The Simple Wild (Wild 1)

“In town, with the lawyers. He’s trying to get the bulk of the paperwork finalized with Aro.” Agnes sighs as she looks around. “Things are going to change around here pretty soon.”

“But not today.”

She smiles and reaches out to pat my bicep. “Not today.”

“Okay, well, if there’s nothing else, I’m going

to run home and get cleaned up. I still have pastel green frosting in my hair, thanks to Jonah.” And a sticky coating of it all over my body, where he decided to smear it before licking it off, but I don’t think Agnes needs or wants to know those extra details.

Her dark eyes roam my face and then take in the messy pile of hair atop my head. But in typical Agnes fashion, she merely smiles.

“Moose meat . . . reindeer dogs . . . king salmon . . . herring eggs . . . bannock. That’s a flat bread. You might like that.” I trail closely behind Jonah as he identifies the various trays of food along the tables, courtesy of the eighty-odd people milling around Wild’s lobby, most from Bangor, but plenty who took the river down from the villages. The place is alive with a buzz of laughter and friendly conversation.

Agnes was right, after all. A party is what we all needed.

Jonah points to a dish of glistening yellow cubes, a thick, dark skin lining one side. “You won’t like that.”

“What’s that?” I point to a bowl of what appears to be white cream and blueberries.

“That’s called Eskimo ice cream.”

“Dairy?”

“Nope. And you definitely won’t like it.”

“She won’t know unless you let her try it, Tulukaruq,” a familiar voice behind us calls out.

Jonah peers over his shoulder at the old woman with the pink headscarf, his surprise clear on his face. “Ethel! Down the river twice in two weeks.”

“Not just me. Josephine, too.” She nods to a young woman of maybe twenty standing over by the water cooler, with a thick jet-black braid that reaches her butt. A plump baby of maybe eight months with a full head of dark hair sits in a sling across her chest, his wide eyes alert and curious as they take in the many faces.

“Damn, he’s gotten big, hasn’t he?”

As if Josephine heard Jonah, she turns and then gives a small, shy wave.

“Give me a sec, would ya, Ethel?” Jonah says with a gentle pat on her shoulder, and I watch him wander over to them, his smile wide and genuine as they begin talking.

“Tulukaruq has a lot of soft spots, but I think his biggest is for the young ones,” Ethel murmurs. She’s wearing the same New York Knicks sweatshirt that she had on the last time I met her. I wonder if she’s an avid basketball fan or if it’s just something warm for her to wear.

“Why do you call him that?” It’s the same name she gave him that day in Meyer’s.

“Because he’s a helper of our people, but he’s also a trickster. It means ‘raven.’ ”

I chuckle. “Yeah, that’s . . . so perfect. ‘Tulukaruq.’ I might have to start calling him that.”

Josephine slips her son from the sling and hands him into Jonah’s waiting arms.

My heart unexpectedly swells at the sight of the exchange, of Jonah’s enormous hands gripping the baby’s entire torso as he holds him up in the air above him, bringing him down to let the boy paw at his beard. Jonah laughs and the boy laughs, and suddenly I’m able to picture Jonah as a father.

Jonah will make a good father.

And his family will live in Alaska with him. A truth that squashes my swelling heart back to reality.

“The raven and his goose-wife.”

I turn to meet Ethel’s sharp, wise eyes. “Sorry?”

“The story. Jonah is the raven and you are his goose-wife.” She studies me for a long moment with a sad smile, and I get the distinct impression she has discerned everything there is to know about us.