Transformation Read online

  “Or a professor,” Orris added quietly.

  Samuel clapped him on the back. “You’d have been a good professor, Orr. But now you can be a good farmer or carpenter or… It’s the advantage, you see? I know you didn’t wanna come here. I know this was your last resort. But this is a new place. A chance for a fresh start. You’ll get your feet under you soon, and then you can decide what to make of yourself.”

  Orris managed a wan smile. He deeply appreciated his brother’s confidence and support, but Orris wasn’t sure he’d ever know what to make of himself. It was terribly spoiled of him to think so, but he wondered if he wouldn’t have been better off born in a tenement than a mansion. If he’d spent his boyhood laboring instead of in school, if his father and brothers were rough workers instead of blue bloods, would he have turned out better? With a means to support himself, he’d at least have been free to tell his father that he’d sleep with whomever he wished.

  “Come on,” Samuel said, tucking the hammer into a pocket. “I’ll show you how to shoot. Let’s see if your marksmanship is as promising as your carpentry.”

  As it turned out, Orris’s marksmanship was terrible. He flinched just hearing the gun go off. And when it was his turn to pull the trigger, he tensed his muscles and squeezed his eyes shut, scattering the shot everywhere.

  After several attempts that entirely missed the target—a tree near the edge of the farm—Samuel sighed and took the gun. “Well, as long as you know how to work the thing, that’s what’s important. The noise will scare a coyote away.”

  “I guess I shall have to cross sharpshooter off my list of possible professions.”

  “I reckon you’d better.”

  They walked back toward the house, past a large plot planted with onions, their feet sinking into the rain-soft ground. The air smelled of onions and manure, with the tang of fir trees adding a fresh note. Better than the sewage-and-smoke reek of the city, at least.

  In the small anteroom next to the kitchen, Samuel hung the shotgun on hooks. “I’m going to go make sure the wagon’s ready for the trip tomorrow.”

  “Can I help?”

  “No. Go get some rest before supper. You’ll be up all night watching the sheep.”

  Orris shivered slightly. “You didn’t see anything last night?”

  “Not a thing. You probably won’t either. But I can’t afford to keep losing lambs.”

  “I know.” Money was tight already, with an extra mouth to feed and a baby on the way. Orris’s small efforts to help didn’t begin to pay for his room and board.

  He waited for Samuel to go back outside before shedding his hat, coat, and shoes. He slipped on the spare shoes he kept for indoor use. They’d been a gift from Daniel, and they were nearly as soft as slippers.

  Lucy was in the kitchen, kneading a ball of dough. She had a light dusting of flour on one cheek, and a few strands of mouse-brown hair had escaped from her bun. Her older daughter was chopping vegetables while the younger scrubbed an immense pot. They all stared expressionlessly at him.

  “Can I help?” Orris asked.

  Lucy’s reply was sharp as a blade. “No.” And then, as if grudgingly granting a bit of courtesy, she added, “Thank you.”

  “I, um…. Samuel recommended I take a nap. So I’ll be wide awake tonight.”

  He received no response.

  He cleared his throat. “So I’ll, I’ll be in the parlor. If I’m needed.” And he scurried out of the kitchen.

  The parlor’s window faced north, and the room was dark even at midday. It wasn’t a large room, and the furniture crowding the space looked as if it had been dragged thousands of miles via wagon or ship—which it had, of course. The furnishings were plain and sturdy, serviceable but without ornament, very much like the pieces crammed into the servants’ rooms in the attic of his father’s house. Aside from the dark green wallpaper, the only attempts to decorate the room were a few framed embroidery pieces—presumably the work of Lucy and her daughters—a red tasseled pillow that looked completely out of place, and two framed floral designs made from locks of human hair.

  A fireplace dominated one corner of the room, but since Orris’s arrival, it had never been lit. Samuel and Lucy preferred to use the stove in the kitchen, since it was good for cooking as well as heat. At night they took heated water bottles up to their rooms while Orris made do with a pile of quilts and whatever heat drifted into the parlor from the kitchen. His new bedroom would be built on the other side of the kitchen, and he already planned to place his bed as close to the stove as the wall permitted.

  Ah, a bed. It would be lovely to sleep in one again. He thought about this as he took off the shoes he’d put on only moments before, loosened his tie, and then lay on the sofa. He would like to be able to uncurl his legs, stretch out his arms, and extend his body to its full length. And by Jove, he’d like to be rid of the damnable lumps that dug into his flesh.

  He fell asleep to the homey sounds from the kitchen next door.

  New York was never truly dark. No matter how late the hour, there were always streetlight flames flickering inside their glass prisons. Occasional windows in the residential areas would be alight with candles or lanterns or gaslights. And in the rougher bits of town, taverns spilled out a brassy light from windows and open doors, creating sharp shadows in the alleyways.

  Oregon, however, was a different story. Although the moon was full tonight, the clouds were much too thick for anything but the faintest smudge of moonlight to shine through. The darkness seemed to swallow all the sounds around him.

  He felt ridiculous, marching up and down the sheep paddock with a lantern in his hand and the shotgun under his arm. But at least it wasn’t raining. And Lucy had even made him a pot of strong coffee and given him a small smile before he walked out the door. “I’ll keep some soup on the stove,” she’d said. “Come in for a few minutes if you need to warm up.” She was no doubt pleased to have her husband beside her in bed tonight, and Orris was proud to have found another way he could help out a little.

  With the mud squelching at his feet and the sheep breathing peacefully nearby, he could almost imagine himself the only human on the planet. Disturbing as that thought was, it was better than the alternative, which was wondering what Daniel was doing this very moment. It would already be the next morning in Europe. Perhaps he was waking up in a Parisian garret, yawning as he made plans to visit a café for crusty bread with butter and jam. Perhaps someone was waking up with him, a pretty French boy with a charming accent and fashionable clothing that didn’t smell like dirt and onions and sheep. Or perhaps—

  Something made a faint noise up ahead, on the small rutted pathway that led to the onion field and then to the tree-covered slopes beyond. It was an animal sound, a sort of muffled humph that somehow seemed deliberate. It reminded him of the satisfied little chuckle his father emitted whenever he felt he’d gotten the upper hand in a business dealing.

  “Who’s there?” Orris called, feeling more ridiculous than ever. At least his voice didn’t quaver.

  He was answered by another bestial laugh, this one possibly closer.

  He stooped and carefully set the lantern on the ground. The light was steadier that way, but it mostly illuminated the area around his feet, which wasn’t helpful. He drew the shotgun from under his arm and held it against his chest. He stood there, silent except for his harsh breathing and pounding heart.

  For what seemed like a long time, nothing happened. He’d been accused of having an overactive imagination, and he was almost ready to believe he’d hallucinated the noises. But just as he was about to pick up the lantern, the animal chuffed at him again. There was no question that it was closer this time. Very close. In fact, if he lifted the lantern high and squinted, he might be able to see what was there.

  He had no desire whatsoever to do so.

  “It’s nothing,” he muttered. He’d seen enormous rats in New York, and probably this was something no more terrifying than that. He had no
notion what sorts of creatures roamed this area at night, though. Coyotes, yes, but Samuel said they wouldn’t be dangerous to a grown man. Bears? Were there bears?

  “Go away!” Orris said, but didn’t quite shout it. The creature answered him with another amused sound.

  Perhaps he ought to fire the gun. But that would wake the entire household, and Orris didn’t want to face Samuel and Lucy’s scorn if he was panicking over nothing. Instead of being merely useless, he’d graduate to full-fledged nuisance.

  In the darkness ahead of him, a footstep rustled on leaves. Orris realized he’d backed up against the fence and was in imminent danger of kicking over the lantern. His hands ached from clenching the gun.

  Deliberately deepening his voice, he called out again. “Go away! Leave! You don’t belong here!”

  The creature growled.

  It was a low sound—Orris could almost feel the vibration through his feet—and it ignited every one of his atavistic reflexes. His lips pulled back from his clenched teeth, his spine tingled as the hair on his neck tried to rise, and his bowels felt watery and loose. He imagined the sharp stare of the unseen animal and pictured bloody fangs and tearing claws.

  Never mind Samuel and Lucy’s potential contempt. He was going to fire the gun.

  He willed his hands to unclench, and he brought the stock to his shoulder. But now his hands shook—his entire body shook—and his grip fumbled. He dropped the weapon, and it landed at his feet with a soft thud.

  Not knowing whether to curse or pray, Orris bent to pick up the gun. He was still stooped and reaching when he saw the creature’s eyes. They were close and glinted green in the lantern light.

  Orris’s legs gave out, and he sank to his knees. He stopped his desperate scrabbling for the gun and simply froze. Even his lungs stopped working.

  The animal stepped closer, very slowly. Not as if it were frightened, but rather as if it enjoyed stalking him, the way Cook’s cat liked to play with mice in the pantry. Soon it was near enough that Orris could make out the dim outline of its body. It looked like a large dog, he thought. Heavy, with a thick ruff of fur at its neck. In one large leap, it could be on him.

  But it didn’t leap—at least not yet. It stared at him and Orris stared back, and although he could sense little else of the animal, its eyes gave the impression of keen intelligence.

  “Imagine when Daniel hears I’ve been eaten by a wild beast,” Orris whispered. “Won’t he be jealous. This beats a whole slew of handsome French garret-mates.”

  The animal—was it a coyote?—cocked its head slightly, which brought a burst of hysterical laughter from Orris. “Are you having second thoughts? Maybe a sorry thing like me will give you indigestion. I suppose you’d rather have a nice supper of tender lamb.”

  It came a step closer. Orris smelled it: wet fur, pine sap, and something else he couldn’t name. The scent of the wilderness, perhaps.

  And then a strange thing happened. Well, stranger. While Orris’s heart still raced, he realized that the terror had fled, and what he was feeling now was… excitement. He was nearly giddy with it, actually, like the first time Daniel had interrupted their studies with a kiss and then dragged Orris willingly to his bedroom.

  Why would a man feel excited when he was about to be killed?

  Orris had no real answer for that. Maybe the animal could hypnotize its prey with its gaze, or maybe Orris had simply lost his sanity. In any case, he took a deep breath and tilted his head to the side.

  “All right, then,” he said.

  The animal’s muscles bunched. But just before it leapt, a strident bark burst from the darkness behind it. Orris startled, and the animal yelped with surprise before whirling around.

  Good Lord. There were two of them.

  The new one was snarling, but as it moved closer to the lantern, its attention seemed focused less on Orris than on the first beast. The new one growled, and the first yipped slightly before hunching its shoulders and dropping its gaze. Without another glance at Orris, the first animal trotted away. But the other one—the new one—it did not yet leave. It looked at Orris, but without menace. And there was something so compelling about it that Orris had to stop himself from crawling forward to meet it.

  “You’re beautiful,” Orris rasped. He couldn’t see enough detail to support such an assertion, but there was something about those glowing eyes, the confident set of the large body, that suggested power and… majesty, even.

  The animal blinked at him. It stretched its head forward, and Orris thought it would close the space between them. But then it snarled—fast and sharp—before spinning around and bounding away into the blackness.

  3

  “You look tired, Orris. You should go back to sleep.” Samuel glanced at Orris quickly before slightly adjusting Beau’s harness. The horse stood patiently, breathing plumes of warm moisture into the morning air.

  “I probably will, in a bit. But I wanted to tell you about last night.”

  Samuel paused. “What happened?”

  “I saw it. Them. There were two of them.”

  “Coyotes?”

  “I… I suppose so. It was hard to see in the dark. They looked like big dogs.”

  “Two. Probably means there’s a den nearby, and soon, pups to feed.” Samuel scowled and then squinted at Orris. “You didn’t fire the gun.”

  “No. I, uh, I shouted at them. They ran away.” Not quite the truth, but near enough. Orris hoped he hadn’t missed any spots when he wiped the mud off the weapon before hanging it on its hook.

  “Well. That’s good enough, I reckon. We didn’t lose any lambs. We’ll watch a few nights more. These varmints are smart. Once they realize we’re keeping an eye on things, they’ll move on. Look for easier pickings.”

  Orris ignored the way his pulse quickened at the thought of seeing the animals again. “You’ll be exhausted by the time you get back from Portland. I’ll watch tonight.”

  “Thanks, Orr.” Samuel gave the harness one more tug before nodding slightly and patting Beau’s flank. “All right, then. See you this evening. And tomorrow we’ll get a start on the addition.”

  Orris stood and waved as Samuel clattered away in the cart.

  Although he wasn’t as tired as he should have been, Orris went inside and lay down on the sofa. Lucy made a point to tell the girls to keep quiet, which was largely unnecessary; they were quiet children to begin with. But Orris appreciated Lucy’s rare concern for his comfort. He pulled the quilts up to his chin and tried to nap, but he couldn’t.

  He closed his eyes and counted sheep, but pretty soon his imaginary sheep were pursued by shadowy beasts with slavering jaws and glowing eyes. Orris’s feet twitched under the blankets as if they wanted to run too. God, when was the last time he had run? When he was a boy, he used to rush up and down the sidewalks, ignoring his nannies’ cries to slow down. He’d been so happy then. But he’d never been much for sports when he was in school, and a grown man couldn’t break into a sprint on Fifth Avenue unless he wanted to alarm the passersby.

  He could run here if he wanted to, though, couldn’t he? Could dart across fields and through the ferny forest, and there’d be nobody to see and criticize. Ah, but if only he had a companion to run at his side….

  These were very strange thoughts.

  He kicked off the blankets, straightened his clothing, and slipped on his shoes. In the kitchen, Lucy leaned against the table, deep shadows under her eyes. “I thought you were sleeping,” she said.

  “Too restless. Can I help with anything?”

  She shook her head. “The girls are outside with the chickens, and I’m going to start a stew for tonight’s supper, and then I’ve the sweeping to do.”

  “I can sweep,” he offered, although he never had.

  “There’s no need.”

  “All right, then. I think… I think I’ll take a walk.”

  She gave him a skeptical look, then shrugged. Leisurely strolls weren’t a common occupation here, h
e surmised. People walked only when they needed to get somewhere and didn’t have a horse—not for recreation.

  In the cramped anteroom, he switched to his muddy outdoor shoes and donned his coat and hat. Venturing outside, he was pleased to discover patches of blue sky visible through the iron-colored clouds. He might get caught in a downpour later, but for now he would be dry.

  His nieces were laughing on the other side of the house, where the henhouse was. Orris headed past the barn to the sheep paddock, where the fleecy animals stared placidly at him. He leaned against the fence and watched them for a while, but they weren’t very interesting. True, the lambs pranced and gamboled, but he wouldn’t have felt too bad if Samuel and Lucy had announced they would be eating lamb chops that evening.

  A raven landed on a nearby tree and made a few raspy calls before flapping heavily away.

  Orris walked slowly along the fence just as he had the previous night, only now he didn’t carry a gun, and there was no need for a lantern. The territory that had seemed so mysterious and wild in the dark was quite prosaic in the daylight. Farm animals, mud, weeds. The thick smell of growing things.

  But then he came to a spot at the corner of the paddock, where the soil near the fence line looked freshly disturbed. He paused to look at his own blurry footprints. And then he took a few steps away from the fence and saw animal prints, a few quite distinct. They were large, with four broad toes, each topped with the point of a claw. Well, at least he had proof that he hadn’t imagined last night’s encounter. Not that he needed proof—those few minutes had felt more real than most of his life.