By Leland Hames
Leonard sat around the fire in a semi-circle with the others, each sipping cups of hot coffee to fight off the chill, their cups leaving wispy trails of steam in their journeys from laps to lips. The group sat on lawn chairs, stools, and crates. A few were on short pieces of sawn logs, whatever was present for sitting upon. They sat close to the flames to fend off the cool night air at their backs and to see each other more clearly. There was no other light except a full moon directly overhead, floating like a bright, lonely ship adrift in a black sea teeming with stars that stretched from horizon to horizon in the northern Idaho night sky. As it traveled overhead, the face within the moon appeared to be howling down at them.
The varied conversations among those gathered became hushed as Mike stood and walked to the far side of the fire, standing directly across from the group as he carefully added wood to the flames, sending glittering sparks dancing up to wink out of existence as they cleared the flames. The firelight danced in patterns across his face, causing his eyes to reflect a bright, luminous white from within. Leonard smiled and nodded solemnly across the fire to Mike, the man he called “Isa” and the man who had become as close to a father to him as any man had ever been.
The initial meeting of the pair had been unremarkable. They were both inside the filling station in town paying for gas when Leonard had struck up a conversation, asking Mike about the silver wolf’s-head pendant Mike wore hanging from a leather cord around his neck.
“A gift from my son, Greg,” Mike had answered him.
This exchange led to a conversation about wolves and Mike’s profession as an ecologist and wolf specialist for the US Forest Service, where he tracked wolf populations, their migrations, and their effects on the local ecology. Mike said that he had come into town from his homestead out on the edge of national forest lands to buy supplies at Murdoch’s Ranch and Home Supply for rebuilding their aging chicken coop, and he was in no hurry to get back to battling with the angry hens for working space, and would Leonard like to join him for a cup of coffee and some pie over at Wally’s diner?
Leonard had cheerfully accepted, being new to town, not knowing a soul there, and both coffee and pie sounded particularly good. The two sat in a booth enjoying apple pie and cup after cup of Butter-Nut coffee (the house’s specialty).
Mike was a good listener. He was a quiet, thoughtful man who made Leonard feel important by the way he gave him his attention and by the questions he asked. The man was mid-fifties with a weathered face like a farmer, blue eyes that were edged with smile creases, short, salt and pepper hair, and a close-trimmed beard. He wasn’t a big man, shorter than Leonard, but something about him made him seem larger than he was. He had a peaceful grace like he could take on anything or anyone and walk away unscathed. He made Leonard feel calm and safe. Leonard was immediately drawn to him. The two chatted for over an hour about everything from the weather, to women, to what was the biggest fish they had ever caught and all of the ones that got away. Talking to Mike was effortless and comfortable.
“What brings a strapping young man like you here to Salmon, Idaho, of all places? Did you grow up nearby?” Mike had asked. “From your build, your features, and that impressive braid you’re sporting, I’d guess you were Native American. Nez Pierce or Shoshone, maybe?”
Yes, Sir. Lemhi Shoshone,” Leonard had replied. He relayed how his great-grandparents were originally from the Lemhi Reservation, which had once been in the area but was relocated south to the Fort Hall reservation at the turn of the nineteen hundreds. His mother was born at Fort Hall, but she left her unhappy family on the Rez as a teenager when she found herself unmarried and pregnant, so instead, he grew up among the Whites in Helena, Montana where his mother had gone to find work and make a new life. She never remarried, and he remained an only child.
When his mother had passed away from cancer a year ago, he had found himself with no anchor to Helena, and so, he had returned to the Fort Hall reservation looking for his roots. Leonard never truly felt like he belonged to the culture of the Rez. Disillusioned, he had traveled up to Salmon looking for a place to call home.
“Did you know that Sacagawea was from Salmon?” Leonard asked.
“I did. She was also a Lemhi Shoshone. That’s why we have the Sacagawea Cultural Center here,” Mike replied. “So, you’re telling me you came up here just because of Sacagawea, Leonard?”
No, I came here because I don’t know what I’m doing, and I figured this land was where I actually belonged. I hoped that I could find some work up here. I’m still looking,” Leonard admitted.
“I came here for work too. My wife and I are from the Midwest, Illinois. Our son is adopted from Lithuania—any ties to this land we’ve made ourselves. We belong here now. We’ve claimed it as our territory. Your ancestors have been tied to this place for generations, going back forever. This is a wolf guy saying this, but I think you’re just looking for your pack and your territory.” Mike raised a hand to get the waitress’s attention for a last coffee to go.
“What are you looking to do?” Mike asked, searching Leonard’s face for the answer.
“Anything really. I don’t have any real direction that I’m looking. I’ve no trade training. I’m a hard worker, though. Good with my hands. And a quick learner.”
I believe you, Leonard. You just need the opportunity, and I think I might be able to help. Let me make a call. Would you care to take a drive?”
“Sure. Where are we going? I only put in a quarter tank or so in my truck,” Leonard said, struggling to pull on his jean jacket, hoping to distract Mike long enough so that he could slyly grab the check that the waitress had slid onto the table along with two coffees in styrofoam to-go cups. She gave him a small smile and a wink.
“Not far. Ten or fifteen miles or so as the crow flies, You’ll see when we get there. It’ll be worth the drive. I promise,” Mike said, his hand quickly flashing out to whisk the check away before Leonard’s fingers could even touch it. Mike slapped down two twenties just as quickly, standing up and saying, “Right this way, son. Try to keep up,” before heading for the door. “Thanks, Ella. Say hi to Wally,” he said to the waitress over his shoulder as he held the door open for Leonard.
“You betcha, Hon,” she called out as she retrieved plates of food from the kitchen window.
Leonard followed Mike’s International Scout truck out of town along a twisting, turning two-lane blacktop that cut through heavy woods to each side, over streams and hills, until they arrived at a steep, gravel road that appeared suddenly between the trees. After emerging from a long, green tunnel of overhanging trees, they arrived at a two-story white farmhouse with a big front porch set in a massive green field bordered by forest on all sides and a large red barn standing far beyond the house. It looked like a postcard.
After parking in a gravel lane beside the house, Mike hopped out of his truck, walked over to Leonard’s battered old Ford pickup, and opened his driver’s door, saying, “Welcome to our homestead. Let’s head over to the house and meet the family.”
Standing on the front porch was an attractive woman in her late forties in a flannel shirt and jeans, dark hair flecked with gray, pulled back in a ponytail, and a tall, lean boy in his late teens, both their eyes focused on the newcomer. They smiled and waved at Mike as three dogs came barging from the house behind them, racing towards Mike and Leonard. They surrounded Leonard, sniffing him all over and jostling for position to do so.
Mike said, “Down,” and all the dogs immediately sat in a circle, each facing Leonard. “I hope you like dogs,” he added with a big smile across his face
“I love them,” Leonard said, reaching down to pat the nearest one, a blue heeler, on top of its gray, speckled head.
“Good. We got ’em. Word of warning. Don’t reach for the black one unless you’re looking to lose a hand. She’s sweet, but she’ll have to get to know you. Give her some time. Let’s introduce you to the rest of the family,” Mike said, starting towards the porch with the black dog following directly on his heel as he moved. Mike’s wife and son stood on the porch smiling and talking to each other, but Leonard noticed that they still had their gazes fixed on him.
He didn’t know why, but he felt a subtle urge to flee. He dismissed it as mere nervousness in meeting new people. He wanted the family to like him because so far, he liked Mike, and Mike must like him in return to invite him along.
“Sandra, this is the young man that I called you about. Leonard, this is my wife, Sandra, and this is our son, Gregor.” The boy shot Mike a look. “But he likes to be called Greg.”
Leonard reached out and shook Greg’s hand, noting the boy’s strong grip and striking hazel-gold eyes.
“Leonard’s in Salmon looking for work and a place to belong,” Mike said to Sandra as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in for a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek.
“I’m thinking that he can help us with projects around here, cutting firewood or fixing that damn chicken coop. He says he’s a good worker. We’ll figure out his pay as we go,” he continued, smiling at her.
“The dogs like him, and that’s always a good sign,” Sandra said.
Leonard turned to see the heeler and the big hound sitting left and right, directly behind him on the porch.
“The big dumb one is named Nicky, and the heeler is Rascal,” Mike said. “This one here is Maisy.” He gestured to the large black dog posted beside him. “She leads the boys and rules with an iron paw. I hope that you’ll be friends. I forgot to ask Leonard, do you have any aversion to trailers?”
“Not that I know of,” Leonard said. “I lived in one once.”
“Perfect,” Mike said. “Then you get our Airstream trailer parked over beside the barn. We haven’t used it in ages, unless of course, you want to continue paying for that weekly-rates motel that you’ve been staying at.”
“No, Sir. Trailer will be just fine. Thank you very much.”
“He’s polite, too,” Sandra said, shooing Greg into the house. “We’ll see you in the house for dinner at six o’clock, Leonard. Mike will get you settled.”
As they walked through the freshly mown field on their way to the barn, Mike pointed out the tool shed. “I’ve got a big selection of tools stored in there. Anything that you might need. The only rule is that you put things back where you find them. I’m happy to teach you about anything you don’t know how to use. I grew up building houses with my dad. I know my way around tools, and I don’t want you getting hurt, either.”
The trailer is on the north side of the barn. It has electricity water, and propane and is tied into the septic system. I once used it as a traveling office but got tired of dragging it around. Nowadays, I tend to rough it when I’m working out in the field. It’s yours for as long as you like. Might be dusty right now.”
“Chicken coop is on the south side of the barn. Eggs get collected every morning, but Sandra likes to do that. Hens like her more anyway. Be mindful of the rooster; he’s a mean sumbitch. He comes after me one more time, I’m gonna’ stew him or make him into a capon. Tractor is in the barn along with a nanny goat who needs feed, let out to graze, and daily milking. I suppose being a city boy, you’ve never milked a goat (I hadn’t before her). Once again, I’m happy to teach you. It’s easier than you think. Only two teets. Keeping her from kicking the milk pail over is the worst of it. Just warm your hands up first.”
Mike unlocked the door to the Airstream and opened it wide. “Here you go, son,” he said. “Get settled, and we’ll see you at six.” He turned and headed for the house.
“Hey, Mike!”
“What’s up, Len?” Mike asked, stopping and returning to the trailer door where Leonard stood.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, shoot.”
“Why are you doing this for me? You hardly know me.”
“Let’s just say that I have a good read on people. I also spent some time in my early twenties looking for a direction. I guess you remind me a little of myself.”
“But you invite me into your home and your family. You’re not worried at all?”
“Nope. We take care of ourselves. You worried?”
“Yeah, a little. Only because I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“You won’t,” Mike replied, looking Leonard in the eye and smiling. “You’re going to do just fine.”
Leonard believed him when he said that. Standing tall, he noticed that he felt more optimistic than he had in months. It felt good to belong.
After the first week of living at the Miskin’s property, Leonard had found his rhythm. He rose at dawn when he heard Sandra come out to collect the fresh eggs from under the annoyed-sounding hens. He would get dressed, go to the barn to milk the goat, bring the milk to the house, and join the family for breakfast, which was always enough food for a small army. Afterward, on the weekdays, Greg was off to high school, Mike to his work, and Leonard off to work on the property chore list until lunchtime when Sandra would take a break from work on her computer, and they would chat over soup or sandwiches. It was a comfortable pattern and a comfortable life. Wash, rinse, repeat. The more he got to know Mike, Sandra, and Greg, the more he felt like part of the kind of family he had missed out on growing up. Mike patiently taught him how to work the tractor and mower attachments, how to run a table saw, use a chain saw, and always new facts about wolves.
After about a month living at the Miskin’s, late at night, Leonard was awakened by the sound of wolves howling. Although this wasn’t that unusual to be heard in the distance, these howls sounded close, too close. Wolves never came near to the property. Leonard got up and pulled on a pair of jeans, worried that the wolves had been drawn by hunger to the chickens or the goat and the farm animals might be in danger. He stepped out of the Airstream trailer with a flashlight, scanning the edge of the surrounding woods with the bright beam.
Maisy stood up from her guard position at the foot of the steps and trotted off ahead of him. Coming from the trees and headed towards the house, he could see with the flashlight, two moving twin dots reflecting back, each the fiery-white of wolves eyes. Panicked, Leonard took off barefoot towards the back of the house, unsure of what to do.
He could see the house lights on and Sandra moving about the kitchen through the windows. Right before reaching the house, he was startled by movement and turned with the flashlight. He saw Mike and Greg coming alongside the house, both shirtless and shoeless and pulling on sweatpants. Greg was helping his father along, and there was blood on him.
“Holy crap, Mike! Are you okay?!?” Leonard shouted. Sandra opened the back door and ushered them all inside to the kitchen table where she already had set out a first-aid kit.
“What in God’s name happened?” she asked them, her face filled with worry and concern.
“Poachers,” Mike said, grabbing a dish towel and pressing it to what appeared to be a bullet wound in his shoulder.
“We were hunting and heard them firing in the distance. Dad and I went to head them off,” Greg said, pulling bandages and tape out of the medical kit.
“They were looking for wolf trophies,” Mike said, wincing as Greg helped to apply pressure to the bleeding bullet wound to staunch the flow. “They found wolves alright, but not the wolves they were looking for. One of the bastards caught me with a lucky shot right before we could reach them.”
Leonard was growing lightheaded from the sight of all the blood everywhere. Both Mike and Greg were covered in it.
“We have to get you to a hospital, Mike!” Leonard shouted, standing and looking for the keys to Mike’s truck.
“No. No Hospital,” Mike said.
“You’re crazy,”.Leonard responded. “You’ve got a bullet in you, and with this much blood, you’re going to need a transfusion.”
Sandra touched Leonard’s shoulders and gently pushed him back into his chair.
“It’s okay, Len,” she said calmly, reassuring him.
“It’s not all his,” Greg said, wiping the area around the bullet’s entrance hole and applying a large gauze bandage before taping it into place.
“What?” Leonard asked, beginning to feel like he was going to pass out.
“I said, it’s not all his,” Greg repeated, using a damp towel to wipe away the blood that also covered his face, neck, arms, and torso.
“Bullets don’t stay,” Mike said, sipping at the glass of water Sandra had set down before him.
“What happened to the poachers?” Sandra asked. “Do we need to follow up on things?”
“Greg and I pushed what was left of them into the ravine along with every one of their beartraps that we could find. Then, we buried their guns. There wasn’t very much left of the poachers to deal with. The scavengers will take care of them. Back to nature. The circle completes. They really shouldn’t have shot me,” Mike remarked with a disappointed look on his face.
“I don’t know what’s happening, but I still think we need to get you to the hospital,” Leonard said, still worried for Mike.
Sandra bent down and placed her hands on his, looking into his face again before saying, “It’s okay, Len. He’s going to be fine. It’s okay.”
Her face close to his, he was startled to discover that the color of her eyes were bright gold like Greg’s. He could have sworn they were brown.
“I’ll fetch you boys some shirts and put on a pot of coffee,” she said, rising and leaving the room.
Mike leaned forward over the table and pulled back the bandage covering his bullet wound. There was a sound as something hard dropped to the table. Mike covered it and closed his hand around it, then held the closed fist out towards Leonard, saying” Here, a souvenir. I don’t want it.”
He opened his hand and dropped a rifle slug into Leonard’s outstretched palm. Leonard could see that below the bandage, the bleeding had stopped, and the hole where the bullet had entered was almost completely closed. Mike’s blue eyes were now the same bright gold that Sandra’s had been.
“Did you kill those men, Mike?” Leonard asked.
‘Wolves killed those men, Leonard. They came as thieves and murderers, poaching for pelts and met with misadventure. Simple as that.”
“What was that pet name for me that you sometimes use again?” Mike asked. “You said it was a Shoshone word. You were laughing about it.”
“Ati’ Isa,” Leonard said.
“That’s the one,” Mike replied.
“And you said it meant what again…?”
“Old Wolf,” Leonard replied. ”Sorry, I mean it as a compliment, because of what you do,” he said, still puzzled by the warm chunk of lead he held in his hand, letting it roll back and forth.
“It’s more than what I do for a living,” Mike said.
“Lenny, you are so much more intuitive than you realize. I think that it’s time that we have a talk about this family of ours that you have joined up with. The tribe you were born to is called the Shoshone-The People of the Tall Grass. We are called The Bodark. Only Gregor was born to it. Sandra and I have chosen it as the path that we travel. The way that we follow. We follow the way of the wolf. It’s a good path. I think that there just may be a wolf hiding in that tall grass.”
You have been invited into our family pack. Now, it has become time for me to offer you a gift. Would you like that? You don’t have to accept it. This is something you must choose for yourself.”
And that, was how Leonard became the first member of the larger pack now beginning to form.
Mike stood before the fire, looking steadily into each of the silent faces gathered round who were now nervously sipping their coffees. Most of those present were young men (save for one young woman). Charlotte had joined the group with her twin brother Evan, the only family she had and whom she followed everywhere.
“I want you all to know that I treasure the connection that you have found with each other. This little unofficial support group started small with a ragtag handful of people looking for a place and people to belong to. Some of you have lost family. Some of you escaped the family you had. Some of you just got lost along the way. All of you found a place to belong. Somehow, you have found each other. People who accept you and hold you up. This group of friends who support each other and provide direction and purpose in a difficult world. I am proud of each and every one of you, especially you, Leonard, whose friendship with my family led to a friendship that each of you shared in turn. A young man gone looking for his place in the world, sharing the love and support that he found along the way, and seeing it multiply over and over.”
“Yeah, Lenny!” everyone said, giving Leonard a round of applause. Lenny stood, looking sheepish as each of those present took turns patting him on the back and offering their words of appreciation.
“I believe that Leonard has talked with each of you individually about what we are doing tonight,” Mike began. “I hope that he has made clear that none of this should be something that you feel that you must do. I hope that you have each carefully contemplated this over the last weeks. This is a choice that is being offered to you. A gift, if you will. It was only on Leonard’s urging that I agreed to this. He has already started on the path ahead of you. No one will think less of you if you let this cup pass you by. Your place in the pack will remain unchanged.
If you choose this path, you will be forever set apart from the rest of the world, but among them, wearing their same sheep’s clothing. Otherwise, they will fear you, they will hate you, and they will hunt you. The pack is everything. We maintain the balance. We follow the way of the Wolf together.”
Greg appeared at Mike’s shoulder holding a weighty canvas satchel which he set at Mike’s feet.
“The moon is full. Let us begin. You will leave as you are now and return as Bodark,” Mike said as each person rose from their seat, circled the fire, and faced him to receive the copper-bladed knives that Mike removed from the satchel and handed to each of them in turn. Sandra came out from the house to stand next to Mike and Greg, watching intently. As each person received the blade required for the ritual, she smiled and lightly touched each on their head and spoke their name as they passed. The group began the hike that led through the forest to the one sacred tree they would find there. Leonard, Mike, and Greg led the way as they had no need for lights to follow the long, dark trail deep into the forest.
Sandra remained at the fire, staring into the dancing flames until the howls began to rise in the distance.
Leland Hames is a writer of short fiction. His work has been published in multiple magazines. He lives on the outskirts of Chicago; is married, father to two teenagers, and tends to a menagerie of three dogs, a bearded dragon, and a sturdy black cat. He writes with a pronounced limp and has mastered the skill of one-handed typing. He is wary of televisions and reads a concerning amount of books. Previously a songwriter, he now writes to stave off the creeping malaise that plagues most creatives. It has produced mixed results.