The Wolf

Pop! She was awakened from that lovely dream into the icy coldness of terror. She held her breath, her heart pounding, her nose stinging with the familiar feeling of danger as she felt more than heard the heavy animal as he slowly crossed over the roof of the dugout above her head. King’s low growl came from somewhere in the small room of the dugout. Her body began to tremble. We are the prey, trapped out here just waiting to be slaughtered, a voice whispered in her mind. No! Stop! She told the voice. She heard the beast sniffing around the roof, pawing at the dirt foundation. Rolling off of the pallet so as not to awaken Kathareen, sweet baby, she reached for the gun. Come on, she thought to the monster outside, come, come on in, I’ll kill you. I’m ready. Waiting until dawn, in the dark, finally she felt the wolf slowly move away and when the morning sun was new, he was gone.

It was late summer on the Kansas Prairie somewhere out west of Hutchinson in the big sky country. Hot, oh how hot, killer hot and windy – hard harsh wind that stung your face and beat the life out of everything – the grass, the creatures of the prairie, the people. Alice was used to hot Kansas summers, that wasn’t really the problem. But the loneliness – well that was a different story. This place was the substance of her life – a dugout with dirt floors, swept to a high polish, but dirt all the same. Her husband Carl Edward was a wealthy man – from one of the wealthiest landowners in this state – he was a good businessman but not much interested in a home. He left for long periods of time on business leaving her here alone with the baby, the dog, the new baby within her and the wind.

She tied her 3-year old on her back and seeing that King was asleep on his side in the corner – the clue that danger was gone, climbed the ladder with great difficulty what with the pregnant body of hers and opened the lid. Dust hit her in the face, coating her tongue and stinging her eyes. It was morning – better get moving – there was much to do before sunset – and hauled all three of them up on the hard ground. No tracks – no wolf tracks – the ground was as hard as stone – but she knew. She knew. Carl hadn’t listened to her when she told him of her fears.

“Old honey bun, wolves travel in packs – not just one – a pack. You can smell em in the air, you can hear em howlin’ at the moon. And it’s not wolf season even if they were to come this far out.”

He had scoffed at her when she had begged him to stay this time, at least until the baby was born. But his men came by one evening with word of some trouble on the land in the next county over and with barely a nod, he was gone. And she and Kathareen were left. Oh and King, the old black dog, he remained. When Carl was gone, King was allowed in the house, especially now that they had become prey. Carl would not allow it so she was careful to keep the dog out when she thought her husband would return home. Carl was a good husband in the sense that he provided for them, but well, he had his moments. She brushed the thoughts away. It wasn’t worth thinking about.

As a girl, she had lived on a farm near Pretty Prairie, a town in the southern part of Kansas. She was the oldest girl. She had an older brother, but “oldest girl” always meant Mother Number 2 – and Alice had lived up to that name. She could sew a dress by the time she was 7 years old, cook a good meal at 8, grow a garden, care for babies. She learned to care for the sick even when she was sick herself when she was just a wee girl. Alice was strong and smart. She helped her mother with the five youngest children and together they worked from early morning to night. Her father was a nice man but not too ambitious and if the truth were known, somewhat lazy. So mother and children did the work – plowed the fields, dug the wells, and tended to things while pa chewed the fat with the old boys down on the porch. One cold winter, they ran out of spuds and pa got a chill and couldn’t hunt, so Alice, a girl of 10 took the gun and with her brothers learned how to shoot to kill. And she was a crack shot. She practiced for hours as the winter wore on and she brought back the creatures that they ate all winter. She could handle the gun. And they didn’t starve that winter. Oh no, she would never let that happen.

Today, she had to lay in provisions in case the baby came in the night. She carried the bucket out back to the pump and started by pushing down the heavy handle, pumping as much water as she could. It started out cold and clear, went to a muddy stream, and then dripped to a stop. She would pump more after it rested – the pump that is. Not her, she wouldn’t rest until night. There was work to be done, livestock to check, a garden to tend, and diapers to wash. With her child on her back, she walked way down the narrow dirt path to the gate. From here she could see the tiny speck of her neighbor’s house. She pulled down the branch that was leaning against the gate to make sure that the white cloth was still tied hard to the end and then she pulled it up and latched it to the gate. White flag – a signal that there was no baby yet. Margaret would be keeping watch from her window across the way. If the flag was down, Margaret would come. Alice had the berthing board ready. Walking back up the rutted path, her loneliness disappeared in the sunlight. Another soul was only ½ hour away.

Alice placed Kathareen on a soft cotton blanket in the shade of the lone tree and they ate their morning meal listening to the chatter of the birds. Afterwards she boiled the water over an open fire in the pit, saving some out for their dinner of beans and hard bread and a little bit of jerky. Carl had brought a pound of sugar home the last time and she kept it stored tightly in a jar for special occasions. She had chickens and goats. Maybe she would make an egg pudding for dinner, she thought. Maybe not. She was losing her appetite, which was a sign that her time was close. She worked the cotton gauze against the washboard in the soapy water for her baby. Then she shook the water hard off of the diapers and hung them on the swaying clothes line. They flapped in the wind making a rhythmic sound that mingled with the sound of the black birds high above and the child’s voice talking to her dolly in her favorite space beside the single tree out from the house. She could keep Kathareen in sight from every place in the yard. Her morning chores were positioned so that she could see the little girl from every angle.

Kathareen was a beautiful little girl, with raven colored curls and big brown eyes. She was a gift from God for Alice. Nothing mattered – not wind– not storms – not loneliness – not even dugouts for homes because she had been given this precious child for her very own. At 3 years old, Kathareen would gather field flowers, weave them into garlands with her tiny fingers and bring them to her mother’s skirts where she would be lifted high in the air and swung about, both of them laughing. She loved to sing and dance and the wind seemed to carry her baby songs around and around sweetening the air and filling the vastness of the sky. Birds gathered at her feet and butterflies landed softly on her beautiful head. The terror of the night shattered into the brilliant sunlight as Alice gazed from under the flapping clothes on the line to her beautiful baby singing softly in her play. Oh mama, she thought, how I wish you were here. And for a fleeting moment, she remembered her dream of last night. Oh to revisit it again.

The day droned by and the night fell. The water sat in pails inside the little home, just in case the baby came tonight. King was brought in, and Kathareen fell asleep in her arms, a sweet smile on her tiny baby lips. Alice blew out the lamp and tried to get comfortable on the pallet. She wasn’t afraid of being attacked in her sleep. If danger came, she would know it.

As a small girl, she could see things that others could not. She had second sight. Her grandmother had had it too. Neighbors came to ask her questions when she was only a small child of 5. It puzzled her that others were blind to images that were so clear to her. Her mother called it a “gift.” It worked well when her sister had almost drowned in a well, or that winter when she knew where to hunt for rabbits, or that fateful night when the wolf came.

On her childhood farm, they raised crops, cows, pigs, and chickens. The favorite animal though was a beautiful mare named Daisy who pulled the plow and the wagon. Daisy loved the children who rode her bareback and fed her apples. That summer, prairie wolves had filtered down from out west. A lone wolf had howled to the moon, a mournful sound that carried over the prairie and into the windows of their farmhouse.

“Aw, wolves are sceered of folks,” Pa had said at the supper table. “No need to go lookin’ for trouble.” Her mother wasn’t so sure, with her eyes darting from father to Walter, Alice’s big brother.

“It wouldn’t hurt to keep the gun ready, dear,” she said.

“Un,” he uttered through his teeth – “no need to go to all that trouble.”

After dinner, while the dishes were washed up, Alice saw Walter quietly take down the gun and the bag of shells and slip out the back door. Later, before bed, she found the big black gun leaning in the corner of the porch. Danger, when it came to Alice, in her sleep, felt like an unbearable pain that sliced through her chest and had a smell that was indescribably foul. The pain sliced through her in the darkest part of the night. She awakened with a start, doubling over. She could smell the wolves. Quickly, she crept through the darkness and found her big brother, Walter. He sat straight up in his bed, immediately awake. But when he didn’t hear anything, he patted her on her shoulder and rolled over. He was only 12 years old. She sat by the window for the rest of the night rocking herself back and forth. Death was all around, she knew – she could smell it. The next morning, two cows were dead with their bones picked almost clean.

“This must be a pack of big prairie wolves,” their neighbor said over morning coffee in their kitchen. “We all best be on the lookout.”

Alice shot Walter a look but he lowered his eyes. Yes, Alice knew these things, no question…and her brother knew that she knew. Neighbors sighted the wolves and shots rang out sometimes during the night once in a while during the next few weeks. Then, after a few kills, the wolves seemed to be gone from the area. Snow fell and winter set in. As hot as Kansas can be in the summer, it can be just as cold in the deep winter. And it was a killer winter. The pain shot through Alice again one freezing night as she lay snuggled in the big feather bed with all of her little sisters. The smell of danger burned the inside of her nostrils and she was instantly wide awake. Carefully she slid out of the top of the covers into the frigid air, her breath blowing smoke. She picked her way across the room to her brother’s bed.

“Walter,” she whispered as she poked him. “Walter, the wolf is here – in the barn! Walter – Wake up!” Walter gave her a shove that knocked her off of her feet.

“You’re dreaming! For cryin’ in a bucket Alice, leave me be!”

The smell got stronger, her eyes watered and her heart skipped a beat. The gun! She flew down the stairs and out the door onto the frosty porch. It was gone! Quick, in the closet! And there it was, the old double barreled breach loading shotgun, right there against the coats. She grabbed the bag with the 12 gauge shotgun shells loaded with buckshot – the big heavy stuff – no matter! She could hear Daisy out in the barn, screaming her horse scream for help as she raced across the yard towards the barn. Alice was only 10 years old but she knew what she knew. “Hang on Daisy”, she cried in her heart. She could hear the beast snarling and the horse screaming but she was fearless as she flung open the doors of the old barn. And in the moonlight, a giant of a dark beast glared straight at her over the ravaged body of her beloved horse. Daisy was still alive, but wanting to die as she lay bleeding on the straw, the flesh torn from her side and legs. For a moment, Alice was stunned, and then the wolf moved slightly. Filled with rage, Alice yanked on the hammers but they held tight. She pulled harder and then again. The wolf sensing her vulnerability, straightened up as if to spring. Just then, the gun was yanked out of her hands, the shooter aimed straight at the wolf and fired. A howl filled the night air as the wolf vanished out of the back of the barn. Then Walter took aim and shot Daisy. Lanterns were lit in the house as the whole family rushed out into the icy night. Alice had to be torn away from Daisy and covered in blood, she was taken back into the house, sobbing and fighting to get free. She was wrapped in her mother’s quilts by the stove as the men set about digging a grave in that hard cold ground that night. The next morning, a trail of blood was found in the snow but the wolf was gone.

She had not been believed as a girl when she felt the danger that had killed the cows and Daisy and she wasn’t being believed now. But she knew what she knew and she knew what the danger felt like. And she knew that she was being stalked by a wolf.

That night, she had the dream again. She was once again, a girl of twelve, holding her dying mother in her arms. She had been caring for her ever since her mother had taken ill 6 weeks before. Her mother’s breath was crackling in her chest and her head was hot with fever. Please God, please God, she had prayed all day and all night. The babies were crying and the children were hungry but her mama was dying and she wouldn’t leave her. Mama had not spoken a word all day. Suddenly, she opened her eyes wide, “Alice, I know what heaven looks like. It’s right here in this room.”

“What’s it like mama?”

“Look, my darling, the room is filled with babies and roses.” And the heady smell of roses filled the tiny room. Alice could smell it. The room was suddenly cool and still.

“Mama, mama, I can smell the roses. But, don’t go mama. Please don’t go. Don’t leave me mama. I am afraid. Please, please mama.”

“Alice, look, they’re here to take me.” Out the sashed window, Alice gazed in disbelief at a sight she would never ever forget. A beautiful white carriage was waiting on the lawn. It was drawn by two magnificent beautiful white horses. The driver, a small man was dressed in a white top hat with a white waist coat and knee pants. He gazed at her with his crystal blue eyes and rosy smile. Her mother’s dead sisters sat smiling in the plush white cushions. They glowed with a golden sparkle. Before she could stop her, her mother flew like a summer breeze out to the waiting carriage. Then they all turned to smile at her as her mother waved. “Goodbye, my darling Alice.” The moment was gone. Her mother went limp in her arms, her smile fixed on her pretty face.

“Come back mama! Mama, come back!” Alice sobbed into her mother’s chest.

They buried her sweet mother under a big tree. And then Alice and her brothers and sisters set to work. They worked as hard as they could. They were all young children. For two years, Alice and two of her brothers planted, plowed, and harvested the crops. Then they hauled the wheat, corn and straw to the mill, in a wooden cart drawn by one old horse. But it just wasn’t enough. Her sisters watched the babies while she and her brothers toiled, but her sisters were just babies themselves. One day, the school teacher came out to the farm. Alice fixed her a glass of tea and they sat themselves out on the porch. It was hot and the flies were bad. Alice held Rachel, the baby on her lap, as she rocked.

“Alice,” began Miss Sarah, “You are working yourself to death. I’ve got an opportunity that I think you should take.”

“I can’t stop working, Miss Sarah, we would starve.”

“I know, I know. I’m not suggesting that you stop workin’ chile. I’m just suggestin’ that maybe you should consider something else. Now before you protest, let me finish. They’re needin’ a school teacher up in Reno County. You were my smartest student, Alice. They would pay you and you could live with the Schmidt’s, so you could send your money home.”

“But who would take care of the kids?”

“You let me take care of that.” And she did. Within two weeks, Alice was packed up and carted off to be the school marm in a one-room school house 20 miles away. And the kids were checked on by the good women of that settlement, who took the smallest ones into their own homes until they were old enough to help out back home on the farm. Alice was only 14 years old and that first winter, she cried herself to sleep every night in her bed under the stairs.

“Oh mama, oh mama, I need you so bad, my heart hurts. Why did you leave me?” Alice was young but she was smart. She loved her students and they loved her back. She walked the few miles to the school house every morning before the sun was up and back home to the Schmidt’s in late afternoon. Every cent she made was sent back home and it was her hard work that kept her brothers and sisters fed and clothed.

Years went by and Alice kept teaching school. But she also did sewing and piecework for a few extra nickels a week. She was sought after for the beautiful handwork that she produced but especially for her hats. When she reached the age of 18, she was expected to move on to her own place and so she moved into Hutchinson, a dusty town, filled with salt miners. It was the gateway to Western Kansas and cattle was the currency – that and land – and salt. It was booming when Alice procured a small room with a store front. There she displayed her hats in front and slept on a small bed in the back. Her reputation spread throughout the area. Women came from as far away as Newton and Salina for the beautiful feathered and laced hats that were made by her hands.

And the years went by. She did not expect to marry. She knew her job and that was to support her brothers and sisters until they married. She was far too old anyway – girls who waited past 17 were old maids. Nobody wanted them then. And she was way older than that. Besides, she was safe in her little shop in the middle of town – safe from animal wolves if not from human ones.

One day, a dashing man tipped his hat to her as she tripped by him on the wooden walkway. Her heart skipped a beat and then she admonished herself for being so silly. After all she was 25 years old! Much too old to act so girlish! But later, while she was fitting a hat on one of her ladies, she heard about Carl Rittenoure, a wealthy landowner, who had opened an office on Main and was said to be single. Could it be him? she wondered. “No, surely not.”

Carl Rittenoure came from a family of wealth and he had an eye for Alice. One year later, they were married in a church wedding surrounded by family and friends. Afterward, they left for their home out here on the prairie. Alice was so in love with Carl, she would have gone anywhere with him. He called her, his “old honey bunch.”

That was 4 years ago, she thought, as she stood at the clothes line. It seems so long ago. In the darkness, memories of her mother wafted through her head. Her face, when it came to her, always seemed so sweet, her eyes questioning. What did the dream mean? That night, there were no wolf steps on the roof of the dugout, no pain of danger awakened Alice and, the trio – she, Kathareen and King slept peacefully in the dugout under the moon. The smell of autumn was in the air.

Morning came and Alice was awakened with a start. Gazing up, she looked into the face of her darling daughter.

“Mama, wake up. Did the baby come yet?

“No, my sweet, but soon.”

The day started out so still. The air seemed to hang heavy, and the birds seemed distant somehow. Alice carrying her child on her back and her child in her belly, felt the sweat trickle down her back as she made her way out to the gate.

Where was King? Odd. He usually followed her wherever she went. At night, she couldn’t even change her position in bed without him opening one eye to check her. Back at the house, she saw the big old black dog sitting near the tree, watching out the back, cocking his head and twitching his ears as he sniffed the air.

“Better get the gun, just in case,” she thought. She climbed back down into the house on the ladder, and pulled the gun back up with her. She loaded it and kept it close. The morning wore on, the birds were singing and King lay on his side waving his tale to keep the flies off of his back.

“I was worried about nothing,” she thought to herself. She put the water onto boil and then lifting the bucket off of the fire, she washed up the linens. Kathareen sang to her dolly and the sound of bees droned under the sound of the wind. As she stood at the clothes line, hanging up the sheets, Alice’s mind was back on the hat shop, the bathtub she had purchased years before and her friends laughing over tea as they all sat around the small table in the sewing room of her shop. She was brought back by the baby moving within her.

Suddenly she realized the silence. No birds were singing, the wind was still, the sheets hung limply on the line. “Mama, mama, come mama. MAMA!” The pain of danger almost doubled Alice over. Her nose burned, breath caught in her throat and her heart seemed to stop beating in her chest. Over the top of the clothes line, she gazed straight across the yard and into the yellow eyes of the beast. The wolf had crept silently into her life. There he was – crouching not 15 feet from Kathareen who angrily was being guarded by King. The position of the wolf put him at a point of a triangle with Alice and the child at the other two points. Kathareen began to cry out for her mama, angry with her dog that then backed into her knocking her into the dust. Her eyes searched for Alice and her crying stopped at the sight of her mother’s terrified face. King stood guard with snarling lips pulled back barring sharp white teeth. His body stood rigid, tail erect, fur standing straight up on his back. Alice knew that, King would fight to the end, but he would be no match for the beast.

The gun! She slowly bent down to retrieve it but just as she did, with horror she saw the gun leaning against the stump 20 feet away where she had carelessly let it fall. The wolf paused to run his tongue over his teeth and then started to turn towards the child. NO! Get the gun! She told herself. But if she did, she would have to turn her face away from her baby and run further away from Kathareen in order to grab it. Maybe the wolf would then come after her, but with his giant legs, he could reach her in a single bound and then if the Wolf killed her first, then….the thought stopped……she couldn’t think further. Time stopped. Suddenly the wolf turned back toward Alice, he seemed to rise up into the air, his hot breath seemed to shoot from his throat, and he sprung towards Alice. The next thing that happened lived forever within Alice’s memory – so real that she never could quite tell the whole story without crying. But it was a mystery. And those who tried to untangle the mystery told the tale for years to come.

Suddenly, as the wolf rose into the air, wide drooling mouth pulled tight over large snarling fangs, head bent down, his yellow eyes gleaming for the kill, a sound rose up from the ground. The rumble of horses filled the air followed by a sound so wonderful that it was not of the earth. It began as a feeling and then grew into loudness. The moment seemed to stretch out as time stood still. Alice couldn’t take her eyes off of those of her attacker. It was though she was paralyzed in place. She and the wolf were locked in a time and space that was not in sync with the growing sound. Passing by her left with a whoosh, galloped two giant white horses pulling a beautiful and massive white carriage. As they passed, the air turned cool and sweet. Alice watched in amazement as the driver raised his white gloved hand and with a snap of his wrist cracked his whip. The wolf fell in slow motion, slowly, slowly into the dust, dying as he fell. The life left the body of the wolf like a flapping of crow’s wings and then the wolf was still. The white dust, the sound of strings, but strongest of all – the heady smell of roses settled down over them as the carriage disappeared through the mist. And drifting back from the carriage, she heard the sound of her mother’s voice, ever so faintly, “I am with you my darling Allllllllliiiiiiceeee for ever and everrrrrrrr.” Collapsed in a mound on the ground over a wriggling 3-yr old and an old black dog, her heart was filled with the essence of her mother, the sound of heavenly babies, and the heady smell of roses. And she knew.

The next morning, Carl Rittenoure returned home to find the body of what was thought to be the largest wolf ever seen in Kansas lying dead in his yard. The animal’s neck had been snapped by a single whip lash although no whip was ever found nor any carriage man skilled enough to do it. Inside the little dugout, a baby gurgled her first cries. They named her Marjorie. She was a beautiful baby girl – a baby who was born with a birthmark on her side – in the shape of a wolf.