City Wolves Read online

  At first Ma Wolf would not come out. She hobbled around the pups trying to keep them encircled. But the pups were curious and adventurous. They scrambled out onto the driveway. Then Ma yelped and quickly took the lead, hobbling straight towards the meadow and creek. She looked back, seeing the Wilkinsons gathering in a line at the edge of the meadow but not pursuing further. She led her pups to the creek where she lay down for a drink and rest.

  “It’s too much,” Meg cried. “Too soon. She’s not strong enough.”

  Then Ma got up, considered crossing the creek where she was, but it was too rocky and fast-flowing. She led the pups to the wooden bridge and crossed over.

  “See how smart she is!” Meg clapped.

  In the meadow on the other side of the bridge, again Ma lay down. The woods were another field away. The pups lay down near her, then got bored and began to romp around with each other.

  “We can’t stand here all day,” said Emma. “There’s bread to be made. And soap. Meg, the lye is ready.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Meg. It was outdoor work where she could keep a lookout for the wolves. “But please, Momma, just a bit longer.”

  “Yes,” said Herbert. “Let’s see what happens, Emma dear.”

  Ma Wolf let the pups play in the fresh spring grass while she hobbled around, testing her strength, looking sometimes to the woods, sometimes back to the shed and the family watching her.

  “Maybe she’ll come back to us,” said Meg. “Maybe she knows we’ll keep her pups safe and well-fed.”

  “Right!” said Dave. “Well fed upon your chickens and our livestock.”

  Ma Wolf stood still and howled. A small chorus answered then two wolves came out of the woods. Ma hobbled fast as she could towards them, her pups running with her. The pack, now of six, disappeared into the woods.

  Late that afternoon, at the time she had usually fed the wolves, Meg, escorted by Herbert with his rifle, took a pail of meat and gizzards, to a pile of rocks near the woods. She set it down and howled in imitation of Ma Wolf. There was no answering howl. Meg and Herbert retreated to a distant stone pile and waited until Herbert lost patience and took Meg home. Meg lingered long at the garden gate, peering towards the rock pile near the woods. Yes! She could see Ma Wolf and the pups emerge. They were eating their food. Meg summoned her father and all to witness.

  Soon Meg was allowed to leave food for the wolves, without armed escort. Each afternoon throughout spring, summer and into the autumn, she delivered their food to the rock pile. Sometimes Ma and the pups were visibly waiting for her, standing at the edge of the woods. Meg threw the meat from the pail into four piles on the ground, voiced a brief howl, then backed away. Always she stood out of range as they ran to the food and devoured it. They never approached her or tried to follow her home as a dog might. But they looked at her carefully, appreciatively. The pups grew into strong young wolves. They appeared less and less frequently with Ma who had become quite adept on three legs, but she could no longer hunt, and they were off, learning to do so.

  One chilling cold and rainy afternoon in November when Meg was carrying a pail of chicken gizzards over the bridge, she looked towards the rock pile and saw Ma Wolf lying in its shelter. Meg talked to her as she drew cautiously closer. But Ma did not even lift her head. Her ginger eyes were still, her three-legged body lifeless. There were no marks of violence. Just a lifeless body.

  Meg’s brothers dug a grave near the rocks. Meg helped lower Ma Wolf’s body into it.

  Did she come here to die alone in a protected spot, Meg pondered through grief. Did she have an illness or a heart attack? The thought of poison did not occur to her until much later when she discovered the fate of the pups.

  “Now what are you going to be,” said Stew, “a wolf doctor?”

  “There’s no such thing,” said Alice. “There’s only horse doctors.”

  Ike’s spirit hovered over the scene. He smiled upon Meg for rescuing the wolves but he approved even more her letting them go. As a child, he had loved wolves as she did though he had no fear of them, for he was familiar with their ways and wished only that he could be more like them. Then, out of love he created a vision of them which involved possession and ambition. It necessitated captivity and domination. But the end product was strong and handsome and very useful to people. He and Piji succeeded in creating a line of the most famous indigenous sled dogs of North America.

  Discontented in life, Ike’s spirit found reason for outrage in wandering through history. He saw his dogs, admired for their strength, intelligence, and supreme dedication, taken from the North Pole to the South, on voyages of important discovery. All very glorious, until he saw so many of them starved or driven to their death, some eaten by their human masters, who sometimes ate each other, to no avail, since they too soon died. In disgust and guilt, Ike slunk away from such scenes.

  Seeing the dead body of Ma Wolf and Meg’s grief, Ike was moved differently.

  “That’s nothing!” he wanted to shake Meg. “Nothing, compared to the pain and suffering I’ve seen inflicted upon wolves through the centuries that I’ve bounced around in my torment. Toughen up, girl. You’re on the right track. You made it better for those wolves. Can you find your way to help my dogs?”

  4

  PARENTS FIRST

  MEG WAS FOURTEEN when she graduated from the one-room local school. Her teacher was Jean Duncan, about to leave her profession to get married and become the wife of Dr. Atkins, a medical doctor in Halifax.

  “I want to be a horse doctor,” Meg said to her, lingering on the last day of school. “I mean a doctor of all animals, actually.”

  Jean thought carefully before responding, knowing her own struggle in becoming a teacher, which was an accepted and admired profession for unmarried women. “You are serious about this, are you, Meg?”

  “Very.”

  “I have heard of women doctors, doctors of people, that is.” She smiled. “They have a very difficult time, because people don’t accept that they can be as good as men. They think they shouldn’t try to be. They think a woman’s place is in the home. Mind you, my fiancé doesn’t think like that. He approves of women doctors. Though they have a tough go of it. It would be very hard to have children and be a doctor, of any kind.”

  “My mother’s place has always been in the home,” said Meg, then dared to add, feeling a sense of betrayal of her mother and her home life, but Miss Duncan was a woman she felt she could trust and might never have the opportunity to confer with again: “And my mother is as unhappy as can be.”

  “Oh dear, Meg, is that really true?”

  “I think so. Maybe it’s because she misses England and all that she had there. Or because she had six sons before she had me and Alice to help with the housework. She misses her sisters and other women to talk to. She doesn’t like the farm but she won’t go on trips to Halifax with my dad, because her clothes are old and out of fashion and don’t fit right any more. She’s over fifty now and says she’s altogether too old and worn out.”

  Jean fiddled with her pencil, tapped its rubber head on her desk. “I see why,” she said, “you want to be something different. A doctor of all animals.” She reached for the big dictionary on her desk. “Let’s look this up. I think there’s a more correct word for this.” She fingered through until she came to it. “Yes! Veterinarian. A surgeon of injuries and illnesses in animals.” She showed the word to Meg. “Is that what you want to be?”

  “I do,” said Meg, feeling she must practise the pronunciation of this big word in private.

  “I have never heard of a woman veterinarian, but there’s always a first, at everything. Do you want me to talk to your parents about this?”

  Emma was surprised to see Meg and Alice being driven home on the last day in their teacher’s horse and buggy. She went inside to change her blouse and fix her hair.

  “You must stay to tea,” said Emma, standing on the porch. “We weren’t expecting company but I do have a fresh
strawberry pie, in honour of Meg’s last day at school. It’s not much compared to what we served at Squirrel Hall. But then, we’re not in England, are we? Oh my, I’m a bit flustered. My husband and I have been making some plans in light of our daughter’s finishing her schooling. Please excuse me. I’m overexcited. Meg and Alice, help your teacher down from the carriage. Miss Duncan, I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Wilkinson. Thank you very much. I’d love to stay to tea.” Jean glanced at Meg. Is this the unhappy mother you described?

  “What’s been going on?” Meg whispered to Alice.

  “Don’t ask me.” Alice shrugged. “But looks like Mom is pretty happy about something.”

  Herbert emerged from the house and stepped quickly to the buggy. “Allow me.” He shooed the girls towards the house. “Allow me, Miss Duncan. I’m Herbert Wilkinson. Most pleased to welcome you to our home.”

  Meg and Alice were instructed to set the table with the white linen cloth, silver spoons, and china cups brought from England. Cream was whipped into peaks which promptly sank in the heat of the afternoon, so it was left in the bowl and served “English style,” clots of cream plunked onto the pie.

  “Your daughter, Meg, has been consistently top of her class,” said Miss Duncan, then noted Alice dropping her head. “Of course, Alice also does well.”

  “All our children do, if I may say so.” said Emma. “Our sons have all moved on in the world.”

  “Yes. I’ve only had the pleasure of teaching your daughters. And now that Meg has graduated …”

  “She is to be commended,” said Herbert in oratorical style as he raised his tea cup. “Here’s to our Meg. She’s always been an industrious lass. Turned a few hens into a right profitable business. And now that she’s finished her schooling, we’re willing to hand on to her the full responsibility of the household. Yes, Meg. You and Alice can feed and do for the lads while your mother and I take a long overdue vacation. Miss Duncan, you’ll understand my good wife’s excitement when I tell you, tell all of you,” he nodded to Meg and Alice. “My dear Emma and I are taking a trip back to the old country.”

  “I congratulate you, sir.” Jean said then turned to Emma. “And Mrs. Wilkinson.”

  “I only dreamed of it, over thirty years.” Emma wiped the corner of her eye. “Over thirty years.”

  “When will you go?”

  “In August,” said Herbert. “I must come back in time for the autumn legislature but Emma may stay on over the winter. She has never enjoyed our winters, have you, my dear.”

  Jean looked at Meg who subtly shook her head and looked at the table. It was no use even asking.

  “I hope you have a wonderful time abroad,” said Jean. “I must be on my way now. This has been a lovely tea. Thank you. Thank you for including me in celebrating your plans. But there’s something I want to put for your consideration. It has to do with further education for Meg. She wants to be a veterinarian. I would recommend her in applying for college entrance exams this September. And if this year is not possible, then she could use the year to study at home and do the exams next year.”

  Emma froze. Herbert coughed.

  “It is a policy in our family,” he said, “that one child is not given more than another. And certainly, a daughter cannot be favoured over a son. Our sons have managed well without further education, so too will our daughters.”

  Parents putting themselves first, thought Jean as Meg accompanied her to her buggy. How different they are from mine. My parents would do anything to give us the best education possible. As I intend with mine. How can there be any progress, with attitudes like theirs! That Mrs. Wilkinson was clearly to the manor born, and nothing here in “the colonies” will please her. She’ll come back unhappier than ever. A natural-born snob if there ever was one. Oh well. Jean climbed into her buggy and looked at Meg. I musn’t teach this bright young girl disrespect for her parents. I must give her hope, not despair. Jean, soon to be Mrs. Atkins, wrote her address on a piece of paper.

  “This is where I’ll be living in Halifax. I want you to call on me when you come to the city. I’ll look into borrowing books for you to study at home.”

  The subject of further education for Meg was not raised again. Emma would not look Meg in the eye, though Meg felt her looking intently at her at times. Emma’s manner with Meg was as though a distance must be maintained. But Emma was on no even keel in regard to their trip back to Yorkshire. The trip was on and then it was off. On again, off again.

  The egg money was used to buy yards of cloth for new dresses for Emma. But Emma couldn’t work the new sewing machine. She angrily pulled the cloth and broke the machine’s needle. “Now look what I’ve done!” She cried and took to her bed. “I’m not a seamstress. I can make rough clothes for eight children but I can’t make anything fine for myself. I’ll never master that machine, let alone the dress patterns. And I can’t go anywhere, looking the way I do. I’m not going!”

  “I’ve put in a new needle,” Alice called out to her then whispered to Meg. “And I bet I can follow this dress pattern.” A passable wardrobe was assembled.

  It was an unusually rainy July.

  “The crops will be poor,” said Emma. “We can’t possibly afford to go now.”

  “The weather may clear,” said Dave. “But no matter. The pork prices are good and we’ve got a bumper crop of pigs ready for market.”

  “It may be a good year for apples,” said Meg.

  “That’s my little optimist,” said Herbert, “always alert to a good profit. I’ll put you in charge of the orchard this year. Let you see to the picking and the selling. With all your schooling, you could see to the bookkeeping too, couldn’t you?”

  “I’ve been doing that for years with the eggs.”

  “Now don’t get lippy,” said Herbert.

  “She feels hard done by,” said Emma. “She wanted that egg money for herself.”

  “Mother!” said Meg. “I never said that.”

  “You might as well have. The way you’ve been moping around ever since that teacher left. She put ideas into your head, didn’t she? Well, I had to go to work for my living when I was your age. And I had to pay rent to my parents. You have it so much easier than I did. And you resent your father and I for taking this one trip, don’t you!”

  “Now, now Emma. Meg hasn’t said that.”

  “Oh yes, she has. Just not in words. And I can’t stand it. So I’m not going. There! Is everyone satisfied now!” Emma took to her room again.

  They departed as planned on a modern ship out of Halifax harbour in August. But they returned together in October. A change of attitude had taken place in Emma. She had no desire to stay on in Yorkshire.

  The voyage back to England had been such a contrast to the voyage to Canada thirty-some years earlier. The modern ship was enormous, luxurious, propelled by steam. It seemed to propel them smoothly over the ocean in no time at all. Whereas the earlier voyage she always remembered as one long vomit. That’s what it was, one long vomit, during which she had thrown up everything but the baby within.

  Then that first winter in the roughness and darkness of their log house. The frightening sound of wolves howling in the woods. The snow, bright and interesting at first, but then it piled up and stayed too long, making everything more difficult, the hauling of water, the clothing and washing and feeding of her babies and children. Everything more difficult and arduous than she had ever imagined life would be. When in domestic service at Squirrel Hall, her hours of work had been limited and paid.

  Becoming a wife and mother, the mistress of Wolf Woods Farm, had seemed a bad deal, until she returned to England with Herbert and saw what had become of her sisters’ grown-up lives. Her oldest sister, the one whose life had been ruined by getting with child, unmarried, had gone to Liverpool and never been heard from again. Her other sister, who was married and had the good fortune of few children, was wasting away of consumption. And no wonder! The small, damp, ho
uses, smelling of the coal smoke that filled their lungs. Her third sister had married the lamplighter, who turned into a violent drinker and made their home a fearful misery. It was a mercy that he had died from the kick of a horse he had stumbled upon from behind. Her sister was better off as a widow who took in laundry and raised her three children herself, though one of them was sickly and would never be a help to her.

  Emma came away from that trip home, feeling she had done very well in life, after all. She no longer saw herself as the lonely, fearful, weary, endlessly childbearing homesteader, but as the mistress of a prospering farm, with eight healthy children, and a husband who had become a respected politician. Her Yorkshire village now seemed diminished in size and prospects. She had choked on the coal fires, shivered in the dampness, found the buildings and the days dominated by the gloomy effect of grey and clouds.

  Sailing back into Halifax harbour, Emma felt warmed by the sunshine and cheered by the colourful wooden houses. She had become a stranger in Yorkshire, but as they drove through the cobbled streets of Halifax, people waved and doffed their hats to her, the wife of Herbert Wilkinson. She smiled and nodded regally to them.

  They spent a glamorous night in Halifax’s biggest hotel, then next day purchased a gift they had agreed upon for Meg. Something she had wanted since she was a little girl. The others had gifts from England.

  Meg and Alice had dinner prepared when Stew brought their parents from the stagecoach, down the lane of Wolf Woods Farm. Meg swung the gate open, welcoming them. Sitting in the buggy on Herbert’s lap was a big black pup, which he lifted up to hand over to Meg. It looked like a small bear cub. “It’s a Newfoundlander,” said Herbert. “A rescue dog. You can swim in the ocean with it.”

  Meg called him Poley because of his roly-poly nature and bear-like appearance. She took him to the ocean where they swam long distances. He followed her everywhere he was allowed. Emma, in her newly acquired good humour, allowed him in the house but not up into the loft where he might sleep on beds. Alice objected to his being brought along to community social events such as the church picnic.