Wolves, Boys and Other Things That Might Kill Me (24 page)

“So did you see anything your first night?” asks Sondra, scooting close to me.

I tie my licorice in a knot in my mouth. “Virgil.”

“Virgil came out here with you?” says Addie, shaking her licorice at me. “Oh, the Martins will be scandalized.”

“Whatever,” I say. “What about you? You’ve rolled in your share of Martin hay. You’re like the family heartbreaker.”

Addie says, “That’s not funny, KJ. And there wasn’t any hay involved. At least not with Will.”

“What was involved with Will?” says Sondra. “Because that was weird.”

Addie looks at us for few seconds like she’s deciding if she can trust us. Then she stares back into the fire. “I made a huge mess of things. As if they weren’t bad enough for Will already.”

I say, “What’s wrong with Will? His leg?”

“No. Yes. Well, you remember how he was before. That whole ‘Sure Shot’ thing. He was so dedicated. When he lost his scholarship it nearly killed him. One bad rip in his knee and everything he’d worked for was gone. I mean I don’t think he even really wants to take over the ranch, and college was his way out. Now the ranch is doing worse than ever and he’s like a cornered animal. Just mad at everybody. Having me stir the pot with his brother and then run for cover was a stupid selfish thing to do.”

Sondra says, “No offense, Addie. But it seems like William was part of this, too. Didn’t he ask you out?”

“Yes. But I’m pretty,” says Addie.

Somehow Sondra and I don’t laugh out loud.

“Now we all just have our feelings hurt. I guess the heart is a lonely hunter,” Addie says with a sigh.

Sondra chomps on her candy. “You know, Addie, that’s way too deep for me.”

“Me, too,” I say. I grab a piece of licorice from Sondra’s mitten and put it in my mouth.

Addie says, “Oh, both of you shut up. I’m serious, Will’s worse. A lot worse.”

“I’m serious, too,” says Sondra. “How about we go in the bunkhouse and prevent permanent keister damage?”

I say, “I’ll take the first shift. They had some tracks over at the Dennings’ place last night and I just want to make sure . . . you know.”

“Wake me up when it’s spring,” says Sondra.

Addie says, “I take back what I said about you, KJ. You’re not hostile. You’re passionate.”

“But not in the hay,” I say. “That would be scandalous.”

CAMP DAYS

ON THE SECOND week of being at the Martins’ I have a Friday night shift, so I don’t have to go to school the next morning. Kenner’s little sister, Heidi, gets me up for prayer and coffee at five anyway. I’m starting to like the Martins, but I could live without their schedule.

“William says I’m a baby,” says Heidi while I throw my clothes on. Heidi is only six, so she likes to follow me around and tell me things. Even at five in the morning I find her entertaining. “Why does he say that?”

We walk out of the bunkhouse, holding hands. Her hand is still soft like a baby’s. “He says all I do is play with the cats, and Kenner plays basketball, and Virgil plays with you.”

“So we’re all babies?”

“He says you’re the princess.”

“He called me a princess?” This hits a sore spot. I’ve been covering shifts for everyone since I got here.

“I wish he’d just go back to school like he was going to.”

“Why doesn’t he?”

She takes her hand away and wipes her nose with the back of her wrist. There’s a bruise on her arm the size of a cucumber.

“Where’d you get that, sweetie?”

She looks at it absently, like she’s never seen it before. Maybe she’s as accident prone as I am, poor thing. The light flickers in the kitchen window, “Oh, shoot, stop talking, KJ! We’re going to be late for breakfast.”

The Martins are religious about more things than religion. They have a schedule and everybody follows it, even the pagans living in the bunkhouse. That schedule includes sitting around the table, drinking black coffee, and planning the day.

This morning “the menfolk” are all red faced from the cold. They’ve been up working a while. We sit around the glossy table, and no one talks but Mrs. Martin.

“You see anything last night, Katherine Jean?” says Mrs. Martin.

“Nothing,” I say happily.

“Doesn’t mean they weren’t there,” she says. “William says they’re having all kinds of trouble over at the Dennings’. Tracks right up to the back of the house.” She hums around the table, pouring and putting things on everyone’s plate. I swear she never stops moving, even when she’s sitting down.

“Maybe it’s working.” Quickly I add, “I’d love to learn how you make these cinnamon rolls. My dad would flip if I made them for him.”

“Can’t think what father would let his pretty young daughter stay alone on a ranch with strange men, but I suppose we all have a different way.”

“My dad says your boys are hard workers, Mrs. Martin. He’s more worried I’ll fall in a hole and shoot myself than anything else.”

She lets a smile escape. The she turns back to the menfolk. “You boys fixin’ the south fence today?”

Mr. Martin and William nod. William’s hair is jumping off his head in eight directions. His eyes are dark on the lids. Kenner’s blond head is buried in his arms on the table. Butch and Sundance. I’ve always been partial to Butch.

“You get your letter for school off yesterday, Will?” says Mrs. Martin.

Will’s mild face tightens. “Not much point in that is there. . . .”

She says, “We’ll discuss this at dinner.”

“You will,” he says. His voice is sharp, like the day I heard him smack Kenner by the tree house. Will’s a mystery to me. One that keeps getting more interesting.

“Leave it be,” says Mr. Martin. He finishes his coffee and looks at me as if it’s just occurred to him I exist. “What does your father think about you walking around in the middle of the night freezing to death to save vermin?”

“He’s not wild about it.”

“Makes about as much sense as leaving grain out for mice.”

“I don’t like mice much,” I say.

“That’s a start,” says William. He face is mild again and he smiles politely.

I turn to Mrs. Martin and say, “Is there anything I could do to help around here for an hour or two before I go to work? I can do dishes or shovel stalls. I’m not great with mending fences.”

Virgil walks through the door without knocking. A gust of cold follows him into the tiny kitchen. He looks as happy as I’ve ever seen him. He plunks down on the chair next to Heidi and tears into a cinnamon roll.

“What’s on the list for today?”

Mrs. Martin smiles at Virgil and sits down to drink her coffee. “You could get Virgil to show you how to do the fences, Katherine Jean. He’s a whiz at mending fences.”

William bristles and gets up from the table. “Yeah, he’s a whiz. Maybe he should show Kenner how to mend them. I’ll go warm up the truck.”

“Sure,” says Mr. Martin. “Be right there.”

Virgil hits Kenner to rouse him.

Kenner lifts his head and smacks Virgil back. “Don’t they feed you at home anymore?”

“Mom’s been over on the other side of the park for three days.”

“Who’s feeding Jean?” says Mrs. Martin.

“She hasn’t finished the soup you sent Monday.”

“Three days? I swear,” says Mrs. Martin.

“How come you get to swear?” says Heidi.

“Because I’ve earned it, honey,” says Mrs. Martin.

 

That afternoon I see Will sweeping out his boat. It’s early April, not exactly boating weather in Montana. It’s a fourteen-foot aluminum clunker he’s amped up with a refurbished motor. My dad calls this kind of rig a muscle car on water. But I’ll say this for Will: he keeps his boat nicer than most people keep their living room.

“A little early for that, isn’t it?” I say. “Unless you’re going to park it on the ice.”

“You gonna teach me all those secret places your dad stows away his fish this summer?”

“You wish,” I say. “Maybe when you teach those calves to stop feeling up us girls with their noses. They’re worse than Kenner.”

For the first time since I’ve started working there I hear Will laugh.

By my feet is a bucket full of sponges and sprays. “Can I help you with this?” I say, handing them up.

“All right,” he says. He reaches down to get the bucket, but has to twist over the seat to reach it. Suddenly his knee seems to torque in the wrong direction and he pikes forward. He falls down right in front of me but he doesn’t make a sound. I jump into the boat.

“Will.”

He sits up and drags his legs under him. His face is white.

“Holy smack, Will. Can I help you get out? Or go get someone?”

He pushes himself to standing and puts his weight on his other leg. Then he glowers at me like I pushed him. “Does it make you feel good to feel sorry for me?”

“No,” I say.

“Well, that makes two of us. Now could you please get the hell off my boat.”

I’m climbing out of the boat as fast as my legs will carry me when Virgil walks into the yard. He says, “You two going fishing?”

“Going home is more like it,” I say, walking away. I’m working on four hours of sleep a night, trying to do my homework by lamplight, make my dad happy on top of that, and I’m not in the mood for this anymore.

Virgil walks me to my truck. “Don’t let Will get to you. He’s having a hard time.”

“I know he is,” I say. “But you and I haven’t slept in weeks. And it’s not like I’m sitting around when I’m here. He treats me like I’m a nuisance.”

“Would you like Will coming into your store, doing your work?” says Virgil.

I hear Will getting out of his boat. How is he getting out of that boat? He could barely stand up. He’ll probably work a full day on that worthless knee.

Virgil says, “Think about what we’re doing here. If we can make it through spring without calves getting killed and wolves getting shot, and if we make enough goodwill to keep a few names off that stupid petition, isn’t it worth it?”

I tap my foot in the mud. “I’m in for the long haul.” What else can I say?

 

By the third week the group thing starts to fall apart. Sondra gets an ear infection and her mother curtails her camping-out privileges. Addie and Will are not speaking, plus her family needs her at home, so she comes about half the time. Dennis makes three shifts, but the cold gives him nosebleeds. Kenner takes his turn, too, but William now refuses to be part of the whole thing because “it’s environmentalist crap.” So mostly it is me and Virgil, sometimes secretly together, mostly alone. We don’t have any more talks about ruins, and I never get the nerve to ask him about it. We get through a month. I keep up at the store. No one fails school. There are no more fires or broken store windows. There are no wolves in the Martins’ pastures.

And then something happens. The word gets around. Most of the ranchers in the Madison Valley are reporting sightings; two have lost stock. But the Martins are wolf free. The town paper writes a paragraph about us in the community news, right next to the paragraph about the Bushnells repairing dry rot at their Laundromat. Even Mrs. Baby asks me about our “project.” She says she was going to mention it to the principal “on my behalf.”

I check the grocery store. The List isn’t getting any longer. But the best part is that Mrs. Martin has put a big black line through her name.

HUMAN INTERESTS

MRS. BABY COMES in at half past. We all do a double take. She smiles at us nonchalantly. She’s wearing makeup, a suit coat, and double wide high heels. “Class, I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

In walks a guy I swear I’ve seen before. He grins at us all and I realize he has a smile just like Baby’s. “It’s a pleasure,” he says in a baritone voice.

“Class,” says Mrs. Baby. “This is my brother, David Sandcastle. Maybe you’ve seen him on the ten o’clock news.”

Stewie and Bret stop talking to each other.

“Wow,” says Clint. “It’s the Sandman.”

He says, “And which of you lucky kids are Virgil and KJ?”

Mrs. Baby says, “I know this is a big surprise, but I mentioned your wolf experiment to my brother, and he would like to interview you, you know about the success you’ve had out at the Martins’.”