Wolf! The Legend of Tom Sawyer's Island

by Nancy Temple Rodrigue

  Okay, now that Wolf had his destination, there was a more important aspect he needed to figure out: When in time would be best? When had Walt been there so Wolf could meet up with him? He knew Walt had been too sick to dedicate the Midget Autopia ride from Disneyland that he had donated to the children of Marceline in 1966. What about a little before that? He would have to do some research.

  A growl rumbled deep in Wolf’s chest. I don’t want to do any research. Impatient, he wanted to go now. He knew where the portal for that particular jump would be. Sometimes you just have to take a chance, he told himself as he strode purposefully toward Main Street.

  Once inside the deserted Main Street Cinema, Wolf paused. Because he hadn’t used this specific portal before, he wasn’t sure what form he would take on the other side. Going backward in time, he always seemed to emerge as a wolf. When he returned to his proper time, which, in this case, was the year 2007, he would revert to being a man. There had never been any jumps into the future…. Wolf’s head started to hurt as he once again tried to figure out the logic of what happened to him when he used a portal. He was a man now simply because he had lived through all the preceding decades since he had first starting traveling, not aging. Relocation had been necessary when it became obvious by his unchanging outer appearance that “something” was different about him—even quitting Security at Disneyland for a number of years until he could hire on again with a new group of guards. He only became a wolf when he would portal into the past, such as when he visited his family on The Island.

  He smiled ruefully. His father has not seen his face—his real face—since his teenage years and had left the encampment to “figure things out.” When much time had passed and he found the way to go back and visit, he always arrived as a wolf. Well, he was happy that at least he had the ability to talk even though he was a wolf. That had come in handy that first time he arrived and his father and the braves had come at him with clubs and arrows.

  Shaking off his futile musing, Wolf figured he had to assume he would come through as a wolf. At least Walt knew that’s what happened to him. His boss had never seen it, but…depending on when in time he arrived, Walt might not know him yet…. Wolf’s head started to pound again. With another growl in his chest, he knew he would just have to play it by ear when he got there.

  Realizing that his clothes wouldn’t make the change, he would rather they be put in a safe place than just abandoned on the floor. Going behind the red velvet draperies next to the largest screen, Wolf found a small unused cabinet where he neatly stacked his uniform. If all went well, he would be back approximately at the same time of night—give or take a few hours. Any later and the vortex might open with guests viewing the Mickey Mouse cartoons playing in the Cinema. It wouldn’t do to have a disoriented, unclothed security guard suddenly fall into their laps.…

  Smiling as he let that mental picture slide by, Wolf tilted his head back and let out a soft, lingering howl. The Cinema might be empty, but there could be any number of maintenance people working right outside the door on Main Street who might become curious at the strange noise coming from the supposedly closed building. He didn’t worry about the brightness that accompanied the vortex spilling out onto Main Street. The Cinema’s double-curtained entry system allowed the interior to be in constant darkness as was necessary for the six movie screens that circled the room.

  Standing calmly near the back of the room, he didn’t have long to wait in the darkness. A swirling mass of pink glitter formed on the middle of the polished wooden viewing platform, growing in height and then falling in on itself as lightning flashed from the ceiling. When the sparkling mass formed a tornado-like funnel and moved across the floor toward him, Wolf jumped into the center of the eye as one last bolt of lightning lit the small room. The pink funnel collapsed over him and all faded from sight.

  Marceline

  A sudden gust of wind blew paper flyers all over the ornate lobby of the Cater Opera House. Overhead, the small chandelier rocked back and forth as the wind circled the room and blew out of the entry door and into the dark street outside. Lightning cracked as a wolf struggled into a sitting position just outside the Men’s Room door, next to the metal radiator used for heating the lobby.

  Groaning, Wolf sat there for a minute, mentally gathering himself. When he realized he was no longer in the Main Street Cinema at Disneyland, his head jerked around to make sure he was alone. He heard no screams, so, so far, so good. Getting his hind legs under him, he forced himself up, shaking his black fur into place. At least I know where I am, was his first thought. Now I just have to figure out the when part.

  Eyes adjusting to the darkness, he immediately discovered an important fact: He was not in the Uptown Theatre as he had expected. Shaking off the effects of the vortex, he tried to determine where exactly he had landed. Having been to the Uptown Theatre in more recent times, there should have been a candy counter and popcorn machine in the narrow lobby. His stomach growled—a little popcorn would be nice right about now. But, there was no popcorn machine waiting for the next group of movie-goers. There was a glass display case and a wooden countertop, but both were empty. Thick gold ropes hung in front of the two doorways that led to the main part of the Opera House. Curving stairs led to the theater upstairs. In a golden frame was a smallish sign announcing that the traveling company would perform “Peter Pan” starring Maude Adams one last time on Saturday night. Wolf used a claw to pull over one of the papers that littered the cement floor. “Cater’s Opera House, W. A. Cater, Prop. And Manager, Marceline, MO.” the flourished title read across the top of the pale yellow leaflet. On the left, next to the title, was a purple oval cameo of a woman named Ruth. Below her likeness were advertisements for the visitor proclaiming lucrative features of the town—such as “Four First-Class Hotels” and “Four Great Coal Mines that offer Eight Pay-Days a Month.” The center of the leaflet announced the coming speech entitled “The Sin of Sloth” by a local minister. Giving a short, “Hmmph,” Wolf couldn’t find any reference to the current year.

  Still wondering, Wolf padded to the entry door and peered through the glass. There were no lights that he could see in any direction. Since it was still night, he knew he had a little time before he would have to make a run for cover. Finding the doors unlocked, he used his shoulder to push through. He didn’t want to leave any tell-tale nose prints on the glass. Walking past the rectangular ticket booth jutting out from the building, he paused to look at the building. It was an impressively large, square brick building on one of the corners of Kansas Avenue. Just past the box office was a flight of stairs. There was another entry door between two tall, narrow plate-glass windows, one of which read Drug Store. Leaving the sidewalk, Wolf stepped onto the dirt road of Kansas Avenue, the main thoroughfare of Marceline. The road is still dirt?How far back did I come?

  If Kansas Avenue was still a dirt road and not paved, he knew he had to have come back pretty far in time, probably quite a bit farther than he had planned. Thinking about the possible time period, the thought came that there would mostly likely be plenty of early rising farmers and shopkeepers. Farmers and shopkeepers always had rifles handy—and, all of them usually did not like wolves.

  Loping at a swift pace, glancing over at the newly planted Ripley Park, Wolf ducked behind the stores lining the main street and took to the alleyways, heading north for the almost-two mile trek out to the Disney farm, and hoping all the time that he had not made a jump too far back in time for it to not even be there. A few dogs rashly challenged him as he ran, but, once they got a smell of the wolf, they wisely sank into silence and slunk off back into the darkness of their yards.

  The eastern horizon was just starting to pink, heralding the start of a new day. Walt’s father, Elias, was a hard worker and would be starting his day early. Wolf melted into the tall weeds and grasses a ways off from the large cottonwood tree Walt would later refer to as his Dreaming Tree. The barn was further back from the road, out of sight from
where he waited as the noises of a farm awakening drifted over his secluded hiding spot. If he got too hungry, there was always the apple orchard nearby. And there were pigs and chickens…. Wolf opened his mouth for a silent laugh. That wouldn’t go over very well with Walt’s mother, Flora.

  He must have nodded off in the warm sunshine that slanted over his thick black coat. Wolf awakened to the sound of a harness jingling as Elias and Flora rode off in their wagon, apparently heading for town. He heard Elias call back some instructions for the “youngsters to keep out of trouble this time” and that they would “be back presently.” Careful not to move too much or make any sudden movements, Wolf slowly lifted his head as the wagon rumbled down the dusty road. The horse must have been aware of the strange animal lurking in the weeds as he shied to the left, his head tossing nervously. Elias had to use a strong hand to bring the horse’s head around. Once there was more distance away from the disturbing smell, the horse settled down and the wagon disappeared from sight.

  Alert now and interested to see what would happen next, Wolf turned his head toward the direction of the small farmhouse. His ears picked up an animated conversation long before the speakers came skipping into view. Dressed in blue overalls, there was young Walt. He looked like he must be around eight years old. Holding a long stick like a sword, he jumped over an imaginary foe and proclaimed that it was safe for Ruth to come into the meadow. In a tidy pink and white gingham dress, Ruth, who would be around six, gave a curtsey to her noble brother as she skipped over to the cottonwood tree.

  “You have the best imagination, Walt! How do you come up with all these things?” she wanted to know, gazing in wonder at her brother.

  Walt took a few practice jabs with his sword and then flung it off to the side, barely missing Wolf’s ears as it flew past him. “Gosh, I don’t know, Ruthie. It’s all just there in my head!”

  “How long do you think mother and father will be gone? I hope they bring us a sugar stick!”

  Walt, still smarting from the lecture he had been given last time, mumbled, “I doubt it. They were pretty mad, still.”

  Ruth pouted at the thought of not getting the desired treat. “Well, it was your fault. I knew we shouldn’t paint a picture on the side of the house with tar. It still hasn’t come off.”

  “It was a good picture, though! They won’t stay mad forever,” he said, silently adding, I hope.

  A soft breeze drifted over the fields, stirring the diamond shaped leaves overhead in the cottonwood tree. Cocooned in their cottony protection, seeds started falling from the branches. Walt watched as they floated across the shafts of sunlight streaming through the limbs and leaves. “Oh, look at that, Ruth!” he exclaimed, pointing upwards.

  Used to the common sight of leaves and seeds falling, Ruth wasn’t sure what her big brother was talking about. She sat down next to him on the grass and looked around. “Look at what, Walt?”

  “Remember that play we saw? Peter Pan? These are the fairies! See how the sun lights up their wings as they fall to the ground, twirling around like that? Fairy dust!”

  “You mean like pixies in the story books?”

  Walt was entranced. “Yes, that’s it! Pixie dust!”

  Lost in watching the two children, Wolf gave a snort that would have been a laugh if he had been a human. Two young heads spun around at the noise. Knowing he had been seen, Wolf’s mouth snapped shut. “Oops,” he muttered. Dropping his head, he flattened his ears, trying to look contrite.

  Ruth let out a piercing scream and scrambled to get behind the protection of her brother. “It’s a wolf! Oh, Walt, I’m afraid of the big, bad wolf!”

  Walt quickly looked around and scooped up some rocks that he started throwing at the huge animal. He was surprised when the wolf easily dodged his stones and just sat there, staring at them. “It’s okay, Ruthie, I’m not afraid of your big, bad wolf,” he gulped, grabbing more rocks.

  This could go on all day, Wolf sighed as he avoided the next missiles. Walt had a pretty good arm on him. Deciding to try another tact, Wolf let the next rock hit him. Unfortunately, it was aimed straight at his head. “Ouch!” came out unchecked. When he saw Walt’s eyes get big, he changed it to a whine and limped forward two steps and fell heavily at the side of the clearing.

  Walt’s eyes narrowed. “Why was he limping if I hit him in the head?”

  Ruth was still standing behind him, too afraid to move. “Is…is it dead?” she asked hopefully as she peered around.

  They could hear the animal whining pitifully. “I think I really hurt him.”

  Wolf slowly crawled forward, ears down and tail limp. Two steps and then he stopped. The two children just stood there, staring at him, so he let out another pitiful whine. Gosh, what does it take?

  He rolled to his side and let his tongue roll out. He gave one last loud whine for good measure. Looking up at young Walt, he nodded his head and held up a paw.

  “I don’t think he means to eat us, Ruth. It looks like his paw is hurt. I’ll bet he’s a nice wolf. I also thought I heard him say ouch.”

  The concern on Ruth’s face gave way to smiles. “Oh, Walt. There you go again! You know animals can’t talk.”

  “I’m going to try and pet him.”

  “You were told to keep out of trouble, Walt! Let’s go back to the house,” Ruth tried to reason.

  “You go ahead. I want to see if he’s okay. I’ll be fine,” he insisted as Ruth hesitated.

  Her caution overcame her concern for her brother, and Ruth ran all the way back to the farmhouse. When Walt heard the back door slam, he licked his dry lips and took another couple of steps toward the motionless animal.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, fellow,” he said softly, still slowly advancing, his hand out in front of him.

  Wolf made a decision. “I know, Walt,” he replied as quietly as his deep voice allowed.

  Eyes as big as saucers, Walt stopped in his tracks. “I knew it! You did speak!”

  “Can I come and sit in the shade? It’s getting awfully warm out here.”

  Walt, still surprised, dropped into a sitting position himself. Taking that as a yes, Wolf crawled slowly forward until he was within touching distance.

  “You knew my name,” Walt muttered. Shaking his head as if in disbelief, he thought to ask, “What’s your name?”

  “Wolf.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  The tooth-filled mouth opened in a silent laugh. “Not very original, but it is true.”

  “Do you live around here?” Walt was hopeful. A talking wolf would make a great pet. That is, if his father allowed him to keep it.…

  Wolf shook his head. “No, I live far away. In California. You should go there some day,” he added. You never know.

  Disappointed, Walt just said, “Aw, shucks. Can I pet you? I don’t have a dog.”

  Wolf chuckled to himself. “Sure, go ahead.” A boy is a boy is a boy.

  He let Walt explore the gray-tipped fur on his ears and run his hands over the coarse hair on his back. “Wow,” Walt whispered, “I’m touching a wolf! Wait until I tell Roy!”

  “No, no, you shouldn’t do that, Walt,” Wolf admonished.

  The hand rubbing his back stilled. “Why not?”

  The big head swung around to look at him. “Do you really think he’ll believe you?”

  Walt’s mouth opened to answer, and then he suddenly shut it and shook his head.

  “Let’s just keep this between you and me, okay? Just don’t forget your talking wolf. You might need me someday.” More than even you can imagine right now, too.

  “I won’t forget! I promise! Hey, where are you going?” cried Walt, as Wolf stood up and looked toward the seclusion of the orchard.

  “I need to go. Your parents are coming back. Be sure to tell Ruth I was a big doggie. It’ll make her feel better.”

  Walt was looking down the lane. “I don’t see them. Are you sure?”

  Wolf nodded. “I can hear them talking and
can smell the horse. Be good, Walt. But, not too good.” He turned away to go to the orchard to wait it out for the day, and head back with the covering protection of darkness.

  “Bye, Wolf! I won’t forget! Thank you,” he waved as the wolf bounded away.

  “No, thank you, Walt.”

  That night, long after the farmhouse had gone dark and all the Disneys had fallen asleep, Wolf still crouched in the orchard, waiting. It had been a good visit, an interesting one. Silently padding out into the meadow, he looked over at the barn that would have a home in California when he went back to his own time. “I’m glad I came,” he said contentedly. “Now I can get back to work.”

  Not wanting to run the distance back into town and take his chances with the Cater Opera House, he decided to try something different. Going under the Dreaming Tree, he sat and quietly called the vortex. A nervous neighing and stamping could be heard coming from the barn. The horse, which had been skittish when hitched to the wagon earlier, heard his quiescent howl and knew “something” was still around—“something” that was different and deadly. Hoping the noise of the horse didn’t awaken the household, Wolf watched as the fog drifted out of the nearby pond and covered the meadow, the sparkling lights dancing in front of his eyes. Wondering why is it always pink? he waited until the right moment and quickly made his escape into the void.

  Just he emerged in the back room of the Main Street Cinema and his year again became 2007, one last bolt of lightning illuminated the Cinema. In Marceline, at that the same moment in 2007, a phantom swirl appeared over the exact spot where he had just been sitting—and, unknown to Wolf—a lone blaze of lightning blasted through the branches of the Dreaming Tree, practically splitting it in two.