Wild Life (10 page)

In the morning Erik heard the phone ring. When he went downstairs, Quill scrambling behind him, he found Oma and Big Darrell sitting at the kitchen table, their expressions grim. They both smiled when they saw him, but the smiles quickly faded. They exchanged a glance and Oma said, “We'd best tell him.”

Big Darrell nodded. He looked at Erik and said, “That was Mike Duvochin. He's taking the day off to come for the dog. He'll be here in about two hours.”

Erik had known in his heart that this was coming. After waking, he had lain in bed steeling himself for the time when Quill's owner would come for her. And still the news struck him with such devastating force that it took his breath away. He realized part of him had held out hope that it wouldn't turn out this way, and that he and Quill would remain together.

“I'm sorry, Erik,” Oma murmured into the silence of the kitchen.

Erik couldn't speak. His eyes filled with tears, and to hide them he quickly bent down to pet Quill.

Several moments passed before Oma handed him an envelope, saying gently, “This came while you were gone.”

It was a letter from his parents, mailed just before they left home. His father wrote that he was proud to be serving his country, despite the upset to their lives. He said, “I hope in time you will come to understand that sometimes in life we have to do things we don't want to do. The right thing to do is sometimes the hard thing.” His mother wrote that she hoped he was getting on well with Oma and was learning to stay out of Big Darrell's way, and that he didn't mind being in North Dakota too awfully much. They both said how much they loved him and looked forward to seeing him again.

Reading it, Erik marveled at how much had happened since he'd said an angry goodbye to his parents in New York. The letter in his hand might have been written to a different boy. As Oma made breakfast of bacon and pancakes, he wrote a letter back. He didn't tell about running away. There was no need to get them all riled up, especially now that he was home safely. Instead, he told about how he'd gone hunting, after all, and how great it had been, and how North Dakota was pretty cool once you got to know it. He signed it “Love, Erik,” and hoped it would set their minds at ease.

After breakfast, he went outside with Quill. They walked over to the row of trees and sat, their backs to the house, facing the prairie. The weather had turned mild again, and the sun gleamed on the fields of unharvested wheat and sunflowers as if on a golden sea.

He explained to Quill that her owner was coming for her, although he knew she didn't understand. By saying it out loud and going over and over it in his mind, he knew he was really trying to prepare himself.

“You are the best dog in the whole world, you know that, don't you? You saved my life out there. You taught me how to hunt. I'll never, ever forget you.”

He wrapped his arms around her warm body and sniffed deeply so he would never forget, either, the familiar, earthy smell of her fur, which held within it the sharp, clean scent of prairie grass and open air.

He thought about losing what you love.

“What am I going to do?” he whispered into her neck.

All he could come up with was that he'd have to hold tight to his memories of their days together, and to the things he still had. He'd go to school on Monday, and maybe it wouldn't be as bad as he had feared. He'd keep on going, what else was there to do? He would do the next thing that needed doing, and the next. And try to find new things to love.

When Mike Duvochin's truck pulled into the driveway a few minutes after ten, Erik was ready. He stood up and watched as Mike got out of the cab, looked around, and spotted them.

“Hey there, Flash!” Duvochin called.

Quill ran to him, her tail wagging. Erik had prepared himself for this moment, but still it wrenched his heart. Duvochin bent down to pat her and when they had finished their greeting, he stood up.

Quill—Erik would always think of her as Quill—stood midway between them, her mouth hanging open in a dopey grin.

“You must be Erik.”

Erik stepped forward and put out his hand. “Erik Carlson, sir.”

Duvochin hesitated, then shook Erik's proffered hand.

Behind him, Erik heard the kitchen door open and close, and saw that Oma and Big Darrell had come out onto the porch.

Mike Duvochin nodded to them, then turned his gaze back to Erik. “Well, Erik, I don't know quite what to say to you. You stole my dog. I was mad as hell. I was considering taking legal action against you. But I hear she was in pretty bad shape from that porcupine, and you helped to doctor her.”

Erik swallowed, but found he couldn't speak.

“I understand you got pretty attached to her, too.”

Erik nodded.

“I can see how that would happen. She's a great dog, maybe the best I've ever had. Did she hunt for you?”

Erik nodded again, afraid to even try to talk.

“I spent a lot of hours working with her, you know. She's got all the right instincts, but a dog like this needs a lot of training to be the best she can be.”

Erik managed to murmur, “I know. And she is. The best.”

Duvochin shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other and said, “Hell, I just want you to understand this dog is special.”

“I know.”

“If she was just any old dog, I might have let her go, but—”

“I wouldn't give her up if she was mine, either,” Erik said.

Duvochin took a deep breath. “Well, listen, you probably saved her life and I'm grateful to you for that.”

Erik nodded.

“Okay, then,” Duvochin said, obviously uneasy and ready to be on his way, “I guess we'll be taking off…”

Quill was sniffing the edges of Oma's garden, and Erik called her over to say goodbye. He thanked her for being his dog for as long as she could. He whispered that he loved her. She licked his face.

Then Duvochin got into his truck and called, “Flash, here!” and she hopped right into the cab and sat beside him in the passenger seat. Erik remembered Dr. Bob saying, “That's the beauty of dogs. They don't dwell on the past.” He was glad for Quill's sake that her heart wasn't being broken the way his was.

He watched until the truck disappeared. He kept on watching until the only sign of it that remained was the whirl of dust it had raised on the gravel road. When that, too, was gone, blown off by the constant prairie wind, Erik turned away. Carefully, he climbed the porch stairs to where Oma and Big Darrell stood waiting for him.

Oma placed her hand gently on his cheek for a moment, but nobody spoke. After a while, Erik took a deep breath and looked around. The broken step caught his eye. He pointed to it and said to Big Darrell, “I saw some tools and scraps of lumber in the barn. If you want, we could try to fix that busted step today.”

Big Darrell gazed down at the porch as if he were seeing it for the first time in a long time. Then he looked at Erik and nodded. “All right,” he said.

Oma beamed at them. “Why, thank you, Erik. What a nice idea.” To Big Darrell she said, “I remember when you built this porch, you and Dan. You used to be quite the handyman.”

Big Darrell said slowly, “I guess there's a lot of things I used to do.” He looked at Erik. “Maybe I just wanted a boy to do 'em with.”

“I'm ready if you are,” said Erik.