymore, she took scraps off to the center of the island, where she cached them for another day, using her nose to cover them with dirt and moss.
Chapter Sixteen
After making one last sweep of the campsite for forgotten items, they shoved off into a stiff wind, paddling extra hard to make progress through choppy water.
The canoe bounced on the waves, and the crosswinds made it hard to keep going straight. Randall was the duffer and sat holding tight to his tackle box. Ian was a machine as he dipped his paddle and pulled them forward. Nika hunched over as she stroked, not sure she was helping very much. But she kept paddling and soon saw their progress measured by the shore, a new point, new trees, and a small bay that suddenly came into view. Maybe she had become stronger than she thought. She dug in even harder and began to enjoy the feeling of conquering the rough water.
When they pulled into the inlet between Big Berry and Little Berry, Nika was exhausted. The hardest part in the journey home hadn’t been the portages. It had been crossing the wide-open expanse of Anchor Lake against the wind and waves. In the protection of the inlet at last, they all waded while unloading, then flipped the canoe over on th
e sand. Fine droplets of rain and spray from the waves had soaked their things. Their clammy packs were heavier as they carried them up the hill and deposited them in the pup porch, where they could spread things out to dry. Ian shoved what remained of Khan’s feeding bottles and semidestroyed blankets into a corner to make room, and started sorting through gear and leftover food.
Randall looked smaller and sad, his confidence melted for some unknown reason. He hunkered down on the old smelly sleeping bag and tucked his arms around his knees. He didn’t offer to help, and they left him alone.
Nika was helping Ian string clotheslines and accidentally dropped the rope, getting it tangled. She heard Thomas’s voice as he entered the porch from the kitchen, “Have you seen the shed yet?” He came over to give her a hand. Together the three of them strung line and hung soggy tents and sleeping bags. Nika felt Thomas’s eyes on her the whole time.
When everything was hung, she gathered up the rest of her things to take them up to her room. Just as she took a step to leave, Thomas came up close to her and whispered, “Bonanza.” She looked at him like he was out of his mind.
But Thomas kept looking at her with a funny half-smile.
Finally, her hands on her hips, she asked sharply, “What?”
“Want to go see the shed?” he said, overly cheerful and loud.
Nika wrinkled her forehead. What was going on with Thomas?
Randall left his personal things in a damp, smelly heap, went into the house, and called for Pearl. In seconds, he was back, his mood completely changed. “A bear got into the freezer, and he ate a bunch of berries and stuff and he tore the wires, so everything’s wrecked! Especially the venison. He ripped a screen, and Pearl wants help with the mess when you’re done. He ate a pie!” He seemed proud that he had this wonderful disaster to report.
Summer of the Wolves Page 13
