Part 4
Lena did not send officers. She came with Malcolm, a state wildlife liaison, and a clipboard whose blank pages seemed to trouble Wade more than a badge would have.
They met at the equipment barn that afternoon. Caleb returned the brass tag. Wade showed them the remaining traps, his depredation permit and check log, the drowned set location, and the route he had tried to use after the storm. The liaison photographed the high-water mark and the broken anchor cable, then asked questions without telling Wade what conclusion to expect.
“You can say it was an accident,” Wade told Lena.
“I can say what we know,” she replied. “The trap was set for coyotes. A red wolf was caught. Flooding moved the anchored trap and made timely access impossible. Whether every part of the set complied is still under review.”
“That sounds like three ways to call me guilty without doing it.”
“It sounds like I’m not finished.”
Wade tapped two fingers against the clipboard but remained at the table. Rowan sat on an overturned feed bucket near the open door. Erin had wanted her home. Caleb had argued that if Rowan was old enough to enter a marsh, she was old enough to watch adults deal with what came out of it.
It was the first time he had used the danger to include her instead of exclude her, and Rowan sat very still so he would not regret it.
The practical problem emerged when Lena spread a refuge map over Wade’s workbench. The female’s den lay west of his property on a block of public wetland. Before the storm, the team used a refuge service road from the south. A culvert had failed and left a gap wider than their transport truck. Repairs would take at least two weeks.
“Then wait two weeks,” Wade said.
“We may not have them.” Lena pointed to a narrow farm track crossing his north field. “This reaches the old timber causeway. From there we can release her less than two miles from the den.”
Wade stared at the line. “You want to bring the wolf back through my farm.”
“In a locked transport crate, with a small field team, before dawn.”
“And turn her loose on the far side of my soybeans.”
“On refuge land, inside her established territory.”
“A territory doesn’t see fence paint.”
Lena’s mouth tightened in acknowledgment. The wolf’s range crossed property boundaries because wild animals did not recognize deeds, and saying so would not protect one chicken.
The state liaison began to describe other access options. One required a boat transfer through flooded timber; another would put the wolf more than eight miles from the den on unfamiliar ground. Neither was impossible. Both added stress and time.
Wade folded the map. “Use one of those.”
Caleb put his palm on the paper before Wade could take it away. “You know what eight miles of flooded ground can mean.”
“I know what it means when federal people tell you a problem is yours because an animal walked across a line you own.”
“There are pups,” Rowan said.
Wade looked at her. “There were pullets too.”
The side door banged before Rowan could answer. Lila Barlow came in carrying a galvanized feed bucket against one hip. She was fourteen, narrow as a fence post, with rubber boots over her school jeans and a healing scratch down one forearm. The adults’ faces made her stop.
Her gaze found the empty nail above the trap cabinet and then the map. “Was it ours?”
Wade could have sent her out. Instead he said, “The trap was mine.”
“Did it kill the wolf?”
“No,” Lena said. “She’s recovering.”
Lila looked at the bandages on Rowan’s palms. “Because you went in?”
Rowan shook her head. “I kept her head up. They got her out.”
Wade glanced at Rowan, perhaps hearing the difference between that answer and the legend already forming outside the barn. Lila set down the bucket.
“I wanted the coyotes to stop getting my birds,” she said to her grandfather. “I didn’t want everything with four feet caught.”
“I know what you wanted.” Wade’s voice softened but his position did not. He told her to feed the surviving pullets before dark, and she left through the same side door.
Rowan wanted to argue that four rare pups mattered more than fourteen common birds. Looking at the scratch on Lila’s arm and the empty feed bucket, she could not make the thought sound as clean as it had inside her head.
Lena opened the map again. “Let us help secure the coop. We have field fencing and people who can install it. We can place cameras on the exterior if you consent. If there’s a verified loss involving a wolf, we document it and work through the response with you.”
“And my address?”
“Stays out of public material.”
“You can promise for everybody with a camera?”
Lena paused. “No. I can promise what my team controls, and I can call law enforcement if someone trespasses.”
Wade almost smiled. It was not agreement, but he stopped tapping the clipboard.
Lena’s phone buzzed beside the clipboard. The caller was Dr. Priya Shah, the veterinarian overseeing the wolf. Lena listened, said very little, and Rowan could hear only her side.
“Weight-bearing?… How much swelling?… Bloodwork again at dusk?… No, we don’t have access yet.”
Wade turned toward the empty nail above the trap cabinet. Caleb stood beside him with the posture of an employee waiting to learn whether he remained one.
Lena ended the call. “The injury is confined to soft tissue around two toes. The swelling is down, there’s no fracture or tendon damage, and she’s bearing weight. If she eats tonight and her bloodwork remains stable, Dr. Shah will clear her for release tomorrow morning.”
“That’s good,” Rowan said.
Lena looked at Wade. “It also means we need a route by four-thirty.”
Wade took the folded map, walked to the barn door, and held it out to her without opening it. “Not through my gate,” he said…
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