Part 6
“The assignment came from an old list,” Caleb said. “The person arranging it hadn’t received the station evidence. I’m trying to keep a vehicle from being sent.”
Laura held out her hand for the supervisor’s number. She spoke without raising her voice, explaining the mother’s injuries, the pups’ condition, and the connection between the proposed facility and the man being investigated.
Owen could hear the interruptions by the pauses she left.
“Yes, space is limited,” she said. “Hold this placement while a different one is checked. That’s what I’m asking you to authorize.”
Ruth cleared the table for Caleb’s notes. He wrote the incident number where Laura could read it. Owen went to the wood box and chose two dry pieces for the stove.
The ceiling light dimmed, recovered, and went out. Beneath the kitchen window, the electric heater stopped with a click.
Laura ended the call. Owen reached for the oil lamp by memory while Ruth opened the stove door to give him enough light to strike a match. Flint had risen over the litter, restless at everyone’s movement.
“Wait,” Laura said. “All of us.”
They stood until the mother settled. Then the smallest pup made an uneven, threadlike sound, and Laura knelt near him without taking him away from her.
“Bring the lamp closer. On the floor, there.”
Owen put it where she indicated.
“Maybe it’s just a short outage.”
“Maybe.” Laura held a hand near the window. The curtain moved against her knuckles. “The floor’s cooling fast.”
The cottage had begun as a summer keeper’s dwelling. Over the years it had acquired insulation in some walls and none in others, additions paid for whenever money could be found. Owen had plugged what he could reach. Without the electric heater, the stove warmed the middle while cold air gathered along the outside wall.
He wedged a folded blanket across the worst draft. Laura checked the space closer to the iron, then shook her head. Direct heat, too little room, no way to work without crowding Flint.
“I don’t want to wait until they’re cold again. We need a more even temperature.”
Ruth took a key from her pocket and set it beside the lamp.
“The chapel. Walter put the stove against the inner wall. Dennis checked the generator earlier.”
Owen looked at the key. Once, arriving there with tools to mend a leaking gutter, he had been turned away. He had stood on the step pretending he must have mistaken the day.
Ruth reached for the phone.
“I’ll have him open it.”
Laura asked about floor space and doors, about keeping the public away from the family. Caleb checked the short road down the point and relayed the plan to the duty officer. Ruth spoke with Dennis while Owen listened to details he had once known well: the sheltered corner, the stove, the distance from the vestibule.
He brought a deep wooden box from the pantry. Laura examined it and found a rough place on the rim. Owen smoothed it, then helped line the inside with dry bedding. They arranged the warming supports outside the nest, leaving room for all four pups together.
Flint stood over the litter as he moved the box closer. Her nose wrinkled.
Owen stopped, set the box down, and eased onto one knee. He laid his empty hand on the floor rather than reaching toward her.
She smelled the wood and the folded bedding. Then she returned to her pups, lifted the smallest, and placed him inside.
Laura waited while the mother looked down at him. Only after Flint stepped aside did she help move the other three. Owen stayed low and in sight while the wolf checked each small body.
Caleb brought his vehicle close to the porch, keeping the interior heated. Owen carried the box with Laura beside him. Flint followed as far as the steps, then stopped at the noise of the engine.
“No pulling her in,” Laura said.
They waited with the doors arranged so she could see the box. Flint circled behind the vehicle, vanished briefly in the snow, and returned to Owen’s side. He lowered the window enough for her to catch the pups’ scent.
The chapel was less than half a mile away. Caleb drove so slowly that Owen could count the fence posts going by. Whenever Flint disappeared from view, he stopped. She traveled beside them, then ahead of the lights, then close to the window again while Laura monitored the litter.
At the entrance a man from the dock was shoveling the steps. Two neighbors carried split wood from a sled. Ruth had walked ahead during the preparations and was already waving people away from the doorway.
“Leave it there, please. Let them through.”
By the shed, Dennis crouched over the generator with his clerical collar half hidden by his coat. He muttered at a cable, adjusted it, and tried again. The engine sputtered before finding a steady rhythm.
Owen entered with the box. Dry wax and dust scented the room, and warmth had begun spreading from the inner wall. Laura chose a space beyond the last pew, sheltered but with a clear route to the side door.
Flint followed them inside. Beneath the small windows she stopped, ears drawn back at the unfamiliar people. Ruth sent the remaining volunteer into the vestibule and closed the inner door.
Owen waited beside the box while Laura settled the litter onto fresh bedding. The mother circled once and lay around them.
The smallest pup nosed along her belly. He stopped, tried again, and finally found his place. Laura remained bent close until his jaw began to work.
“That’s it,” she whispered.
Ruth set a clean cloth within reach and took the end of a bench. Inside the stove, a piece of wood settled with a familiar little crack. Owen could almost hear Walter objecting to somebody bringing damp fuel through his door.
Caleb came in from the porch, phone in hand. He waited until Laura looked up.
“We’re authorized to keep them here tonight. Tomorrow’s placement still stands…”
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