The Wolf Tree

by John Claude Bemis

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ve walked this earth for so many years as Peg Leg Nel … I’ve forgotten what it means to be a Rambler. I’ve forgotten who Joe Nelson was.” Nel touched a hand to the amulet beneath his shirt. “Since losing my powers, my only goal has been to keep you children safe. First Conker when he was little more than a baby, and then the children of my medicine show. And now, you dear ones of Shuckstack. There was much danger. Danger from the Gog. I was never … I’m not a warrior. I see myself as a caretaker. A protector. To be a Rambler again means to take up other responsibilities. Do you understand?”

  “I think so, Mister Nel,” Sally answered. “Someone has to watch over us children.”

  “I fear this Darkness,” Nel whispered. “I fear what it means for you children.”

  “But that’s no reason not to have your powers back, Mister Nel,” Sally said.

  Nel sat upright slowly. “Sally, I don’t know of another who could unravel the Incunabula as you have. Mother Salagi is gifted with the vision of sight, but she could never return my powers to me.”

  “The Elemental Rose can,” Sally said.

  Nel nodded.

  Sally suddenly understood what he was saying. “You’ll let me try?”

  Nel nodded once more.

  “Thank you, Mister Nel!” Sally jumped up to hug him.

  Dmitry came back with the canteens. “What are you all excited about?”

  “We’re going to save Mister Nel!” Sally cried.

  Dmitry looked at Nel. “Save you from what?”

  Nel frowned apprehensively. “Let Sally tell us what to do.”

  Sally was already removing supplies from her rucksack, placing the four objects beside her, opening the Incunabula to the drawing of the compass. She pointed to the ground. “Come over here. Do you have your fox paw?”

  Nel got up from the log and unbuttoned his shirt collar. He lifted the rawhide cord until the heavy silver paw lay across his chest.

  “Which way is south?” she asked.

  Dmitry pointed across the pool.

  “Lie down on your back with your feet toward the pool.” Nel took off his fez and set it aside to lie down. Sally knelt where Nel’s wooden leg and his tall leather boot rested side by side.

  She put the tin of brimstone below them. Then she squinted at the Incunabula lying open on the ground and looked at what was next. West was black, earth. Circling Nel in a clockwise fashion, she placed the Black Sampson root next to the old pitchman’s right hand.

  “You’re certain this is what these objects are for?” Nel asked, his lips tight as he spoke.

  Sally nodded. “I’m certain.” Shuffling around another quarter turn, she positioned the bundle of spiderweb a few inches above Nel’s wooly white head. She double-checked the Incunabula with a glance. Last was east. Red. Air. She set the cardinal feather by Nel’s left hand. Finally, she adjusted the silver paw, centering it on top of Nel’s chest, picked up the book, and stood.

  “Okay. That’s it, I think,” Sally said, backing away a step with Dmitry at her side.

  Dmitry’s eyes anxiously flickered from Sally to Nel.

  Nel’s fingers clenched. He closed his eyes. His nostrils billowed with each deep breath.

  “What’s going to happen?” Dmitry whispered.

  “Hush!” Sally hissed, pulling his arm to back away another step.

  What would happen? She wondered how she would know if it was working. She looked around but nothing seemed to be happening. Then she smelled it. Rotten eggs. She looked at the tin of brimstone. Smoke was rising from the corners of the lid. She pulled her sleeve over her fingers to protect her skin from the heat and popped off the lid. Yellow flames danced up from the powdered brimstone.

  “What’s happening?” Dmitry gasped as she came back.

  Sally squeezed his arm. Smoke began to form around Nel’s legs. Water ran down from the spiderweb onto his hair. The feather fluttered, and the root twisted and began boring into the dirt. The smoke grew thicker and thicker, dancing over Nel like a phantom, covering him and clouding him from Sally’s sight.

  “Sally?” Dmitry gasped.

  The smoke illuminated and within it she saw Nel’s body shadowed as if in silhouette. He cried out. There was a flash, and she was thrown backward.

  When she lifted her head, dancing lights lingered in her vision. She rubbed her eyes to clear them, and when she did she saw that Dmitry had also been thrown back. He was unhurt but looked around wildly. Nel lay still.

  The silver paw was no longer on his chest. Only the leather cord remained, snapped at the ends.

  Nel’s wooden leg was also gone.

  The boot covered his right leg, but at the left, with the pants rolled up to the knee as he had worn them to accommodate the mahogany peg, lay Nel’s other leg. His calf, ankle, and foot were bare and dark brown and whole. Two legs, side by side.

  Sally jumped to her feet, coming to Nel’s side. “Mister Nel! Mister Nel!”

  He opened his eyes. His gaze was peaceful, as if he were coming out of a gentle afternoon nap. He smiled softly and said, “Sally. What have you done?”

  He took her shoulder to sit up and looked down at his feet, both of them. He wiggled his toes. “Help me stand.”

  Dmitry ran to his side. Nel extended his hands to the children. They pulled him until he was upright. Nel put his weight on the boot, making little circles with his ankle before touching his bare foot to the earth. Gingerly he shifted his weight to it. He walked a few steps, limping at first, but then finding the strength. He kicked his foot to the ground, and then danced, shuffling his feet in a frantic rhythm.

  “Ha! Ha, ha!” he shouted over and over. Then lifting Sally in his arms, he spun her around. “Sally Cobb! You must be the greatest conjurer of our age!”

  Dmitry joined them, circling around and whooping. When the three finished their wild dance, Nel cocked a hand to his ear. “The birds! Their speech,” he said. “I hear them again! The jays and crows and sparrows. They’re calling to one another, building their nests for their younglings. I understand them again.”

  Sally and Dmitry laughed with Nel, until Nel stopped to wipe his hands across his eyes. “Let’s go, children. Let’s get on our way to Mother Salagi’s.”

  “What about your other boot?” Dmitry said, pointing to Nel’s bare foot.

  Nel broke again into a deep, roaring laughter until he held his side. “I’ll have to order new ones, I suppose. At last, I’ll get my money’s worth out of a pair of shoes.”

  8

  STONES IN THE PASSWAY

  AFTER RATTLING OVER THE HILLS AND PAST THE FARMS of Tennessee, Kentucky, and Illinois, the Ballyhoo finally reached the massive rail yard just across the Mississippi River from downtown St. Louis.

  Back in the caboose, Ray gathered his supplies: a blanket and a change of clothes in a haversack, waterskins, some needles and thread, a small cook set, a bowie knife sheathed at his belt, and his red flannel toby tied to a cord around his neck. The toby felt lighter without the rabbit’s foot, although it was a little fuller now with Nel’s charms.

  Before Ray left Shuckstack, Nel had given him a pouch filled with cinquefoil, wintergreen, crushed ash leaves, and other ground roots and herbs to protect them from the Darkness. He had instructed Ray to divide the charms into three once they reached Redfeather.

  Satisfied that he had everything he needed, Ray planted his brown felt hat on his head and headed down to the mess car.

  “Ma packed us some food,” Marisol said as he came in. She held up a gunnysack bulging with crackers and cheese wrapped in waxed paper, biscuits with thick slices of ham, a dozen apples, and sandwiches heavy with tomatoes and smoked meats.

  “That’ll last longer than the train ride to Vinita,” Ray said. “Mister Everett’s gone to the depot to book us passage. Should be back soon.”

  “How long do you think it will take us to reach the Indian Territory?” Marisol asked.

 
; “Should be there in a day or two,” Ray answered. “I suppose after we find Redfeather, it’ll take us longer to reach Omphalosa. I don’t think the trains run there.”

  Marisol put the gunnysack in the top of her leather valise and clasped the belts around the floral print of the suitcase. After neatly tying her hat beneath her chin, she held out her hand to Javidos and called him with a whisper. The fat copperhead slid up her arm, disappearing beneath her ruffled sleeve.

  “Is that what you’re wearing?” Ray asked.

  Marisol looked down at her long blue and green dress, kicking a button boot out from the ruffled hem. “This is a good carriage dress. My boots are sturdy. I’ve worn them all over Shuckstack Mountain.”

  “What about when we leave the Indian Territory?” Ray asked. “Could be travel in the open country up to Kansas.”

  She scowled. “I’ve got other travel clothes packed for that part. What do you want me to do? Dress like a boy?”

  Ray started to answer ‘maybe.’ But as Javidos hissed from around Marisol’s arm, and she tucked her long hair under a bonnet with a venomous scowl, Ray decided to trust her choice in travel attire. It was mostly train travel, after all. “Ready?” she asked.

  “Sure,” Ray said.

  They hopped down from the car and found Shacks and Eddie by the locomotive.

  “Your pa back yet?” Ray asked.

  Eddie shook his head. “Said he’d meet us up here to see you off.”

  The massive rail yard was a jungle of noise and activity. Train cars clattered in and out. Whistles shrieked. Workers in grimy clothes moved about busily, crossing the web of tracks and trains, emerging and disappearing in the fog of coal smoke.

  Ox Everett rounded the cowcatcher with Ma at his heels. “That’s fine for Ray, but what about Marisol?” Ma was saying.

  Ox reared as he nearly ran into the four. “Ah, here you are. Plans have changed and it can’t be helped. I’ve had a time, I’ll tell you. Tried to purchase you tickets, but all passenger trains westbound are halted. They’re rerouting trains north and south around Kansas, Nebraska, and the Indian Territory. They’re saying there’s dust storms out on the prairie.”

  “Dust storms?” Ray said.

  “We both know they ain’t,” Ox grumbled.

  Ma Everett took Marisol’s hands. “It was one thing when you were planning to ride the train, but this is an entirely different matter now.”

  “What do you mean?” Marisol asked.

  “Dear, how will you get to the Indian Territory?”

  “I suppose we’ll have to walk.”

  “Walk?” Ma shrilled. “Across the entire state? Dear, walking is fine for Ray. He’s a Rambler. He understands about travel in the open country. But you’re a girl.”

  “That means I can’t walk?” Marisol’s eyes flashed dangerously.

  “It’s different is all. A young boy traveling overland ain’t going to garner much attention. But the pair of you? And a pretty girl like you at that.”

  Ox waved his hands between Marisol and Ma Everett. “Now, don’t get all puckered, Marisol. Ma’s just worried about you is all. And she’s a right to it.”

  “Isn’t there another way we could get out to meet Redfeather?” Ray asked quickly before Marisol could respond.

  “Hire a stagecoach,” Shacks offered.

  “I asked,” Mister Everett said. “None going to the Indian Territory.”

  “How about buy a horse?” Eddie asked.

  Ray shook his head. “We can’t afford that.”

  “I suppose you could always sneak aboard a freight train,” Ox suggested. “Supply runs still going west. But you wouldn’t want to get caught by them railroad bulls. They watch the cars for tramps, and those they catch … well, let’s just say they’re given a rougher sort of treatment out here.”

  Ma winced at Marisol, but kept her mouth shut.

  “Well, we’ll find a way,” Ray said. “Thank you for the ride and all your help.”

  He and Marisol said their goodbyes to the Everetts and set off across the rail yard. Marisol turned the heads of many of the men hurrying about the tracks. Ray tried to ignore this, but couldn’t help thinking Marisol was anything but inconspicuous. As they reached the edge of the rail yard, where the bridge crossed the Mississippi, Ray stopped and faced Marisol.

  “I know Ma Everett pestered you back there, but you know, she might be right. Our plans have changed. You don’t have to go.”

  Marisol put down her valise, her eyes narrowed to dagger-like slits. “You’re as awful as she is! You don’t think I can handle this. You don’t think I can do it. Everyone thinks just because I’m pretty, all I’m good for is performing up on stage or taking care of the Shuckstack kids. I expect it from Ma Everett, but I never expected it from you, Ray!”

  She spun around, snatching up her valise and swinging it at her side. With a snarl, she marched onto the plank bridge crossing the Mississippi. An old man carrying a basket of vegetables leaped to the side as if she were a wild animal. Ray ran to catch up with her.

  “Marisol,” he called. “That’s not what I meant….”

  “I can handle myself, Ray,” she said over her shoulder.

  They wouldn’t be in the city long, he thought. After that, they’d stick to the forests and less populated routes to Vinita. Hopefully then Marisol would change into her other travel clothes. Nel had urged him not to underestimate Marisol, and Ray struggled to heed his advice.

  On the far side of the river, they found themselves in the bustle of downtown St. Louis. Ray followed Marisol as she pushed through the crowds of people past the storefronts and shops, dodging wagons and horse-drawn omnibuses clopping over the cobblestones.

  “Do you even know where you’re going?” Ray called up to her.

  She pointed over the buildings. “That’s the sun. It’s midafternoon. Then that’s west. We need to get to the southwest side of town. So we head that way. Doesn’t take a Rambler to figure it out.”

  Ray exhaled deeply. It was going to be a long journey.

  After several minutes, they left the shoppers and strolling families and found themselves in a grittier part of town. Groups of men stood around outside the mills and saloons. Pushing through one of these clusters, Marisol stepped off the curb and into a puddle, splashing her dress.

  As they crossed the street, a man wolf-whistled at Marisol from the doorway of a public house. She ignored it, but Ray looked back over his shoulder, cautiously watching the man.

  Ray walked in front of her as they passed into a crowd of dirty-faced men congregating on the next corner. He pushed his way politely through the group. As he looked back to make sure Marisol was behind him, he saw one of the men grab her wrist.

  “You lost, doll?” The man was unshaven and churlish, and reeked with the sour stench of gin, even from several steps away.

  “Get your hand off me!” Marisol snapped her arm from the man’s grip. But he caught her once more and jerked her back, causing her valise to tumble into the street.

  “This ain’t your kind of neighborhood,” the man chuckled. “You might need someone like me to escort you.”

  Ray knew a number of hoodoo spells that could overpower or at least persuade the man to leave them alone. But they all required Black Sampson root or coffin nails or any number of items he didn’t have on him. He’d have to trust in his ability to talk their way out of this.

  Ray reached Marisol’s side. “That’s not necessary. She’s with me.”

  “Not anymore!” The ruffian shoved Ray off his feet, throwing him against the brick wall.

  Marisol’s free hand flew up to grasp the man by his greasy shirt collar. He looked down at her fuming face and began to laugh. His laugh caught abruptly in his throat as his eyes fell on the snake writhing out from Marisol’s sleeve just inches from his neck. Javidos flicked his tongue from his thick triangular head, and then opened his fanged mouth to hiss.

  “Yes, that’s a copperhead,” Marisol whisp
ered, teeth bared. “If I want him to bite your throat, he’ll do it. Does it look like I need you to escort me?”

  “No,” the man gulped, his entire body gone rigid. He relaxed his grip on her wrist.

  Marisol retrieved her valise and helped Ray to his feet. As they hurried away, she said, “I told you I can take care of myself.”

  By late afternoon, they had passed the last neighborhoods and houses and were back into the countryside. Along the dirt road out of town, a farmer driving a wagon stopped to offer them a ride. His wife and two small children were lined up beside him on the bench. Marisol and Ray rode facing backward from the wagon’s tail for several miles in silence.

  “The look on his face …” Ray chuckled. “Quite a day.”

  “I might have been a little short-tempered,” Marisol said.

  “With that hooligan?”

  “No, with you.”

  “Might have been?” Ray smirked.

  “All right, I was. But you were being a … a gaboot.”

  “I didn’t mean to be.”

  “Well, you were.”

  “Sorry.”

  Marisol sighed. “I may not know how to hunt or build a fire, but I can learn. My parents were Ramblers, too, remember?”

  With the sun drifting below the tree line, Ray and Marisol hopped off the back of the wagon and thanked the farmer and his family. Soon they reached a copse of trees squeezed between the surrounding fields.

  “Well, if we’re to travel as Ramblers,” Ray said, “then I’ll need to show you how to set a Five Spot.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, dropping her valise to the ground and pulling her hat from her head.

  “Like the bottletrees. It’s a protective charm. It’ll keep anyone passing on the road from seeing us.”

  Ray handed Marisol two rocks and picked up two more. “We’re going to put these stones as the corners of a square. If anyone comes along, they won’t be able to get inside the square unless they know how to counter the charm. You put your two over there by the edge of the road. I’ll put mine in the woods a ways.”

  After doing so, they met back where Ray dropped a pile of kindling sticks.