Stef Penney - The Tenderness of Wolves

Mackinley and Sammy leave while there is light, gathering from the woman’s rather confused story that her husband may be hurt. They are swallowed up in the gloom beneath the trees and Ross doles out nips of brandy to everyone. The woman cheers up noticeably.

‘So who are the people you are following?’ she asks, when the children have fallen into a fathomless sleep.

Ross sighs and says nothing; Matthew looks from Ross to Sturrock, who takes this as his cue.

‘It is rather peculiar, and not easy to tell. Mr Ross, perhaps … No? Well, a few weeks ago there was an unfortunate incident, you see, and a man died. Mr Ross’s son went missing from Dove River at the same time–possibly he was following someone. Then two Hudson’s Bay men went to look for him as part of their enquiries. They have been gone some time and no one has heard from them.’

‘And …’ Matthew leans forward eagerly, encouraged by the woman’s interest, ‘that’s not all! There was another man, arrested for the murder–a half-breed and an evil-looking fellow–and then he escaped, well, no, actually someone released him, and he went missing with Francis’s mother … and they haven’t been seen since!’

Matthew stops and blushes deeply, realising too late what he has said, and throws a scared glance at Ross.

‘It is not known that they were together, or that either of them came this way,’ Sturrock reminds him, with a wary look at Ross, who seems unmoved. ‘But, that, in short, is why we are here–to find whoever we can, to see that they are … safe.’

The woman leans in to the fire, her eyes very wide and shining; she is quite transformed from the terrified creature in the forest of a few hours before. She takes a breath and puts her head on one side.

‘You have been so kind to us. We owe you our lives. So I feel I must say to you, Mr Ross, that I have seen your son, and your wife, and they are both quite well. They are all quite well.’

Ross turns to her for the first time, and stares at her. Sturrock would never have believed, had he not seen it, how that granite face could melt.

Francis wakes up to brilliant sunshine for the first time in weeks. There is an uncanny silence all around–none of the usual noises from the corridor or the yard. He dresses and goes to the door. It is open; things have got rather lax since Moody left. He wonders what will happen if he goes out on his own; perhaps someone will panic and take a shot at him. Unlikely, since the Elect are people of God and don’t tend to carry arms. There is nowhere he could go anyway, without leaving his distinctive limping print behind him in the snow. He hops out into the corridor, leaning on the crutch. No one comes running, and indeed, there are few sounds of life. Francis thinks quickly–is it Sunday? No, there was one only a few days ago (it is difficult to keep track of the days here). He fantasises that everyone has left. He negotiates the corridor stretching out in front of him. He has no idea where any of the doors lead, as he has not left his room since he was brought here. No sign of his jailer, Jacob. He finds at last a door that leads to the outside, and goes through it.

The shock of the fresh air is as cold as it is sweet. The sun is blinding; the cold makes his face sting, but he sucks great draughts of it into his lungs, savouring the ache. How could he have put up with lying in that room for so long? He is revolted by himself. He practises moving faster, hopping back and forth outside the door, getting used to the crutch. And then he hears a cry. He follows the sound round the corner of the stables, and sees, a hundred yards away, a knot of people. Despite his first impulse to duck back out of sight, they do not seem very interested in him, so he hops nearer. Jacob is one of them; he notices Francis and comes towards him.

‘What is happening? Why is everyone out here?’

Jacob glances over his shoulder. ‘You know I told you Line and the carpenter had left? Well … the man has come back.’

Francis hops slowly towards the gaggle of Norwegians: several of the women are crying; Per is intoning what sounds like a prayer. In the midst of them, he sees the man Jacob must mean–a hollow-eyed, unshaven creature, his nose and cheeks flayed red with frostbite, his beard and moustache white with rime. So this is the carpenter he has never seen, whom Line stole away. Someone seems to be questioning him, but he looks dazed. Francis chastises himself for being slow on the uptake, then staggers towards him, his anger growing.

‘What have you done with her?’ he shouts, not knowing if the man even speaks English. ‘Where is Line? Have you left her out there? And her children?’

The carpenter turns towards him in amazement–understandable, since he has never seen him before.

‘Where is she?’ demands Francis, fierce and afraid.

‘She … I don’t know.’ The man falters. ‘One night … we got to a village, and I couldn’t bear it. I knew I was doing wrong. I wanted to come back. So I left her … at the village.’

There is a sharp-featured woman beside him, clinging to him, in tears. Francis guesses she is the abandoned wife.

‘What village is this? How far away?’

The man’s eyes flicker. ‘I don’t know its name. It was on a river … a small river.’

‘How many days away?’

‘Uh … Three days.’

‘You’re lying. There is no village three days from here, not if you went south.’

The man blanches, even behind his pallor. ‘We lost the compass …’

‘Where did you leave her?’

The carpenter starts to cry. At last, half in Norwegian and half in English, he explains.

‘It was awful … We were lost. I heard a shot, and I thought I could find the hunter and he would show us the way. But I couldn’t find him … There were wolves. When I went back, I found blood, and they were … gone.’

He sobs wretchedly. The thin-featured woman draws away from him, as if in disgust. The others look at Francis with open-mouthed curiosity–half of them have not seen him since he was brought in half dead. Francis feels tears threaten, his throat has closed up, choking him.

Per holds up his hand in a command for attention. ‘I think we all had better go inside. Espen needs treatment, and food. Then we will find out what happened and send men out to look for them.’

He speaks in his own tongue, and gradually, they all turn and walk back to the buildings.

Jacob falls into step with Francis. He doesn’t speak until they are nearly inside.

‘Listen. I don’t know, but … It is strange that wolves attack and kill three people. Maybe that is not what happened.’

Francis looks at him. He wipes his nose on his sleeve.

At the door of his room, Per hails them. ‘Jacob … Francis … you don’t need to go back in there. Come to the dining room with everyone else.’

Surprised, and touched, Francis follows Jacob to the refectory.

They eat bread and cheese and drink coffee. There is a hushed murmur as people speak, but only just above a whisper, awed by the occasion. Francis thinks of Line’s kindnesses to him, her yearning to leave. But she is tough, too. Maybe it didn’t happen like that. He won’t think of it, not yet.

No one in this room seems to look at him with suspicion. He would go with them and search for Line, if he could, but his knee is throbbing with the unaccustomed exercise, and he feels as weak as water. It has been weeks that he has lain up in the white room, his muscles softening and his skin growing pale like rhubarb under a pot. Weeks since …

With a shock, he realises that he has not thought of Laurent for at least an hour, not since he saw the crowd of people bunched on the white field; not even, if he is truthful, since he opened the outside door and tasted the sweet, cold air. He has not thought of Laurent for that long, and he feels as though he has been unfaithful.