“Afternoon,” Thomas said as the man stepped from the truck. Thomas’ voice seemed pleasant enough, but I felt his tension.
“Afternoon,” the man echoed. “Sorry to come in here without warning. Am I interrupting something?”
I reached for the man’s will but didn’t find anything more than friendly curiosity. Keeping a light hold on his will, I hung another shirt.
“Just laundry,” Thomas said.
“Not a shirt left to wear, huh?”
I blushed as I realized how odd Thomas must look standing there in nothing but his pants. I’d grown so used to it, I never thought of getting a shirt for him anymore.
“Yeah, the Mrs. lets it pile up at my place, too,” the man said when Thomas remained silent. There was a slight pause before the man continued. “I’ve seen your smoke for a few weeks now and wanted to stop in and warn you. We’ve been seeing some wolves around. They’ve left our livestock alone so far and don’t bother the dog none even though that thing yaps up a storm.”
“Wolves?” Thomas said, sounding deeply concerned. “Which direction did you say?”
“I live a few miles to the west. It’s a farm just off the road.”
Had I walked a bit further all those weeks ago, I would have seen the farm. How different would my life be if I’d gone to knock on their door instead of walking an old trail at dusk?
“And you saw our smoke from your place?”
The man laughed.
“Not from my place. I’ve seen it when I go to town for supplies.”
A thread of impatience touched me, and I smiled. Poor Thomas. I wondered when he last spoke to a human. Excluding me, of course.
“Thank you for letting us know about the wolves,” Thomas said pleasantly. “We haven’t seen any yet, but we’ll keep watch and let you know if we do.”
“It’s no trouble,” the man said. “It’s nice having neighbors again. Thought the lady who bought this place from the hippies was just going to let it rot.”
The man was obviously not ready to leave. I knew we should invite him in or seem more friendly, but I didn’t think anyone here would welcome him if I extended any type of invitation.
“That’s my Aunt,” Thomas said. “She was thinking about it but asked me and a few of my friends to move out here and start fixing the place up. Might still rot.”
I could feel the shrug in Thomas’ words. Hanging up the last shirt, I calmly walked inside and felt the man’s curiosity as he glanced my way. I should have at least said hello. Instead of thinking me odd, I nudged his thoughts toward shy.
Mary closed the door behind me.
“Thomas said to stay inside until he leaves.”
I didn’t need her to tell me that. I went to the window and peeked around the curtain. The man stood near his truck. Thomas appeared very relaxed beside him.
“Let Thomas know he should shake the man’s hand when he thanks him for the information,” I said.
Mary giggled.
“Gregory didn’t know about that when we went into town. You should have seen his face when the plumber offered his hand.”
Thomas stuck out his hand as he thanked the man again. The man shook Thomas’ hand, and I felt the man’s relief that we were normal people, unlike the last group here.
Thomas stayed outside until the taillights disappeared down the road. When he came inside, he didn’t appear as troubled as he felt. He walked over to me and set his hands on my shoulders. I’d noticed when others were around, it was usually just a casual touch; but when we were alone, he tended to curl around me.
“What part bothers you?” I said. “That someone came here or that he thinks I don’t do laundry?”
“That there are wolves to the west.”
“I don’t understand why that’s troubling.”
“Winifred says there are no wolves to the west.”
That didn’t sound good.
“Could it be some of your pack trying to cause trouble?” I asked.
“No. Most of them are to the north or the east.”
“Maybe they’re just real wolves,” I said.
“Maybe.”
Sixteen
Thomas’ place beside me was still warm when Mary came to wake me Saturday morning.
“You’re going to like what we get to do today,” she said nudging my shoulder.
“If it’s collecting more reeds, forget it.” I’d never thought so many reeds would be needed for basket weaving.
“Nope. Winifred’s brought apples. Rilla and Ann are already in the kitchen. We’re making pies.”
I opened one eye to stare at her. “Do you even know what an apple pie is?”
She grinned down at me. “Winifred brought one already made. It was good. Thomas is trying to save you a piece.”
I tossed the covers off me and hurried to dress. Eating a pie was much more motivating than the idea of making one.