put his arms around his mother’s waist. Looking up into her face, he said, “And I will trap enough pelts to make us rich.”
“You will make me proud by doing your duty to God,” she said, removing his hands. “Off you go to the mission.”
Etienne was always happier away from the farm. Winter had finally passed, and he had already spotted his first duck. He jammed his wide-brimmed hat down onto his head and adjusted the small tin at his side. He might find something interesting to put in it. On the way back, he would walk to the edge of the bluff overlooking the St. Lawrence. The ice in the river had already begun to melt. The Algonquin might be hauling in nets of squirming silver eels. He might be able to watch canoes laden with stacks of fur heading for the great warehouses along the Mont Réal wharf.
“Do not spend all the next day at the mission,” his father snapped. He had a quick temper, especially when it came to chores. “There is work to be done.”
The boy and the priest trudged down the lane in the late afternoon sun. Etienne paused for a moment to lower the cage of chickens to the ground. “Are you going north too?” he asked.
“Unfortunately, I must remain here,” Father Lejeune told him, putting down the bag of apples. “My duties limit me to teaching the natives that roam these forests.”
The mission house lay on the road to Kebec. As they approached the stone walls, Etienne spotted a boy slumped against the wooden fence. A pair of boots tied by their laces hung around his neck. Next to him was a draw-string sack. A soft, tight-fitting cap covered his hair. Tears streaked his dirty face.
This house is always full of travellers, Etienne thought. Everyone stops to receive the priest’s blessing before their voyage to the pays d’en haut, the northern wilderness.
Father Lejeune took the crying boy by the hand and led him inside. “Remember,” the Jesuit told him, “it is a good choice. Your parents will rest in peace knowing you are doing God’s work.”
Etienne looked at the boy’s tight, buttonless coat. Unlike Etienne’s roomy woollen one, it hugged the boy as if meant for someone smaller. “Are you travelling to Mont Réal?” he asked. Etienne’s parents did not like the muddy streets and noisy markets, but he did.
The boy shook his head. He gave a look of such sorrow that Etienne’s heart lurched. “Sainte-Marie,” he said, dropping his pack to the floor.
“Sainte-Marie,” Etienne repeated. He could hardly believe his ears. This boy was travelling to the farthest mission north, in the middle of the wilderness. “How old are you?”
“What does that matter,” the boy responded. He rubbed his eyes with his fists. Etienne glanced at his dark-ringed eyes.
A sullen darkness grew inside Etienne’s heart and filled his chest. It was his dream to go north, to explore and live among the natives. “That’s not fair,” he complained.
Father Lejeune stopped to stare at him.
Etienne tried to shrug it off, but all he could think about was this boy’s journey. While he slept under the stars, with the voyageurs, Etienne would be in his own miserable bed.
But the thought of sleeping in his bed gave Etienne an idea. If he could convince Father Lejeune to let the boy come back to the farmhouse for the night, his plan just might work.
TWO
The Switch
The next morning the mission house buzzed with activity. The voyageurs told tales of canoe races as the clerk wrote down their names.
“How did you get such a chance?” Etienne whispered wistfully.
The boy, hunched close to the fire, stared back with red-rimmed eyes. “Such a chance,” he repeated in a mocking voice. “As an orphan apprentice, it is my only chance.”
Etienne had to fight to keep the excitement from his voice. “You need a good night’s rest, away from all this,” he said. He leaned in close. “I have an idea.”
“Leave me alone,” the boy said, pushing Etienne away.
“Why don’t you come back to my farm?” Etienne suggested, tugging at the boy’s arm. “My mother is a good cook. You can sleep in my bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“They won’t let me leave the mission,” the boy muttered. “I made a vow to serve God.”
“It’s only for the night,” Etienne told him. “You can meet up with them in the morning.”
Father Lejeune praised Etienne for his thoughtfulness. He agreed to wait for the boy at the fork in the road at dawn the next day.
Etienne’s socks and shirts flapped on the line as the boys approached the farm. His mother stepped away from the kitchen table to greet them, her hands covered in flour.
“Bonjour?” she said, cocking her head to one side, giving the boy a warm smile.
“Father Lejeune wants him to stay the night,” Etienne said. “Tomorrow he travels north.”
“Are your parents far away?” she asked.
The boy looked down. “They were buried at sea before we reached Kebec.”
Etienne’s mother uttered a small cry and pulled the boy to her in a floury embrace. Then she pushed him back, pulled off his stocking cap and ran her fingers through his hair.
“So pale, so thin, so tired,” she said, clicking her tongue. “You have no family here?”
The boy’s eyes glazed. “My family is the churchyard now,” he said.
“He is going to the mission of Sainte-Marie, as a donné,” Etienne explained. “He will learn a trade while helping the Fathers.” He took the boy’s cap from his mother’s hand and the drawstring sack. He placed them on the bench beside the door. On top he tossed his small tin pouch.
His mother handed Etienne a basket. “Collect the eggs,” she told Etienne. “Then the two of you have a good wash before dinner.”
“It’s seems strange,” Etienne told the boy as they headed to the chicken coop. “You don’t want to go, and I would give anything for such an adventure.”
“You wouldn’t like it there,” the boy said. He shoved open the wooden door of the coop. “The Jesuits live among the savages.”
“I know all about savages,” Etienne bragged. “I’ve helped them fish for eels.”
At dinner that night, his father hardly noticed the stranger at their table. He was too busy complaining. “I expect you to haul rocks tomorrow,” he said to Etienne. “While I felled trees, you spent the day doing nothing.”
The boy picked at the plate filled with tourtière and bread. Etienne noticed him touching his fingers to his temple. Headache, he thought.
“We are the same age,” Etienne said to his father. “Isn’t that strange?”
His
