Spring of the Poacher's Moon

  Chapter 12

  I heard Mom yelling for me long before I came in sight of the cabin, her voice trickling through the tree trunks like the cry of a lost soul. I yelled back, but she mustn’t have heard me, because she shouted my name again, panic alive in her voice.

  Rusty cantered nearer. I answered her call again.

  “Evy?” she shrieked. Loonie barked uproariously. Rusty loped in their direction, and then my mom and Loonie came into sight, dark silhouettes among the trees. Rusty stopped and I slid from his back.

  Mom rushed forward to grab me, her hands like eagle talons digging into my shoulders. “Are you okay? What were you doing? Do you know how dangerous it is for you to be out here? What if something had happened to you?” All this in a very loud voice.

  “Mom” I said, trying to break into her terrified tirade.

  “Can you imagine how I felt, coming back here with Kestrel, worried about escorting her here safely when there are poachers about, only to find you gone? Gone?”

  “Mom!”

  “I can’t believe you’d do this to me. Taking off like that. What were you thinking?” She was crying now. She released my shoulders and stepped back. Now that she knew I was okay, her relief at seeing me safe was quickly turning to anger. “You must have known I’d be worried sick! How could you just take off—”

  “I didn’t leave just for fun,” I interrupted loudly, hoping to stem her barrage of words.

  “What?”

  I drew a deep breath. “I didn’t leave for fun. I had a reason. Right after you left…” I stopped, not because I wanted to, but because I couldn’t continue with the elaborate and extremely dumb lie I had prepared.

  “So why did you leave? Where did you go?”

  Emotions galloped through my head. Thoughts jostled each other. Mom was always doing this to me, hiding the truth. And how I hated it! So maybe it was time to stop doing the same to her. “I… I left because someone stole Twilight. I got her back—”

  “What do you mean, someone stole her?”

  “Charlie, that old guy in town who was watching us at the store? He’s the Wild Horse Ranger and he thought she should be back with her herd.” The truth tasted strange, but good, on my tongue.

  “But didn’t you explain to him?”

  I started walking toward home and she turned to walk beside me. “I did, but it took a long time to catch up to him. He was going fast. He let Twilight go after I proved to him that she wanted to stay with us, but then, on the way back….”

  Our feet crunched over the forest floor. Rusty and Twilight, tired of our slow pace, swept around us and trotted ahead through the trees. “But on the way back, I came across the poacher’s camp.”

  She inhaled sharply but said nothing, allowing me to continue uninterrupted. We reached the edge of the meadow and stopped. I looked at our safe little cabin nestled on its small rise, dark because no one had lit the lanterns inside. Rusty and Twilight’s shadowy forms trotted slowly across the meadow. Soft light streamed from the barn’s open doorway. Kestrel must be with Thumper.

  Tears sprung to my eyes. I loved our home. I loved the simplicity of it, the beauty of it. There was nowhere else I’d rather live, no other lifestyle I’d choose. No other people I’d rather have in my life. I stepped closer to Mom and she put her arm around me.

  “What happened, Evy?” Mom asked.

  And I told her. I didn’t spare her anything, except the talking-to-horses bit. I even took a chance by telling her about Redwing rushing into the camp at just the right time to distract the bad guys and carry Charlie to safety. I told her the entire story as the moon rose behind the cabin, a long thin curve of silver.

  Twilight and Rusty had been inside the barn for a full ten minutes when I finished. Mom said nothing.

  Oats? Twilight asked.

  Soon. I felt her stamp her hoof impatiently. I should get in there and settle them for the night. They certainly deserved the royalty treatment after today. But still, Mom hadn’t spoken.

  “Mom?”

  She drew in a deep breath and pulled me even closer. It felt good. Warmer, too. “I don’t know what to say.” A shudder passed through her body. “So many things could have gone wrong. I could have lost you. And if anything happened to you, I couldn’t live with myself. If I hadn’t brought us out here, you wouldn’t even know what poachers are.”

  “I’m glad you brought me out here. I don’t understand why you did it…” I paused in case she wanted to volunteer some information, but she said nothing. “And I hope you tell me soon.” Still no comment. “But I’m glad you decided this was where I’d grow up. Don’t even think about leaving here because of those stupid poachers. They’re losers. And I’m guessing it’s just as dangerous, only a different kind of danger, out there in the cities, because of the things you haven’t told me.” I liked this truth thing. “Or haven’t told me yet,” I added firmly, letting her know, in a matter-of-fact way, that I expected her to tell me her secrets someday.

  Mom cleared her throat. “It’s just so hard to not be there to save you, when you need saving,” she said and wiped her eyes. “Or I should say if you need saving.”

  “I’m growing up. I don’t need the same stuff.”

  Mom sighed. “Now that’s a horrible, but true statement. You don’t need your mom in the same way you used to.”

  “But I still need her.”

  Mom put her other arm around me too and pulled me into a hug. “You’re a great kid, Evy. Even if you don’t understand how dangerous things can be. And you’re incredibly capable. What you did today, well, that was amazing.”

  “It was kind of exciting, actually.”

  “Kind of?” Mom laughed. “Well, it’s time for more excitement, with a moose calf who needs our help.” She released me and we started to walk toward the barn.

  “How is he?” I asked.

  “Pretty far gone. He may not make it.”

  The lantern hung in the barn aisle and Rusty and Twilight stood by their stall door, one patient and half asleep, and the other extremely impatient and fidgeting. I hurried to Thumper’s stall to see the moose calf resting his head on Kestrel’s lap. His entire body was as limp as a soggy dishrag. Kestrel was leaning over him, trying to push the bottle nipple into his mouth.

  “He’s still alive,” I said with relief.

  Kestrel looked up, her dark eyes large in her face. “I can’t get him to drink anything,” she said in a desperate whisper. “It’s like he doesn’t even know it’s there.”

  “Evy, wait. What’s that?” Mom’s hand was on my chin, turning my face. Oh yeah, the swollen cheekbone. “Did they… did they hurt you?” Her voice resonated with pure unpolluted rage.

  “I fell on the porch stairs,” I said quickly, glad it was the truth – though I would’ve lied about that no matter how disappointed Rusty would’ve been in me. Lied until tomorrow anyway. I didn’t want my mom heading out into the night looking for poachers to beat up, and she sounded mad enough to do just that.

  She exhaled audibly. “We’ll put some cold cloths on it when we get in the house. And I’ll take care of the horses. You do what you can to help Kestrel.”

  “Thanks.” I stepped inside the stall, leaving the door ajar, and knelt in the straw beside the calf and Kestrel. His neck was warm when I stroked it, but he didn’t open his eyes. “What can I do?”

  “Maybe if you hold his mouth open, I can drip the milk inside,” she said. She sounded devoid of hope.

  “Sorry, buddy,” I whispered and poked a tentative finger into his mouth. He opened one eye. A good sign, I thought, but then he closed it again. His jaws were slack as I pried them open. Kestrel squeezed the nipple and a tiny bit of milk streamed into his mouth – and dribbled out the other side. It soaked into her jeans, joining the other wet spots dotting her thigh. She’d been trying to do this for a while now.

  “I’ll tip his head back so it can’t run out,” I said.

  She nodded and I lifted the moose
’s head so that his nostrils and mouth were poking up in the air. She squirted more milk into him and we watched it dribble down into the deeper recesses of his mouth. I put my hand on his throat. He didn’t swallow.

  “More,” I said.

  “He’ll choke.”

  I looked into her tired eyes. “It’s better than him dying.” Which, if he did, would totally be my fault. There was no getting away from it. I’d abandoned him. Sure, it had been to save Twilight, but it didn’t change the fact that I’d chosen her over the moose calf – and now he might die because of it.

  Kestrel looked at me sympathetically. She knew me so well that she’d guessed what I was thinking. But there was no time to talk about it now. She tipped the bottle and sprayed more milk into his mouth.

  “More.”

  She sprayed more. And still he hadn’t swallowed. She gave him another good squirt and suddenly he spasmed, struggled, and coughed. Milk shot from his mouth and flecked our jackets and faces. Suddenly wide-eyed, Thumper lurched in panic, his long legs flailing as he struggled to stand. Then, just as quickly, he collapsed again, sprawling across both Kestrel and me. He rolled his eyes and gave a low moan.

  Tears burned in my eyes, but I willed them away. Somehow, we had to get him to eat. If he ate, he’d be fine. But the poor thing looked like he’d given up. “Let’s try again,” I said, not knowing what else to do. Gently, I moved Thumper’s head into position. Kestrel squirted the milk.

  Straw rustled in the doorway of the stall; Mom had come in to watch. Kestrel squirted more milk into the calf’s mouth. In case it might help him swallow, I moved his head gently back and forth, forth and back, one hand soft on his throat so I could feel if the milk went down.

  “Girls, I think it’s too late—”

  I didn’t hear the rest of Mom’s sentence. Thumper swallowed!

  “More,” I said, trying to keep the excitement from my voice. Maybe it was just a fluke. Maybe it was my imagination, or wishful thinking.

  Kestrel tipped the nipple into his mouth and squirted – and Thumper’s tongue moved to catch the stream of milk!

  “He’s drinking it!” I said and Thumper opened his eyes. He pulled weakly to free himself from my grasp, and I slowly released him so he wouldn’t flop over. His nostrils flared and he could barely hold his head above the straw, but he was moving on his own. His eyes focussed on me, then Kestrel, then moved on to the bottle.

  Kestrel knew what to do now. She’d fed literally dozens of tame calves. Wild babies wouldn’t be any different. Within a minute, she had him sucking on the bottle, feebly to be sure, but still sucking. A lot of it dripped out of his mouth because he was so weak and not used to bottles, but he was swallowing with every third pull. The level of life-giving liquid in the bottle lowered as Kestrel held it in place, and Mom and I watched with grins on our faces until the milk was half gone. Thumper stopped drinking as suddenly as he started. His nose bumped into the straw and his eyes closed. A second later, he was asleep.

  We whispered and giggled like happy little kids as we snuck out of his enclosure, said goodnight to the horses, and blew out the lanterns. Our baby was asleep and we didn’t want to wake him.

  On the way back to the house, Kestrel and I devised a plan to care for the little mite. We’d feed him every two hours for the next day, at least, and for longer if he remained weak.

  Kestrel and I couldn’t decide who would take the first shift in two hours. We argued back and forth for a little while and finally agreed we’d do it together.

  Because we needed extra rest if we were going to get up every two hours, Mom insisted we go to bed as soon as we finished supper. I admit I was beyond exhausted. I crawled into my sleeping bag near the stove, where Kestrel and I always sleep whenever she stays over, feeling like I’d just climbed Mount Everest. Mom placed a cold wet cloth over my throbbing cheek, and I closed my eyes and tried to relax.

  Sleep, beautiful sleep…