This is part 2 of the very long writing spree. Good times and bad in this section, so I am not responsible for your Kleenex bills. Once again, thank you Mazuri, Mokkelke, Wolf and the readers on my blog that have helped shape this story. Please remember to vote and comment.
Jaisen
1952
"George! You as bad your Papa, that damn Henry!" yelled Brian. "You no tell that girl nothin'? You wonder why she scream and run? What you thinkin'? How long you date that girl? You think she virgin and stupid? That she jus don' notice you get all hairy? That you turn into damn werewolf like that Lon Chaney Jr? That it jus' some damn makeup?"
"Gran-papa, I was gon' tell her about us, but she much a city girl, I can' think how to start!" George tried to argue. If he'd been shifted, his tail would have been tucked between his legs.
"Jus like your damn Papa! Jus' like with that Betty. Whine, all the time! Well, we don' got to worry about that no more. She is gone. Two months you married! Damn!" growled Brian. He walked out of the kitchen and slammed the bedroom door.
George slunk out to the front porch. His grand-mere Natalie stood in the shadows. She walked over to George and hugged him. "It be okay. He jus a crabby old man. It don' help he get telegrams sayin' this son dead, this nephew dead. Jus be glad you don' go that Korea."
"Grand-mere, I want go that war. Let me go die. It be better than this pain," George cried against Natalie's shoulder.
"Non! Better you be here. Your maman, Maggie, she be grieving you go. She still not happy your papa go. It be okay. You find a new woman. Stick to shifters this time," she said.
George nodded and then after one long hug walked off to his mother's cabin.
Natalie walked back into the cabin. She picked up the small pile of paper off of the table and tucked them into her pocket. It had been a horrendous week. First the telegram about Petite Luc and Little Joe's deaths. Then the telegrams about their sons, George and Quintus. They'd been in the
Battle of Kap'yong. George died, and Quintus survived his wounds. Three days after the telegram, a letter came from Dr. Andre Paquet. The letter itself was two weeks old.
Dearest Uncle Brian and Aunt Natalie,
I am sorry to have to inform you that my cousin George died today. I did everything I could to save him. It was only because of his inner strength that he lasted as long as he did. Considering the extent of his wounds though, his death was a blessing.
A day later, I was able to save Quintus. He will have a nasty scar on his face, but given time, he will heal. I am hoping that he will be sent home.
Know that I love you and miss you both. Give my love to Marie.
Yours,
Andre
Natalie had read that letter and realized that David didn't know that Marie had disappeared a few weeks after he'd enlisted. She had no idea where Marie had gone, or even why. She had hoped that Marie had let David know. From this letter, it was clear that Marie hadn't. She'd simply disappeared. Marie's disappearance had wounded Brian. It was the second time she'd up and left without telling anyone. The only one who didn't seem too hurt was Marie's son Jack. He lived with his cousins and his Aunt Alice.
Then George, Henry's son had come home with the news that his wife Cindy had run off. It had been the last straw. When he explained that he hadn't told her he shifted, Brian blew up. They were young and the world as it had been was changing so fast. Faster than most in the family could cope. Natalie looked at the dishes and decided that she would do them in the morning. As she walked down the hall, she realized that one of the windows was open. She looked in her room and discovered that Brian's clothes lay on the bed and he was nowhere in sight.
Natalie put the letters from her pocket under the handkerchiefs in her drawer and undressed. She shifted and leapt out the window.
The she-wolf checked the ground for a scent trail. Her mate had headed up the road into the mountains. She loped along in the dark and headed up to the high meadow where she hoped her mate had gone. She didn't run as fast as she use to. Her muscles ached and some days she panted a lot longer after a run.
The wind shifted and she scented her mate. He was up on the rock where they slept. She approached slowly, head lowered and tail down. He huffed and she stopped. She sat on her haunches and waited. After a while, he huffed again and she leapt up onto the rock next to him. Licking his muzzle, he finally licked her back. She nibbled his ear and he grabbed her ruff and shook. Then the two of them sat on the rock and howled.
Across the valley, other wolves picked up the song and howled in sympathy. George walked out on the front porch of his maman's house. He shifted and howled for his uncles, and the loss of his wife. Across the town, Tilly and Georgina stood on the porch and listened. Tilly threw back her head and howled the best she could for a human. Georgina just stood there and let the tears run down her face. As in the Great War and WWII, there would be few burials. Just a stone with the names of the dead would be erected. So many widows, broken families and very few individuals to hold everyone together.
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195
4
Brian dodged the truck as it went racing by. Traffic along the main road was busy. Where once the biggest event was a lumber truck or a wagon full of beer, now there were cars racing up and down the new highway. This made all the little villages more accessible. Brian who had learned to drive during WWII even had a truck and Natalie had a little sedan she drove around to see patients. Life was changing. Sometimes too fast for Brian and Natalie.
It was June, and people were moving. Quintus and his wife Estelle were heading for Montana. Grand-pere Buster had kissed his namesake and the two granddaughters goodbye the day before. Lizzybit and David had moved to Calgary. Grandson George and his second wife Jane moved to Lethbridge. As he looked around, he felt like everyone under sixty was leaving. He headed for the Saloon for a beer.
"There you are Buster!" shouted one of his neighbors just as he reached the porch of the saloon.
Brian waved. He still wasn't comfortable with the fact that his grandchildren had started calling him Buster, or that it had stuck so well. "What you need?"
"Just wanted to let you know I sold that piece of property of yours. Came to bring you that money," the man said handing him a check and walked away almost as quickly as he'd approached.
"Thanks," said Brian calling after the man. He looked at the check. $28,000 dollars Canadian. It wasn't bad considering the economic slump that was running through Canada. Prosperity and calamity ran hand and hand through rural Canada. The saw mill was still doing well with Kent in charge of the family business. More non-shifters were moving into the area. They bought up land and built little houses that looked modern, but sterile to Brian. Shops and little businesses were sprouting up everywhere. That was why so many of the families had moved south to Montana. It was harder and harder to run at night or to shift without someone seeing that shouldn't. Plus, the hunting was getting difficult for a large population of shifters to hunt with ease.
He'd asked Natalie if she wanted to move. She'd been so mad at him for even bringing it up, that she didn't cook for three days. Instead, he sold off some land, preserving their meadow, the main cabin, Grandma Davy's house which was now a real clinic and enough land to be comfortable. He headed towards the bank to deposit the money.
