Part 5
Tom opened his coat and brought the pup against him. The youngster tried to turn back, and he let him put his nose to his mother’s muzzle once more. Her eyes remained on Tom. He tucked one hand beneath the narrow chest and held him where she could still see him.
“I’ve got him,” he said. His voice caught, and tears blurred her face. He blinked until he could see her eyes again. “I’ll look after him. I promise.”
Her jaw eased against the folded wool. Tom waited for the next breath, following the place behind the ribs where the fur had been moving. There was one shallow lift, then another too slight for him to be sure of. He kept waiting after the movement stopped.
The pup pulled against his arm. Tom loosened his hold enough for him to reach her, and the youngster put his nose under her jaw. He pushed until her head shifted on the blanket. Then he pushed again. Tom watched him do it and felt his face tighten in a way he couldn’t control.
He had managed Ellen’s funeral by knowing the next task. Stand when somebody touched his elbow. Thank the people who came. Carry the shawl home because it had been left on the chair at the hospital. Afterward he’d kept finding things that needed doing, right up to the last box on the floor of the cabin.
Now his hands were occupied with a wolf pup who would not stop trying to wake his mother. There was nothing he could straighten or carry away that would make that attempt succeed. He lowered his face toward the rough fur and let the tears fall into it.
The pup quieted against him. Tom sat until he could see clearly again, then drew the blanket from beneath the mother’s head. He folded the clean end around the youngster and made a sheltered bed against his pack. The little wolf stayed there while Tom rose, with one hand on the rock and his bad leg kept as straight as he could manage.
Loose slabs lay along the back of the shelter. He couldn’t dig in the frozen ground, and he couldn’t bring her body down the mountain. But he could cover her here. He began with stones light enough to lift without straining, choosing the flatter ones and setting them carefully along her sides.
He had to stop often. Bending made the ache in his knees flare, and the cold had worked into his fingers despite the gloves. Each time he straightened, the pup lifted his head from the blanket. Tom spoke to him without knowing quite what he said. The sound seemed to be enough to keep him there.
He built the cover slowly, bringing the slabs together so their weight rested against the surrounding stones. He wasn’t making a monument. He was trying to give her what shelter he could from the animals that would find this place after they left. Once he put a stone down too hard and flinched at the noise, then stood for a while with both hands empty.
The mother disappeared beneath the cairn a little at a time. Tom left her head until last. Before covering it, he knelt and touched the fur between her ears with the back of his glove. He had never touched her there during those three weeks at the cabin; Ellen had always reminded him to let the animal keep whatever distance she needed.
He set the last flat stone in place.
The youngster had come out of the blanket. He stood with his nose close to a gap at the bottom of the cairn, breathing quickly. Tom let him smell it before lifting him. He settled the folded wool beneath the pup’s body, worked it into a support against the straps of his pack, and drew the sides of his coat around them both.
The weight pulled at his shoulders. He adjusted it, keeping the youngster’s face clear, and put a hand beneath him. They would have to stop on the way down. He could feel that already. The thought of the distance made him close his eyes for a moment before reaching for the gun.
The pup raised his muzzle above the coat. A thin note came out, caught, and rose again. It lengthened into a howl that trembled against Tom’s chest. The stone walls held it after the youngster ran out of breath.
Tom hadn’t heard a human voice in the house for days before this night. He had told himself that suited him. Now he held the pup while the sound faded and cried without trying to turn away. When the youngster lowered his head, Tom kept his hand spread over his back until both their breathing had settled.
At the entrance the snow was falling nearly straight down. He could see the trunks beyond the ledge separately now, and a pale line showed between them to the east. He put the unused dressings and the tin back in his pack, pulled on his cap, and slung the gun. With the pack secured, he switched off the weakening flashlight. There was enough dawn to make out the ground.
“Let’s get you home.”
Going down required more care than going up. His knees complained at each drop, and the pup’s weight shifted whenever he moved. He followed the shape of the draw and the landmarks he’d noted, finding pieces of his own tracks where the trees had protected them. In the exposed places the trail was gone. He checked the compass and kept the known slope on his right.
At the spruce he unfastened the coat and guided the youngster through the opening, then followed with his pack dragging again. On the other side he wrapped him back against his chest. The pup no longer fought to go uphill. His nose rested against Tom’s shirt, warm now, while Tom worked his gloves back on.
Nearly two hours after they left the shelter, the roof appeared through the trees. A narrow thread of smoke rose from the chimney, and below it Tom could see the porch where the snow had hidden his bottom step. He stopped long enough to make certain of his footing, then carried the pup toward the door he had planned to close for good.
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