The Wolf's Boy

Chapter Twenty-Five: Indiana Bound

The next morning, Kismet sprung out of bed and rubbed his forehead. He looked under his bed to say ‘good morning’ to Prestige, but when he saw that he wasn’t there, he jumped out of bed and flew open his door. He positioned his lips and whistled as loud as he could. He waited. Nothing. He started for another whistle, but then he remembered what had happened last night. He laughed in embarrassment and returned to his room. He probably ran away. Maybe if I think that, he’ll be there. I know Prestige would’ve stayed. Or, maybe, he gave up and left me? Kismet pulled on his clothes and raced out of the inn. He sprinted to up the hill and across the field to the edge of the forest, where he had last seen his wolf.

               “Prestige!” Kismet yelled. The mourning air was chilly, and all he could see was his breath clouding his vision. He whistled several times, but no red wolf came to his side. He’ll come. Kismet assured himself as he walked back to the inn. But the wolf never did. No matter how many times the boy stood at the woods every day and whistled, the response was the same. The wolf never made an appearance.

               “He’s gone. Gone for good,” Kismet whispered to himself three months later. It was winter, and he had turned eighteen. He had seen his life playing out differently before the hurricane. He had seen Shirley as his fiancée, Banner and him running a store of their own, and Prestige continuing to be his loyal companion, but none of those dreams happened. Everything was different, and to Kismet, it felt like it had changed all for the worse. After another month of looking and whistling for Prestige, Kismet finally had to give up. He couldn’t hang on every day on the hope of the wolf returning, he couldn’t do that to himself, or else he would go insane.

               Two years passed and Kismet was twenty. By then, he had earned his keep and had enough money to leave Michigan and to his desired destination: Indiana. He hoped he could start his own business in trading, but that was on the edge, and he knew he would have to work in small companies before earning enough to start his own. At the age of twenty, he could his life neither satisfying nor enjoyable; everything seemed to be slipping away from him. Jovie was shy of fifteen and had already gotten a position training horses. Sadly, the two brothers hardly talked to one another, and both seemed content to go their separate ways. When spring came around, Kismet headed for Indiana. He didn’t know what was waiting for him in that state, but he knew his heart was set there, and there was no turning back.

               “You sure?” Jovie asked that warm afternoon as he watched Kismet pack his horse.

               Kismet paused for a moment before tightening the girth. He looked over at Jovie and nodded his head. “Yes. I’ve got to do this.”

               “Do what?” Jovie said in a harsher tone. He jabbed Kismet hard in the shoulder, letting him know he was serious. “Do what?”

               The young man stared at his brother and his eyes dropped to the ground. Why am I doing this? What’s the reason? To escape memories? That’s foolish, memories go with you wherever you go. Kismet made eyes with his brothers and continued to pack. “I know I’m supposed to go.”

               Jovie crossed his arms and squished the dirt with his foot. He reached up and turned Kismet’s face to his. “I hope you find what you couldn’t find here.”

               Kismet patted his brother shoulder and mounted the black horse. He tipped his imaginary hat and nudged his horse into a rolling canter. The two of them headed out of the Michigan town and straight towards Indiana. It would be a long way on horseback, but Jovie knew his brother was determined, and he would arrive in the state at the perfect time.

         It took five days to get to Indiana. At that time, Kismet had some joy entering the new town. The passing of vehicles and the cheery faces of pedestrians brought a smile to Kismet’s face. The feeling of being away from his old towns was amazing. He felt as if he could start a new life. He could, and if he found his way back to the faith, he knew things wouldn’t be so impossible. Perhaps he would find a new lady, and if he had a small part in heart beside the big one he had made for Prestige, perhaps he could find another dog. Kismet found himself a cozy guesthouse that he settled in immediately.

               “How long are you staying?” the innkeeper asked.

               Kismet cleared his throat and tapped his ear. “I can’t hear.”

               “Oh, well,” the innkeeper went over to a shelf and pulled down a pen and paper. He scribbled out the question again and handed it over to Kismet.

               “Um, I’m not sure yet. Maybe two weeks?”

               The man wrote another sentence out and presented it to Kismet. This time, the man wore a strict face.

               Kismet read it and smirked. “Yeah, I can pay for it. I saved up.”

               The innkeeper broke into a friendlier smile and took out his guestbook. He pointed to blank space and mouth, “Sign!”

               The young Whitmore did so proudly. He returned the leather bound back to him and in return, a golden key was placed in his hands. A streak of independence rushed through his spine. He couldn’t believe it. He was on his own at last.

               “Thank you.” Kismet headed up the stairs to his room. When he unlocked and entered, a soft, toothy smile appeared. A cot was placed in the corner, a desk, and a table near the window, and a portrait. The portrait caught his attention. It was of a boy and his dog fishing on the banks. Without meaning to, a single tear hit the clean wooden boards beneath him. Kismet ran a hand over the portrait in fondness and the memory of Prestige pulled at his heart. “I wish I knew where you were, old friend.”

               Four seasons passed by as fast as the leaves in the fall and the snowflakes in the winter. Kismet got a position as a librarian. It wasn’t wonderful, but it was work and it gave him plenty of time to read. It was one of those days he was shelving books when he caught a familiar figure pass by the window.