Read Online Up Ghost River by Edmund Metatawabin - Free Book Online Page B

Amocheesh, “Okay, so tell me, big shot.”
    â€œYou tell me,” Amocheesh replied.
    â€œI’m not telling you.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause my papa said I should keep it to myself.”
    â€œYour pa didn’t tell you.”
    â€œShh,” I said. “She’s coming.”
    Sister Wesley stood over us and looked down.
    â€œYou’re leaving too much dirt on them,” she said. “Hold out your hands.” Amocheesh, Tony and I held ours out. She slapped us all three times with her wooden stick. It stung, but wasn’t as bad as the whip. Amocheesh started to cry. “Stop crying, Number Three,” she said. “Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.” Amocheesh looked at his hands and wept silently. Sister Wesley shook her head and went back to patrolling the rest of the potato fields.
    In the weeks leading up to Christmas, I looked for a chance to ask Joe and Erick about whether they had asked Brother Jutras if I could come with them, but we were so busy with the extra work of cleaning the school before the holidays that it was hard to find the time to talk.
    The days slipped by in a rush of holiday preparations and excitement, and then it was the last lesson on Friday. When the bell rang, everyone streamed out of the classroom. I said goodbye to Tony, Joe and Amocheesh at the school steps and we parted ways. Like everyone from far away, they stayed at school for the Christmas holidays, and I walked across the bridge home, with about twenty other boys and girls. We walked in silence, as if talking was still forbidden even this far from school.
    I kept an eye out for Angela, as I knew she would be returning to Fort Albany too, but didn’t see her on the bridge. I saw her several times each day at chapel and in our lessons, but we were never allowed to talk. The times that we were allowed to talk quietly, at playtime and in the school dining room, the girls were taken elsewhere. I wondered what she thought of me.
Did
she think of me? I had smiled ather in our English lessons, and thought she had smiled back. I decided that once we were home I would go and visit.
    When I got to my house, I did something I had never done before. I stopped outside the door. It felt different. Like it wasn’t my own home. I wondered what had changed: everything looked the same, but felt unfamiliar. The logs by the side of the house looked the same, although now covered in snow, as did the path and the cross out back that Papa had built so Mama could pray for Rita. I couldn’t figure out what it was. I knocked on the door.
    Papa answered and picked me up in his arms. He carried me into the house. I took in his smell of leaves and wood smoke and buried my face in his hair. My heart felt warm against his.
    â€œMy boy,” he said, and brushed my hair away from my eyes. I looked at his eyes, as his gaze shifted from worry to love.
    â€œI missed you,” I said.
    â€œMe too,” he replied. “Too much.”
    That night we ate all my favourite foods: goose and cranberry jam and bannock. The tastes were sharp and sweet and fatty and rich and it was all so good that I ate and ate until Papa said, “What, don’t they feed you at St. Anne’s?”
    â€œYeah, they do,” I said. “But not as much. And not like this.”
    â€œHmm,” he said, and he glanced at me worriedly, then looked at Mama, although she seemed not to notice as she was still serving everyone.
    â€œThings were better this year,” he said. “We caught one hundred animals. Made about four grand, which means we paid off our debt and then some.” He glanced at Mama and smiled. She smiled back. “And this one is turning into quite the hunter,” he said, pointing to Alex. I looked at Alex. He was only five. He was definitely too young to shoot a gun.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I asked.
    â€œHe’s been helping me track the