Spirit Wolf Read Online Free Page A

own father—twittering.
    Uriah tossed a stick of wood into the stove, still chuckling to himself, and lay down on the makeshift bed on the floor. It wasn’t as easy for Lars. Nash could hear the discussion in the bed room.
    â€œWhat in the world have you been doing to keep you out till this time of night? It’s nearly midnight.”
    Lars’s voice was slurred, staggering like his walk. “Well, Edna, Uriah was feeling a little peaked, so we’ve been doctoring.”
    â€œYou have a bottle again, don’t you? You’ve got one hidden out in the barn somewhere.”
    â€œNo, Edna. I can swear on a stack of Bibles that there isn’t a drop of liquor in the barn. Now go to sleep. I don’t feel so good.”
    Nash heard a muffled whoof, whoof, whoof coming from his father’s blankets as the boy turned over. Nash whoofed a few times, too, before he went to sleep.
    Morning came early, and Nash awakened to the creak of the stove door and the thump of wood tossed on a bed of embers inside. At first he thought he was home, that Uriah would be calling him in a moment to go milk Bess, and then his mind caught up with the morning.
    â€œBetter get up, Nash. We’ve got to get moving.”
    Nash climbed out into the cold, shivering as he slipped into his wool pants and flannel shirt. He was sitting on the floor pulling on his shoes when Mrs. Anderson came out of the bedroom.
    â€œLars isn’t feeling well this morning,” she said, and Nash could have sworn a wink followed her words. “But I told him he should get up and look at his ‘patient’.”
    Uriah smiled, but the expression was almost as much grimace as glee. He seemed pale and his skin a little pasty, but compared to Lars he was the picture of health.
    Lars appeared gnomelike from the bedroom. He was bent over as though he were trying to stay below a black cloud hanging over his head. His face seemed swollen and blotchy, eyes hidden in squints, as he wove gingerly across the room.
    Uriah’s face bent and cracked into a painful grin. “You’re looking a little peaked, Lars,” Uriah said. “I’ve got just the thing for you.”
    Lars looked up and his face turned stark white. He bolted for the door, shirttail flying, and plummeted through the wall of cold waiting outside as though it didn’t exist.
    â€œHe didn’t have any shoes on,” Nash said, but no one was listening.
    Uriah was whoofing again, and Edna twittering. Nash was glad his father wasn’t twittering anymore.
    Lars spent breakfast curled around his coffee, wincing whenever cup clattered against saucer. It was clear it would be a quiet Sunday at the Anderson place.
    It was still dark as Uriah saddled their horses and led the two animals from the barn to the house. At Uriah’s knock, the Anderson children spilled from the house into a circle of light streaming from the cabin door. Ettie was there, too, hanging back a little by her mother, shoulder set against the doorframe.
    â€œJust wanted to say thanks. You’re welcome at our home anytime,” Uriah said.
    â€œNo thanks needed,” answered Edna. “You two come back, and bring Mary next time.”
    â€œWe’ll do that.”
    They rode away in silence, suspended in the night, in space, with light from the stars striking sparks on the snow until false dawn dulled the dark. The world turned drab before it turned bright, and it did turn bright. The first touch of the sun ignited the night’s frost on the snow and set the prairie on fire with a flash of white as cold as death and bright as life.
    The horses were frisky, and their riders nudged them into a trot for a mile or two, and then Uriah, his face pale, pulled the animals to a brief stop.
    â€œAre you feeling a little peaked?” Nash asked, and his father broke into laughter, color coming back into his face.
    â€œTry not to be as foolish as your father,” Uriah