The Indian School by Gloria Whelan Page B

gray braid tied with a shoelace hung down her back. “You are just in time,” she said. “I shot some grouse this morning and they are turning on the spit.”
    The grouse were excellent and with them we had roasted potatoes and cider. Soon afterward we lay down to sleep. Mr. Jones rolled himself up in a blanket. Although I protested, Mother Sally gave me her cot while she curled up in a chair. Remembering the bears, I did not think I would close my eyes. Perhaps it was the warmth of the fire or the heavy meal, but I fell asleep at once.
    Over our morning porridge Mother Sally said, “There is good news. My husband, Alfred, will be returning any day now. It is said he was seen on the road up from Ohio. I must take my gun and golooking for a deer. Alfred was ever fond of venison.”
    After many heartfelt thanks we drove off in the wagon. “Mother Sally must be very happy that her husband is returning,” I said.
    Mr. Jones shook his head. “She has been saying that for forty years. And still he does not come.”
    â€œThen where is he?”
    Mr. Jones’ small smile widened. “As far away from that gun as he can get.”
    In the early evening I noticed a livening in the horses. We began to follow a stream. After a bit we came upon a dozen cabins, one next to the other. With deep woods all around them, I did not wonder that they huddled together. Nearby I saw a store and a mill perched on the bank of a river. “The town of Coldriver,” Mr. Jones announced. “We are only a few miles from the school.” He turned to me. “I don’t say anything against the school. Your uncle has been good to me.” He was silent for a moment.“You must do as your aunt says. She is a woman who likes to have her way.”
    I had time for no more than a hasty glance at the school grounds. There were outbuildings and fields. All was enclosed with a fence. Beyond the fence as far as you could see was the forest. The forest appeared stronger than the fence. We pulled up to a large cabin that looked to have many rooms. At once a door swung open and a man came to meet us. He was as thin as the edge of a knife, a man who would have to hang on to a tree in a windstorm if he was not to be blown away. The greater part of his lean face was hidden by whiskers the color of a ginger cat. He made one or two steps toward us and then one or two steps back. He appeared uncertain of how best to greet us.
    A moment later he was pushed aside by a stout woman in a black dress. Her hair was skinned back so tightly, the corners of her eyes were slanted with the pull. She came briskly out of the cabin. “You areLucy. You are very welcome. I am your aunt Emma.” She turned to Mr. Jones. “You may see to the horses, Luke. You are very late for dinner but there will be something for you in the kitchen.” The thin man appeared to be waiting for orders. “Edward,” she said to him, “don’t just stand there, get the child’s trunk.”
    As she drew me inside, she looked at the books I carried. “What have you there? Books. I must see what they are. Young minds must be kept fresh and clean.”
    â€œThey are my mama and papa’s books, Aunt. They often read to me from them.”
    She glanced at the titles. “ Ivanhoe . That is romantic nonsense. And what is this? The Book of English Verse ? We will find you something more sensible than poetry to read.” She laid the books aside. “You have been traveling for two days and will be tired and hungry. First you must have something to eat. Then I will show you to your room. We go to bed early here and get up early.”
    By now Uncle Edward had returned. He reached out once or twice and finally put a gentle hand on my shoulder. “We are very pleased to have you, my dear. Your mama and papa’s deaths were a great sadness to us.”
    â€œThat is in the past, Edward,” Aunt Emma said.