“What?” she asks.
“I can’t leave you alone out here with them still around.” I gesture toward the grove of trees. “My truck is over the next rise, about a third mile away on foot. I’ll take you home. But it would be awesome if you could help me with something first.”
Curiosity lights her eyes. “Help you with something?”
“Yeah,” I say, scrubbing a hand down my face. “When I first heard the growling, I was in the process of feeding some Grey Fox kits. There’s five of them, and I left a couple hungry. If I take time to drive you home, they’ll be off their schedule and consistency is key to them thriving. Do you think you could shake off your fear for a few minutes while I finish?”
“I’m okay… really.” But then she clears her throat, and she doesn’t sound okay at all. “But you’re the one who needs to get inside. You have to be near to frostbite without your parka and your gloves and scarf.”
Over my jeans, I’m only wearing a cable-knit wool sweater. The garment stretches over my shoulders, probably okay for a quick dash outside, but not meant for anything more than a minute or two in the elements. “I’m cold,” I admit. “But the kits are young, and I’m worried they won’t make it.”
“So they really need to be fed right now, don’t they?” She gulps in another breath.
“Nothing much throws you, does it, Angelica? We’ll just take this slow and easy. Have you ever seen baby foxes?”
She shakes her head and before she can change her mind, I take her hand. We start crossing the pristine valley together. Prior to setting off, I scooped up her snowshoes and her poles and carried all of them plus my gun under one arm. If something happens, I can’t aim and shoot quickly, so I hope were in the clear and I won’t need to tranq anything between here and our destination.
We climb a ridge, duck around a strand of white pines and scramble down a knoll. The new snow layer is fluffy, but beneath it is an icy crust, tricky footing for Angelica in just her boots. Even though I’m cold in my sweater, I don’t rush and never let go of her hand. The thick gloves prevent any skin-to-skin contact, but I hope she knows I’ll never let her fall.
I keep talking in a lazy, calm voice. Because by doing so, I’m announcing our presence to any bears or other wildlife in the area. Most of the northern wildlife has acute hearing. And a steady, soothing tone lets them know we’re not a threat.
I inform her that this area around Sweetheart Hills contains a large number of black bears, but the numbers have been dropping in recent years. No one knows why. They have an ample food supply; the winters aren’t too harsh; and the bear population is hardy and young. They simply aren’t getting down with each other like they should be. The best theory from a conservation standpoint seems to be a polluted gene pool.
“So two years ago, the conservation organization sent me here, along with a few new black bears from the Boundary Waters with completely different bloodlines. They settled in and seemed to be doing okay in Sweetheart Hills. They found mates and had cubs, and everything was fine until right now.”
“What happened?”
“Crazy critters wandered too far north and upset some farmers. No one wants bears on their land. When they wander into people’s backyards looking for food or entertainment, people get pissed. Man has always been afraid of bears – and there are no laws that prevent man from exterminating them. They need to be taken back to safety, partly because the whole line could be wiped out. So that’s what I came here to do – transport them back to where we left them the first time.”
Her pace slows. “How can you do that when they’re hibernating?”
“Due to climate change, winters are warmer on average and they’re not going into deep hibernation like they used to. It’s a problem.”
“So what happened to the foxes? Why are they orphaned?”
“Their mom was shot by a farmer a few days ago when she killed some of his chickens.”
“He shot their mother? Over a stupid chicken?”
I grin at her outrage, her voice small. Minutes before she’d been a bloodthirsty rush for me to kill three harmless black bears and now, she wants the farmer in the dell’s head on a plate for shooting a grey fox, one of the most cunning hunters around.
“Foxes are a dime a dozen to farmers. They’re worried about their bottom line and anything that puts their business in jeopardy and can be easily dispatched is.”
“I guess I should have known that. I mean you wouldn’t have to feed the babies if the mother was doing it.”
“Normally if a female fox dies, the kits die. So I’m feeding them formula five times a day. They’re just too young and fragile to move right now. Normally, I might have let nature take her course, but Grey Fox are new to the area and the Conservation Society is looking to protect them until they can flourish on their own.”
I grab her arm when she stumbles on a slick patch of snow. She isn’t looking where she’s going, but at me. For some reason the fact that I’m without my coat hasn’t really sunk in yet because I’m generating my own heat just touching Angelica. I let go of her arm quickly, but the gesture protects her from a tumble down a very snowy hill. I know my tender spot for animals came through in my speech, but I feel drawn to them.
And it seems she does too.
I value loyalty and willingly make personal sacrifices for what I care about, including them. And I’m aggressively protective of those around me, especially the weak and vulnerable. I chose this occupation, and this isolated lifestyle. That kind of strength coupled with that kind of loneliness can get to a man. That’s the only reason she’s having this strong effect on me – because I refuse to consider anything else.
“How long are you stuck doing this?” she asks, glancing up at me.
“It’s all part of the job, so I don’t mind. But probably at least a month, maybe more, before they’re strong enough to be relocated. And the whole thing is iffy at best. Other ecologists would probably call me an idiot for even trying. But I just have to. I mean, doesn’t every living thing deserve a fighting chance? And there’s a town meeting this Wednesday at the Sweetheart Hills library. I think they’re going to vote to extend hunting season for bears. I guess I’ll always worry about Hilda.”
She glances at me again, but I don’t fluctuate my tone from a lazy drawl. I sound like the townhall meeting is going to be as exciting as a Sunday stroll. But it matters to me. Almost too much. Because I can’t do my work when I’m hobbled by even more hostility from the local community. And it’s all because they don’t understand animals and they choose not to learn – only to hate and kill.
I’m an outsider with an unpopular cause, and now I have to face down a town of ignorant people who view me as their enemy.
“Have you had to deal with something like this before? I mean the unhappy townsfolk of Sweetheart Hills?”
I don’t get around to answering her, because I suddenly stop walking. But I know where I am, even though this craggy ridge looks no different than the woody landscape we just traveled. There aren’t any footprints in the fresh snowfall, no sign of human tread prior to this moment. The forest is dark, deep, endless, winding around the hills and snow-swept, jutting crags of land. But in front of us, is a camo box like the kind of case people pack drinks and sandwiches in for a summer picnic.