The gray wolf looked back at her again and beckoned her onward once more before turning and beginning to lope away through the trees. Jenni took a deep breath (even that felt so strange!) and took another step, and then another . . .
And then she began to run.
Her body flowed like water. Jennilee could feel the power in her muscles as they contracted and lengthened with every stride. The wind of her passage ruffled over her fur, making her skin tingle with awareness. The scents of the night wrapped around her, drew her forward in the sheer joy of motion. Snow flew upward from her prints, dusting around her in a cloud that seemed to slow time itself as she ran.
Or was it flying? She never could decide, not even years later, when she looked back on that first glorious time.
Together, the pack streamed through the trees. The moon peeked through the thinning clouds and turned the air silver around them. Jenni felt that she could have run forever, drunk on the joy of it all. This was what it meant to be alive! This she could do forever . . .
Would do. Forever.
Jennilee came to a sudden stop, her joy draining away as she realized what she’d done. She could never go home, never go back to her family, and at the end of it all, she would never be reunited with them in eternity.
Between one thought and the next, she was human again. Whole and naked, she crouched in the snow, shivering in the night.
“Now you see,” the gray woman said, her voice coming through the darkness before Jenni could see her. She’d known she was there, though. Her scent had given her away.
“Ye-yes,” Jenni whispered, her words puffing into a cloud in the crystalline night.
“Do you regret it?”
Did she? The thought of her family was a piercing ache that closed her throat and left her heart feeling shattered. But then, the thought of her brother . . . and the joy of it all . . .
“‘Adam fell that men might be,’” Jenni whispered, half to herself, half to the gray woman, “‘and men are, that they might have joy.’ No,” she said, lifting her eyes to the woman’s. “I do not regret this. Say what you will, I feel . . .” She took a deep breath. “I believe that my Heavenly Father still loves me. And I believe that He wants me to see my brother safe.”
The gray woman smiled, sadness in her eyes. “Well. I envy you. Come. Let us return to the den. There is much to be done to prepare for your journey.”
* * *
—
In the next few days, Jennilee learned to hunt, both alone and with the pack. She continued to feel a fierce joy in running with the other wolves. Without realizing it, her canine heart fell into the relationship of being one of the pack. It was a bond even stronger than the love she felt for her human brothers and sisters. Without the pack, one was wretched and vulnerable. With the pack, one was invincible.
Jenni’s human mind rebelled against this closeness, and she tried in vain to pull away, but the pack would not have it. Whether she walked on two legs or four, they crowded around her, swarming her resistance with the totality of their love.
“We could be your family now, you know,” the gray woman said softly one night. She had been teaching Jennilee to change forms at will. Human to wolf and back again, again and again until Jenni lay exhausted by the woman’s small fire. She made one of these most nights when they would be spending any time in skin rather than fur. Firelight was easier on human eyes, and the warmth was a comfort.
Jenni curled tighter into herself, drawing her shoulders up near her head. “I know,” she said, misery shading her tone. “I am so grateful . . . but I miss my papa and mama . . . and all the little ones.” She didn’t say it out loud, but the deep joy that she felt in the pack felt like a betrayal of her blood family.
The gray woman nodded, her eyes sympathetic. “I understand. I missed my human family for a very long time. But you must prepare yourself. They will not know you, not as you truly are now. They will think you a monster.”
Jenni shook her head. “My family loves me.”
The gray woman smiled sadly. “They love who you were, child. Who you are now is a mystery and a threat. I do not say this to pain you,” she added gently, reaching out to brush Jenni’s hair back from her eyes. Before she could hold herself from doing so, Jenni flinched backward, and for just a moment, pain flared in the woman’s dark eyes.
“I . . . thank you,” Jenni said, haltingly. “You have been most kind. I just . . . I find it hard.”
“So do I, dear child,” the woman whispered as she turned away. “So do I.” She shivered, and gray fur flowed like water over her as she took her canine form.
Tears gathered in Jenni’s eyes, but she didn’t know what to say. So she just laid her head down and let exhausted sleep claim her.
* * *
—
They started out the next night. Jenni went in human form, that she might carry the baby under her coat as before. The pack swirled around her feet as she stepped out of the den. The night was crystal sharp and cold, but stars studded the night sky without a wisp of cloud to cover them. Jenni staggered slightly as she began to walk. Her senses, though stronger than before, were pale and paltry compared to her wolf form’s, and she felt a sudden ache to transform.
But then the baby squirmed against her chest, cuddling his sleepy self closer to her warmth and sighing in his slumber. Despite everything, Jenni smiled. The days in the wolf den had been good for him, she reflected. He’d nursed nearly constantly, thanks to the patience of his lupine nursemaid. His cheeks and body had begun to take on the soft roundness that Jenni associated with healthy infants . . . and which roundness had been all too scarce for the little ones along the trail.
The dark mother wolf bumped against Jenni’s hip and looked at her with an expression that clearly said, Is he all right? Jenni smiled and nodded, patting the warm bundle softly. The dark mother wolf’s posture changed—Jenni couldn’t have said how—but the message was unmistakable. The dark mother wolf cared for her tiny, two-legged pup just as much as she did for his four-legged siblings tussling about them in the snow.
Up ahead, the gray wolf gave a short bark, and the pack started moving. Jenni followed, unable to keep up on her two legs. The dark mother wolf and her pups stayed back as well, and in this manner, they covered a fair amount of ground before the sun began to rise at their backs.
Jenni was tired but not exhausted when they finally stopped. The gray wolf had found a temporary den site, and the pack waited there with small game. As Jenni approached, the gray wolf flowed into her human form and began to gather materials to build another small fire.
Jennilee looked at her for a long moment, her heart aching in her chest. The gray woman’s sadness seemed to radiate outward from where she crouched over the fire. Jenni wanted to say something, but words felt inadequate. Instead, she pulled her own cloak off and went to wrap it around the gray woman’s shoulders. She didn’t seem to mind being naked, not the way Jenni did, but it was cold, and she would feel the chill on her human skin.
The gray woman looked up in surprise. “Thank you, child,” she said softly. “But do you not need it?”
“Not right now,” Jenni said, feeling suddenly shy. She gave the woman a smile and went back to sit beside the dark mother wolf, busy nursing a greedy baby boy.
Jenni spent the rest of the day warmed by the bodies of the pack, holding her brother against her chest, sleeping deeply in the knowledge that they were, for the moment, safe.
* * *
—
It took them three days to find the company. When they did, the gray wolf led the pack around and uphill of the group of humans. Jenni noticed that the gray one was careful to keep the humans upwind. She didn’t know if this was paranoia or hunting instinct at work, but it made sense to the wolf part of her brain, and so she did not protest. That dawn, when they stopped, the gray woman drew Jenni aside.
/> “When you go to them, you must be prepared,” she said softly, her eyes haunted and solemn. “They will think you dead, and there will be much rejoicing that you have returned to them. You will be tempted to stay, but I warn you, you must not give in to that temptation. You are different now. Their eyes will not recognize it, but their instincts will tell them that you are to be feared. The longer you stay with them, the more painful it will be, in the end.” She blinked suddenly and shook her head, as if shaking away an old memory.
“We will return to our original den place. You may find us there, if you wish. You have a place with us, now and always. In time, you may find a mate that suits you, and you may establish a pack of your own.” Her lips curved in a smile, and she reached out to touch her fingertips to Jennilee’s cheek. “You have lost your human family, but you can still have a family of your own.”
Jenni blinked. “I can?” she asked. All of a sudden it was incredibly hard for her to focus. Part of her yearned to run down the hill to find her parents, but the gray woman’s words rang true with a horrible finality.
Her smile grew. “You can, my dear. You can mate, have pups, have a life as a wolf. The wolves will never reject you. Remember that, child.”
Jenni swallowed hard, and stroked the warm bundle that was her sleeping brother. “I will,” she promised.
The woman nodded, touched her cheek one more time, and then the gray fur flowed over her as she resumed her lupine form. Her eyes met Jennilee’s, and then she turned and disappeared into the trees.
One by one, the other wolves followed her, until only the dark mother wolf remained. She walked up to Jennilee and touched her nose to the blanket-wrapped bundle on Jenni’s chest. Then she, too, faded into the forest.
But for her brother, Jenni was alone. She licked her lips and shrugged her pack more securely onto her shoulders, and started down the hill toward her family.
* * *
—
Her mother saw her first. Ina had been melting snow for wash water when Jennilee emerged from the tree line. Jenni’s mother straightened up, shooed her children back into a nearby lean-to, and walked unhurriedly toward the cloak-swathed figure that stumbled toward her fire.
“Mama,” Jenni called out, her voice hoarse with emotion.
Ina’s eyes widened. “Jennilee?” she whispered, breath puffing into a cloud as she spoke.
Jennilee couldn’t help it. She collapsed to her knees in the muddy snow and began to cry deep, racking sobs. Her mother’s arms came about her, hard, as she knelt in the snow to embrace her daughter. The baby squirmed in protest.
“Jenni! The child?” The stunned hope in Ina’s voice was heartbreaking. It told Jenni more clearly than anything else how much her stoic mother had mourned them.
“H-Here, Mama,” Jenni said, forcing the words out as she fumbled at the lacings to her cloak and coat. She opened the heavy outer garment and exposed the tiny baby in his sling. He let out a healthy-sounding squawk of protest at the cold air and wriggled. Ina’s hands flew to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. She laughed, the sound filled with joy, and wiped her eyes. Then Ina Abrams stood and reached to help Jenni stand as well.
“Well,” Jenni’s mother said briskly. “We’d better get the two of you inside, out of the cold. Hyrum, go find your father,” she called to her son, Jenni’s middle brother. Jenni smiled at him and got his shy smile in return before he took off at a run to tell Dalton Abrams of his children’s miraculous return.
* * *
—
Naturally, everyone in the company wanted to hear the story. It was only by pleading exhaustion that Jennilee was able to keep from telling her tale to the entire group. The thought of doing so shot a bolt of fear clean through her heart, and she had the unmistakable feeling that to do so would be a very bad idea. With the gray woman’s warnings ringing in her ears, she begged her papa and mama to let her tell them alone, first.
She told them all of it. Anna’s labor, the blood, the milk, the snow. She told them about falling down the cliff, amazed at the dispassionate sound of her own words. She told them about her prayers, the gray woman, and about the wolves.
She told them of her choice. She showed them the scar from the bite.
Papa reached out and took her hand and began running his thumb over the distinctively shaped scar. It looked as if it had been there for a very long time, but she hadn’t had it before the storm, and he knew it. Jennilee looked at her mother, who sat across from her in the lean-to, cuddling the baby and watching her with a grave expression.
“Do you believe me?” Jenni asked softly in the silence that followed her story. Papa’s fingers squeezed her hand briefly.
“My girl,” he replied. “We believe that something happened. Clearly, the Lord saw fit to bring you back to us, and we can only be thankful to Him for such a blessing.”
Jenni swallowed hard, looked over at her baby brother, then back at her father. “But . . . Papa. I can’t stay.”
“Of course you can.”
Jenni shook her head. “No, Papa. The others . . . they’ll see me. They’ll know that something is wrong. They’ll sense it.”
Papa’s brows came together like thunderclouds. “Jennilee, no one will . . .”
Jenni pulled her hand free of his grasp. “Papa, please . . .”
Papa surged to his feet. “Jennilee . . .” he said at the same time.
“Dalton.”
Ina’s voice, quiet and firm, cut through the rising tension between father and daughter. Both heads turned to look at her. “Jenni is right,” she said softly.
“Ina?” Papa asked, sounding less like the assured patriarch that Jenni knew him to be.
“She’s right,” Jenni’s mother said. “She is different. Did you notice how the little ones hung back? Even after we knew it was her. They couldn’t say why, but they were all shy around her. It’s only a matter of time before something happens. If she is . . . what she says she is . . . she will be safer away from the group.” Ina’s voice grew rougher as she spoke, but her face retained its usual calm. Only her hands betrayed her distress at the idea. A fine tremor shook her fingers as she adjusted the baby’s blanket.
Dalton sniffled mightily and blinked twice rapidly. He swallowed hard and then nodded. “All right,” he said. “But know that if you’re ever in need, Jennilee, you can come to us. We love you. Families are forever.”
Emotion closed Jenni’s throat, preventing her from speaking. She nodded, feeling the first tear break free from her eye and run down her cheek. Suddenly, her father’s arms enveloped her in a near-crushing embrace. His once-powerful frame, now thinned and stretched by hunger and privation, trembled with emotion.
“I’m so proud of you, my girl,” Dalton whispered into his daughter’s hair.
After a long moment like that, Jenni’s papa backed up and wiped his eyes. “Sit, daughter,” he said. “Before you go, I would give you a father’s blessing.”
Jennilee wiped her eyes and did as she was told. She reached one hand out to her mother, who took it in a fierce, hard grip.
As he had done since he was first ordained, Dalton placed his hands on his daughter’s head and invoked the power of his priesthood to pronounce a blessing. He blessed her with courage, and with strength. He blessed her with the cunning that she would need to survive. He blessed her that her life as a wolf would be long and happy, and he blessed her that at the end of it, whenever it should come, she would return to be with her family in eternity. He exhorted her to be faithful to the teachings of the Gospel, that all of these blessings might be hers. He promised her that she had a Heavenly Father who loved her, and a Savior who would never leave her forgotten. As he sealed the blessing with the name of the Lord, Jenni felt a warmth come over her, and a peace deep within. From out of nowhere, the lyrics to a new, very popular hymn came into her mind:
Gird up your loins
Fresh courage take
Our God will never us forsake
And soon we’ll have this tale to tell
All is well! All is well!
Late that night, after everyone but the men on watch had gone to sleep, Jenni slipped into her wolf form and melted away into the night.
* * *
—
She didn’t go far. In fact, she went back to the place where the gray wolf and her pack had left her, and she denned there until the company decided to move onward again. The journey had been a hard one, and they were low on food and supplies. Jenni hadn’t realized just how low until she’d changed into wolf form. The whole company stank of starvation, of bodies slowly consuming themselves. She watched as the men set out every morning to try to bring back game, and watched as they came back disappointed. These weren’t mountain men, these were farmers and shopkeepers who were following their faith to a promised land.
If they made it there.
On the second night after her departure, Jenni decided to do something about it. She’d watched the men go out and come back again, and she’d observed as they made preparations to pack up and move on, empty-handed, in the morning.
While her human mind anguished to see her family and the others suffering, her wolf instincts knew exactly what to do. As soon as the hunters returned to the camp, Jenni breathed in the wind, pulling the taste of the falling night over her tongue. She caught the scent of animal life waking up all around her, though nothing large enough to suit her purposes. The presence of men had scared all of the large game away. But there was a trace there . . . a whisper . . .
Jenni lifted her face to the rising moon and sang out. She called to the gray wolf’s pack, and to any others who would help her. She sang of need and love, and of a desire to help.
Fantastic Hope Page 11
