Part 7
Evelyn asked Reed to write down the name of the person who could change it. Mae pulled the little table away from the wall so they could work beside the lamp, then went to find a pencil. Jack brought in another armful of wood.
By morning the vestibule held a thermos, dry socks, and more fuel than the chapel had used in a month. People stayed to help for an hour, then gave their places to someone else. Evelyn kept the main room quiet, allowing only those she needed near the litter.
Jack recognized nearly everyone who came through the door. He had repaired their engines or turned down their invitations; now they nodded at him, set down what they had brought, and asked Mae where it belonged. Nobody required him to explain why he had not been around.
Mae wrote a statement offering the chapel as a temporary supervised shelter. Reed added the authorization and case details. Evelyn prepared a fresh medical assessment that described the family’s condition and the risks of transport, then attached her objection to placing animals at a facility with ties to the person under investigation.
The smallest pup slept against Ash’s belly. Once, when he shifted away, the mother gathered him back with her muzzle without getting up. Jack stopped watching long enough to take the tea Father Paul put into his hand.
“Sit while it’s hot,” the priest said.
Jack sat beside Mae. On the stove, a dented kettle Nathan had repaired twice began to tremble against its lid.
“He wouldn’t throw that thing away,” Mae said. “I bought him a new one. He gave it to the school kitchen.”
“The handle on this one was good.”
She looked at him. “That’s exactly what he said.”
Mae turned the cup between her hands. “After he died, I’d hear people at this door and wait for them to leave. Some of them could see me through the glass.”
“I got good at finishing repairs before anybody put the kettle on,” Jack said.
“Yes,” she said. “You did.”
They drank for a while without talking. When a volunteer opened the door too wide and let a cold draft through, Mae was on her feet before Jack could set down his cup.
The plow cleared the pass toward noon. Reed’s calls began to hold instead of dropping, and the investigation moved beyond the point: equipment and containers at the cooperative’s sheds matched material documented at the station. Pike remained under questioning. Reed cautioned everyone that a case would take longer than a day, and that borrowed equipment alone would not settle responsibility.
“The transfer request is separate,” Evelyn said when Jack asked whether the questioning stopped it. “We still need a safe receiving team.”
Mae took Nathan’s notebook and cassette to the town office with her written complaint about the use of the weather station. Father Paul called a former Navy colleague who knew which regional office could review the placement. He asked for a name and a working number, then handed both to Reed.
Jack unfolded his old coastal map and marked the station, its service trail, and the road to the cooperative’s sheds. Reed used it to explain the locations while the larger files slowly uploaded. When he no longer needed it, Jack dried the map and folded it along the worn creases.
Outside, Evelyn stood on the chapel steps rubbing warmth into her hands. Jack came out for wood and paused beside her. The wind had dropped enough for them to hear water running beneath the snow piled along the road.
“Have you slept?” he asked.
“A little in the chair. Mae wakes me before I fall out.”
He held the empty wood carrier against his leg. Evelyn looked down the street, where a school maintenance truck was helping clear the last blocked driveway.
“After my divorce I used to take every overnight call,” she said. “People thought I was being dedicated. Mostly I didn’t want to go home.”
Jack looked at her, then away. He knew she had not said it to ask him for his own history.
“I keep finding things to fix,” he said.
“I’ve noticed.”
She went inside when Reed called her name. Jack filled the carrier, taking smaller pieces from the stack because Mae could lift them more easily. He stayed another moment to catch his breath before following.
The wildlife team Reed had reached could receive the family at a field station beside protected forest. They would need departmental approval, veterinary clearance for the trip, and a transport plan that kept the pups with their mother. Evelyn asked about the vehicle, the quiet holding space, and who would take responsibility on arrival.
Jack listened from the stove. Part of him kept arranging his cottage for the weeks ahead: a barrier across the kitchen, better heat, a place away from the window. He knew enough about wolves to know that none of those improvements could make the house what Ash needed. The plans continued anyway.
Father Paul sat beside him while Evelyn worked through the arrangements. “You’ll go with them?” he asked.
“If they’ll let me.”
“And when she’s well?”
Jack looked toward the litter. “I’d like to know where they are.”
“She’s a wolf, Jack. When she’s well, she’ll need somewhere you can’t keep watch.”
Jack rested his empty cup between his knees. He had been thinking of every departure as somebody being left behind, and he could hear the difficulty in his own answer. “I know. I just keep checking.”
The priest nodded and stood to refill the kettle. Jack watched Ash stretch her neck toward the open space beyond the pews, then moved his chair farther from her route to the door.
Through the afternoon Jack repaired the side door’s loose hinge, carried water, and held the lamp when Evelyn needed both hands. The weakest pup began to find his mother’s milk without being guided. Evelyn let Jack watch that small effort before asking him to move the light.
Approval arrived that evening. Reed read the destination aloud, checked it against the receiving team’s message, then read the conditions. Evelyn would travel with the animals, Reed would escort them, and Jack could accompany her. The private compound had been removed from the arrangement.
Mae sat down with the papers still in her hand. Across the room Father Paul put another piece of wood in the stove, though the fire did not need it yet. Jack noticed and said nothing.
They did not leave in the dark. Evelyn wanted another stable night for the pup, and the receiving team needed daylight for the last stretch. Jack lay on a folded coat beside the wall, waking whenever a person moved, while Mae kept the kettle filled for the people changing shifts in the vestibule.
In the morning Evelyn set out the insulated carriers. Ash examined them and the open path to the door, then returned to her litter. Jack waited beside the smallest carrier with a folded cloth in his hands.
The mother picked up the dark-marked pup. Instead of setting him inside, she carried him to Jack and lowered him onto the toe of his boot.
He felt the tiny weight through the leather before he dared move.
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