Wild Girl Running, page 21
“Ulysses wants to cart you off across the sea and—”
“No! Not smart—you’re not smart. You don’t know! Ulysses wants to stay. Ulysses wants to stay with me, here. Me and Ulysses in the forest—loving, being, a pack. A family. No money. No bad. Just love.”
Nostrils flaring, Jason said, “Well, I’m glad Ulysses changed his mind, but—”
His step forward was interrupted when Estelle shot at his feet. He leapt back; she did, too, almost having forgotten the volume of a gun’s discharge in the time since the duck hunt.
But that leap gave her momentum, much as it widened the gap between the two of them. Without the least delay, the girl dashed through the front door of the cabin and into the tree-filtered sunlight.
Her heart pounded in her breast. Estelle looked around, searching for any sign of Ulysses. Two horses pawed anxiously at the earth where they had been tied to a tree some ways down the leaf-littered path to the cabin; she looked around, all across the ground, in search of Ulysses’s tracks. Her hunter eyes soon found them—drawing not just his from relief with the grass and moss, but someone else’s. Estelle followed, her sweaty palms forcing her to tighten her grip on the gun or lose it entirely.
What had happened here? Where had Ulysses been taken? She feared for his life but somehow thought that, if he were really dead, she would feel it in the center of her heart. Yes—she would have heard a cry, a gunshot, anything.
Someone else had heard a gunshot, though. At motion in the distance, Estelle skidded to a stop, the pistol raised in time to train on Tom Dulcamara. He worked his way in pursuit of the sound of the discharge, but stopped short when he found himself all of twelve yards from the girl whose eyes blazed behind the merciless gun.
“Well, now, Estelle! Wild girl…what’re you doing running through these woods alone?”
“Ulysses! Where?”
“I see you already met up with Jason.” Tom considered the pearl-handled pistol in her hands, then slowly lowered the rifle he held to the earth. “Don’t you go pointing that thing all around, now…liable to hurt somebody.”
“Just you,” she told him, pulling back the hammer. “Ulysses! Where, where?”
“Back that ways a little, sugar, out for a nap in the trees. No harm done, I promise you.”
Relief washing over her, Estelle gestured with the gun again. “Show me.”
“Right this way,” answered Dulcamara, turning his back to her with his hands both lifted in the air. Breath held, Estelle followed him at a distance, the gun trained always on his back. All the while the cruel and evil man continued talking, yammering on as if he really expected his words to make a difference.
“You know, Estelle, you’re an awful special girl. I’m not rightly sure Ulysses knows how special! He was just telling me all about how he wants to live here in the woods with you, but now—you don’t want that really, do you? Haven’t you seen enough of the woods? Wouldn’t you rather see America? All of America? It’s a wild country, little sister, I’ll tell you that for sure…different everywhere you look. Bet you’ve never seen a desert, for instance, or a swamp. I can name a few things that I think you’d find to be quite—”
She got so sick of his voice that she fired the gun past him, eliciting a yelp and high spate of nervous laughter. “All right! Hell’s bells, all right, point taken…guess Dr. Cochran hasn’t finished the process of your education, else you’d know nice young ladies don’t go around shooting guns at gentlemen.”
“Ulysses is gentle man,” she corrected tersely. “You, Tom…animal. No—toxic mushroom. Make Estelle sick.”
“Phoo-ee! You don’t need a gun to shoot a man through the heart, Estelle, that’s for damn sure…”
It wasn’t long, thankfully, before they broached the boundary of the very same clearing where Estelle and Ulysses had shared the powerful lessons of the good-natured mushroom the night before. There, Ulysses lay face-down among the wildflowers. A gasp escaped her lips and Estelle dashed forward, shoving Tom aside to reach her lover. Beside his prone form, she threw the gun down and hurried to draw him into her arms.
“Ulysses,” she whispered, relieved at least to hear his breath but not able to relax until she saw him conscious. “Ulysses!”
“Ah…Estelle…” As he stirred, grimacing against her, she cooed in sympathy at the welt upon the back of his head. This was the mark to which his hand began to lift, but she stopped its trajectory to hold his fingers gently in hers.
“Careful, Ulysses—oh, Ulysses hurt!”
“Oh, dear…ah, I’ll be all right. Just a knock on the—Tom!”
The physician’s shadow fell across her before she could so much as react to the sound of her true love’s cry. In one second, Dulcamara had the pistol and stepped back from the couple to aim it properly at them.
“You silly little fool! See, now, you’re just an ape-girl after all…hey, maybe that’s what I’ll call you! ‘Ape-Girl of Appalachia,’ much better than ‘Wild Woman of West Virginia.’ What was I thinking!”
Laughing cruelly, Tom relaxed his posture in overconfidence and gestured casually with the gun. “That’s the thing about inspiration, I reckon…you never know when it’s going to strike. A little like when first I heard about you, Estelle! I would have gone in on a partnership with you, Ulysses, but you’re just too damn stubborn…can’t trust a man like that not to change his mind even once he’s finally been convinced. Yes, I think it’s better this way. Don’t go thinkin’ it’s all bad for you, though…you still have the cabin. Come on, Ape-Girl…get on up, you leave him there and let’s hit the road.”
“No,” said Estelle sternly, her arms tightening around Ulysses. “Estelle hates Tom. I hate you, Tom.”
“We’re going to need you to dial back the English in public, honey…can’t have the crowds thinking you’re educated, or even educatable. Now, come on.” The hammer clicked back and his face grew darker while he said, “Get up or I shoot your hero. I won’t say it again.”
But he didn’t have to. He would never get a chance. The click of the hammer was followed by another noise—one that came from the trees and filled Estelle’s heart with a throb of wild joy. Only when the girl laughed did Tom turn around to search for the source of the sound: and only when Tom turned around did the great gray wolf spring from the trees, its growl pealing into a snarl of absolute rage.
The next few seconds were such a blur of blood and fur that Estelle could hardly keep up. The physician cried out, firing wildly into the trees, his gun soon clicking empty while the wolf, with its grip on his arm, shook its head to break the bone. When at last the emptied pistol tumbled from his hand, Tom was driven to his knees by the pain. He cried out, “Please,” as though the wild animal could speak—as though it cared about his suffering, his miserable human life.
It didn’t.
While Estelle watched in amazement, her arms still around Ulysses, the wolf dragged the duplicitous doctor into the trees.
No one would ever see Tom Dulcamara again.
While his screaming receded into the distance, Estelle forgot him immediately. Her entire world became absorbed by Ulysses and her concerns for him. While she helped him over upon his back and drew him up until he was seated properly, she begged to know, “All right? All right? Oh, Ulysses! There, there…”
While she gently petted his back, Ulysses, a hint of tear in his eyes, nodded and said, “Yes, Estelle—yes, I’m all right. Oh, God! I’m so glad you’re okay—kiss me, Estelle, please, I was so frightened for both of us—”
The girl dipped his head over his, their hearts meeting as intimately as their lips in that sacred second. He reached up and gripped her face while her fingers sank into his shoulders, their breaths like the warm summer wind that whistled through the trees around them.
When Estelle lifted her head, the breath of that kiss froze in a stifled gasp. Jason Blackthorn stood at the edge of the clearing, the rifle in his hand. Estelle’s arms tightened defensively around Ulysses.
Unmoving, Blackthorn studied first the man, then the woman.
“Got my rifle back,” he said, gesturing with the weapon that pointed off to the side, rather than at either of the lovers. “Sounds from that scream like Tom won’t have any argument about the matter.”
The couple said nothing. Jason looked hard into Estelle’s face; at the arms that cradled Ulysses to her breast.
“I guess if this is really how you want to live, well…then that’s your choice. Like Bonnie. I’ll never understand Bonnie. I’ll never understand her…but I wouldn’t make her live any way she didn’t want.”
He glanced at the pearl-handled revolver lying in the bloody grass.
“You can keep that,” he said, “in case Tom comes back. But…I don’t think he will.”
Voice hoarse, Ulysses said, “Thank you, Jason. Thank you.”
“Please don’t thank me, Dr. Cochran. I’m ashamed. I’m disappointed in myself. I think maybe I’ll see if Bonnie wants to buy my house with the money you’ve been paying her…or maybe you will, if you’d like to spend your winters closer to town.”
“I’d like that.”
Just once, Jason nodded. He turned on his heel and made his way into the trees again. “Come and see me when you’re back in town, Ulysses. I’ll probably still be there. Estelle—I’m glad you’re happy.”
The crunching of the leaves beneath his boots faded into the far distance of the forest. Estelle held her breath until her lungs burned: until she couldn’t hear anything anymore except for the slow and anxious breathing of Ulysses.
Alone, the pair looked at one another. Ulysses, whose eyes were already filled with tears, began to weep with relief.
While kissing his cheeks and his beard and his eyelids, Estelle followed suit.
ROAST GOOSE FILLED the city house with a scent so divine that not even Bonnie, who claimed whole roasted animals upset her to look upon, could argue with the effect it had on her appetite. Ulysses beamed with pride and set the golden fowl in the center of the table, laying it reverently amid poinsettia and holly that had been arranged with a few small red candles.
“There,” he said with sincere pleasure. “If that isn’t the finest Christmas feast I’ve had in years…what do you think, Estelle?”
“I’m hungry,” Estelle lamented, her complaint tinged with a miserable, girlish moan that brought a smile to her husband’s lips. “Can we please eat? Please?”
“Almost,” said Bonnie, patting her hand and laughing at her impatient scowl.
Mark shifted forward in his seat, hands folded. “Have to say our prayers first, haven’t we?”
Mark, in his Irish Catholic way, was trying to teach Estelle about God, but Ulysses had a feeling that this was one of those areas where his dear wife would never fully adapt. To her, God was the forest, the sun—the wolf that had dragged Dulcamara into the trees. God was the mother wolf that had raised her and the bear that had chased Ulysses into her camp. The divine was an experiential, impartial force of nature to the girl, who simply could not seem to relate at all with images of the crucifixion or icons of a bearded man raising a pair of crossed fingers.
It was just as well, really. That was where the true anxieties of modern life came in, so far as Ulysses was concerned. Every culture in the world had its own form of religion, and, with maybe one or two small exceptions, nearly all religions were deeply invested in prescribing human behavior.
The last thing Ulysses wanted, ever, was to control Estelle’s behavior. He loved that even after six months together she was still so wild and free—still broke out of his arm to pet a dog or chase a cat. Still wanted to walk in the forest barefoot whenever they were at their cabin. Ah…soon it would be springtime, and they could be there again.
Mrs. Halbrook had just managed the movement of his London estate to a very happy French couple looking to explore the possibilities of other countries. Seeing Estelle admire the goose with a glow in her eyes made him wonder what the staff members of his old home were doing for their own Christmas dinners. Maybe Halbrook could share when she came to visit him, if she wasn’t so enthusiastic about getting to know Estelle that she forgot Christmas had ever happened.
Ah, but Ulysses would never forget Christmas. This, Estelle’s first Christmas with them all, it was the most important one of his life thusfar. The only more important one would come in the future, when they had children who could appreciate the season with them.
Ulysses had just begun to saw into the bird when a knock echoed upon the door of their home. The postman with another letter from Cambridge, begging him to reconsider and return to England with the girl during the spring? Surely not…no postal service ran on Christmas, not even the best-paid private ones. After getting Mark to take his place carving the goose, Ulysses excused himself from the table to answer the door.
On the other side of that door stood the home’s former owner, Jason Blackthorn. Ulysses fell back upon his heel at the unexpected surprise, his eyebrows lifting as he said, “Jason! Why, I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Hope I’m not imposing,” said the fellow, gesturing with the fat tin in his hands. “I brought a fruitcake to make up for it.”
“Oh, goodness, isn’t that kind—come in, come in, Merry Christmas.”
“You, too…hey, Bonnie.”
“Jason!” Laughing with delight, Bonnie leapt from the table to throw her arms around her brother’s neck to kiss his unready face. Eyes aglow with joy, she leaned back. “I thought you were up looking for work in Cleveland!”
“Yeah, well, I thought better of it now that it’s the wintertime…believe me, that’s the wrong place to spend December.”
“Well, this is the right one, even if it seems just about as cold.” Smiling with a yuletide pleasure of his own, Ulysses guided Jason toward the table and fetched him an extra seat. As Bonnie went about getting together another place setting, Ulysses, “Hope you approve of what we’ve done with the place…I think it’s quite cozy, myself.”
“Oh, it looks much nicer than I ever had it…bigger, too. Say, where’s the bear?”
“He’s in my apartment,” answered Bonnie, laughing.
“It was giving poor Estelle nightmares.” Glancing over at the girl who peered shyly at Jason, Ulysses smiled. “You don’t mind that Jason’s come to spend Christmas dinner with us, do you, dear?”
Even now, it was sometimes hard to read what whirled through Estelle’s seemingly boundless mind. Was she happy? Unhappy? Anxious? Maybe a little of all three—nonetheless, whatever she thought, she eventually reached across the table and touched Jason’s hand. “Merry Christmas, Jason,” said Estelle, the greeting as unpracticed upon her lips as it was whole-heartedly meant.
“Merry Christmas, Estelle,” Jason responded, perhaps almost as unaccustomed to using the phrase if only out of spite for his terrible childhood. With a faint smile for the sister who set the place before him, Jason patted Estelle’s hand, then leaned back in his seat to smile at the center of the table. “That’s some goose!”
“Estelle bagged that monster of a thing,” Mark explained, still audibly impressed. He stroked his mustache while Jason lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “I was amazed, too…but I knew it had to be her, soon as I saw it. No way is Ulysses a good enough shot to hit any kind of bird. An ostrich, maybe.”
“So you want to be fired and sent back to Europe, do you…” Ulysses shared a teasing grin with his valet, who sipped from his mug of spiced rum to hide his cheeky smirk. “Well, that would be quite a way to start a new year…”
Soon enough the impromptu little family sat around the table, sawing the goose to pieces and devouring suet pudding. Bonnie and her brother caught each other up and Mark chatted with Estelle about her latest adventures in bird-watching and herb-growing, this latter hobby being somewhat stalled by the cold depths of wintertime. At last, Jason glanced up at Ulysses.
“And how are you doing, Dr. Cochran? I heard you and Estelle got married.”
“Very well, thank you! Happier than I’ve been in years.”
“Still in the anthropology field?”
“Mm, in small ways. I think I chose Estelle above all that, but—well, do you want to tell him what we’re up to, dear?”
Estelle beamed, her smile as pretty as the curls in which she’d permitted Bonnie to set her hair. “We’re writing a book!”
Jason lifted his eyebrows in astonishment, not just to hear Estelle’s advanced grasp of language but also at her bold declaration. He glanced back at Ulysses. “Is that so?”
“It is, it is indeed…Estelle knows much more about plants than I do. Mushrooms, too. I’ve taken something of an interest in entheogens—sacred plants, vision-inducing or otherwise. Estelle lends her knowledge and experience, and I do the hard work of the writing down.”
“I’m learning to write, too,” she advised quickly, smiling all the wider when her husband took her hand to kiss it.
“Yes, you are, my dear—ah, she learns more and more every day. Faster than I ever dreamed. I’m a lucky man to have such a smart wife.”
With a surprised but ultimately pleased little smile of his own, Jason took a sip of his drink and said, “Well, Dr. Cochran…I have to hand it to you. This is quite a home you’ve made for yourself here in the states.”
“Without Estelle, I would still be wandering the world. Never, not even as a boy, did I dream I could be so happy in one place.”
Sweet dimples appearing in her cheeks with the breadth of her smile, Estelle reached over and stroked Ulysses’s arm. “You make me so happy, Ulysses.”
Heart swelling with pride, with love, with the blessings of his good fortune to have found this woman at all, Ulysses leaned over and kissed her waiting mouth. “Merry Christmas, Estelle,” he told her, looking deeply into her eyes. “Thank you for being a part of my life.”
