Alone in the Wild(74)

“And you don’t interfere with the wild people,” I say. “Or you’re not supposed to. But there’s some differing opinion on whether they’ve actually chosen that lifestyle. The woman we know was clearly a hostage, at least at first, and after a while, she was still hostage—to those teas. Her free will was being held hostage.”

“Yes,” Nancy says. “Ellen stayed by choice, but at what point was it no longer a choice? If she chose to drink the tea, and it caused her to stay, does that mean she chose to stay? Some here would say yes. But drinking the tea is a requirement for staying in that group. And it isn’t as if she realized she was losing her free will and chose to keep losing it.”

Tomas chuckles. “Nancy’s better at explaining this. It makes my head hurt. All I know is that it doesn’t seem right, leaving them out there like that, if they don’t have the … what do we call it down south? The mental capacity to choose.”

“Like seeing an addict on the street and not getting them to a shelter because they initially chose the drugs.”

“Exactly.”

“So, what you’re trying to say…” I hesitate, consider their situation, and reword it. “In a case like that, someone might choose to help a person when their community says they shouldn’t. If their community learned of it, they would be in trouble.”

Neither speaks, but both give me a look that says I’ve guessed correctly.

“Okay,” I say. “How Ellen extricated herself from the wild people is unimportant. You say your community has helped some of them. I’m guessing that means they’ve offered assistance to wild people who have voluntarily left their tribe. That is allowed. That’s not interference.”

Nancy nods. “If they leave on their own, we can offer food, trade goods, even shelter. Two of our members were former wild people. Ellen wanted to live on her own and, when she was ready, travel back home. She left her group the summer before last, and she hoped to return home in the spring. She was so excited…”

Nancy’s voice catches. Tomas puts his arm around her shoulders, and she leans against it. I eat more of my now-cold stew and glance at Dalton. He’s been silent, letting me handle this. When he catches my eye, he nods, and I’m not aware that I’m communicating anything to him, but after a moment, he speaks.

“When’s the last time you saw her?” he asks.

Nancy starts, and it might be surprise at Dalton talking, but it’s more, too. She’s sinking into her grief, and we’ve finally reached the heart of what I really must ask her. We can’t let her drift now. That’s the message Dalton read in my look.

This is going to be tough, and I need help.

I need someone to push. Someone to play bad cop.

When Nancy hesitates, Dalton says, “This is important.”

“I know,” she says. “It was eight—” Another catch. “Eight days ago. She needed supplies.”

“Like what?”

Dalton grills Nancy on specifics. It isn’t easy. Speaking of Ellen in the abstract had been fine, but now Nancy must dissect what she realizes is the last time she’d ever see her friend. Tomas glances at her, concerned, but he doesn’t interfere and Nancy gives no sign she needs to stop.

Ellen had came by on a supply run. She did that weekly. As a lone settler, without the time to build a permanent residence, she lived light, with only a tent and a pack. It was easier for her to trade weekly with the settlement, giving them her extra meat and furs in return for dried vegetables and other foodstuffs.

Her last visit, however, had been unscheduled. She usually stopped by on what they called “the sixth day”—Saturdays. This visit came on a Tuesday, and she’d brought an entire caribou plus three hares, hoping to trade for winter blankets and scraps of leather.

Dalton frowns. “She lived alone last winter, and this one isn’t any colder.”

“She said she used last year’s blankets to sew summer clothing.”

“Why now? It’s been fucking freezing for two months.”

They both flinch at the profanity, and it takes him a moment to realize it. He nods, understanding. There are people in Rockton who take exception to his language. If they’re troublemakers or chronic complainers, he might even pile on a few “fucks” to annoy them. But if they are good people, like these, he holds back.

Nancy admits she doesn’t know why Ellen suddenly wanted extra warm blankets. There’s hesitation, suggesting she found this odd herself, but Dalton only nods, as if accepting her explanation. Then he says, his voice casual, “A caribou and three hares. She must be a really good hunter.”

They say nothing, but their discomfort is palpable.

“That normal for her? Bringing so much meat, three days after her last visit?”

Silence. Dalton’s gaze cuts my way, bouncing the ball over.

“I know you trade with a very limited number of people,” I say. “I’m guessing Ellen was an exception because she’s a former wild person. In need of help.”

They both nod, as if grateful for the easy answer.

“What about others?” I say. “Regular settlers who need assistance?”

“It would depend,” Tomas says. “We’d never turn away someone who was in desperate need, of course. We make exceptions. But only in emergencies, and then we direct them to other sources, such as the First Settlement.”