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Cover
Dedication
Dedicated to teachers around the world who
love and respect their students.
1
School 1935
Jonny Joe couldn’t remember the first time he noticed the old Indian with the long, flowing hair standing in the woods. He figured the old man watched him because he was the only white kid on Kuper Island. The other boys never paid any attention to the guy. When Jonny called out to him, they all just laughed.
“Watch out!” the old man yelled out that day.
Jonny looked up just as a load of firewood tumbled from a truck.
When he woke in the infirmary, the old man sat on a chair across from his bed.
“You got hit hard,” he said.
Jonny touched the lump on his forehead and winced.
A nun moved to the side of Jonny’s bed. Her milk-white hand passed him a damp cloth. “Put this on your forehead,” she said with a touch of annoyance.
Jonny turned to her and whispered, “I don’t know the name of my visitor.”
Her eyes grew wide under the panel of starched linen. “Who are you talking about?”
Jonny looked at her face in surprise. “The man in the chair.”
“You really did get bumped,” the nun said with a frown. “There’s no one there.”
Jonny turned back to the chair. The curtain next to it fluttered in the breeze. She was right, no one was there.
He sank back into his pillow and laid the cloth across his forehead, but hearing the familiar sound of heavy boots striding through the corridor, he pulled it down over his eyes. Father John’s huge feet took steps so large, the skirts of his cassock groaned. When he rolled up his sleeves, his arms were as hard as baseball bats.
“How is he?” the priest asked the nun.
“He thought he had a visitor,” the nun said.
“Who would possibly come to visit him?”
“He’s just seeing things,” the nun said. “It happens after a bump on the head.”
“Hope he isn’t seeing a wolf,” a voice from the hallway murmured.
Jonny knew it came from one of the girls from the school. He could hear the sound of water dripping into a pail as she twisted her cleaning rag. Several girls spent the day on their dark-stockinged knees cleaning the floors of the school as part of their training. They were so shiny Jonny could slide in his socks from one end of the hall to the other.
“A wolf,” Father John called out to the girl in the corridor. “Why would you think that?”
“You know what they say about his family,” the girl said.
“His family was killed by a wolf?” Father John asked.
“Don’t know ’bout that,” the girl said, “but a wolf brought him to the front door.”
“What do you mean a wolf brought him to the front door?” the priest demanded in his booming voice. “How could a wolf ferry a baby from the mainland, across the channel, and through the bush to a school on an island?” He gave out a long, exasperated sigh. “You people have such foolish ideas.”
Father John moved directly over Jonny.
Jonny lay quietly, not daring to move.
“One more day and he’s back in class,” the priest declared, then left.
Jonny removed the cloth to look. The girl wore the usual uniform of navy blue with a wide white collar. Her short, straight haircut was like all the other girls. What does she mean everyone knows the story about the wolf? No one has told me, not once, in all my fourteen years of living at Redemption Residential. With her back to him, he couldn’t see her face. She picked up her bucket and moved down the hallway. How can I find her to ask?
He rolled over to face the window. Jonny always knew he had no parents. The school priests had insisted he stop asking questions about his past when he was six years old. They said it showed a lack of gratitude for the good care that they gave him. They also told him to ignore any memories he might have. But sometimes fragments of happenings came to him. Maybe that’s why he imagined the old man visiting him.
That night Jonny dreamed of finding a carved chest at the foot of his bed, full of animal skins. Jonny sifted through them to a silver-white pelt. He lifted it from the chest and held it to the light. The beauty of the glistening fur made him sigh.
To his surprise the pelt shuddered, leapt from his arms, and took the shape of a wolf. Its sharp black claws scuttled across the wooden floor to the window ledge. It mounted the sill, looked back at Jonny, and jumped out. Jonny watched it lope across the yard, down the hill, and toward the river.
He jerked himself awake, pulled back the covers, and crawled to the edge of his bed. There was no cedar box. The sudden movements made him dizzy. He lay back down thinking how real it had all seemed.
“One night there was much rain,” a voice in the dark said.
“Sshh,” Jonny warned. Whoever was in the infirmary should know to keep quiet after lights out.
“The water crept around the houses. The great poles trembled and groaned.”
“Sshh,” Jonny repeated, as the hall light went on. He closed his eyes, hoping there wouldn’t be an inspection — or worse. But the light went out and no one came to check. Jonny lay in the dark wondering about what he had just heard. It sounded like a story.
The voice spoke again. “The rain still fell. The people stayed on their platforms as the water rose higher and higher. Day came and the rain still fell. Night came and the rain still fell. The chief of the village ordered the warriors to tie their canoes together.”
“Who are you?” Jonny whispered. “And why are you telling me all this?”
The clouds parted. The moon shone through the barred window as an ancient hand pressed Jonny’s shoulder. He looked up into the old man’s face.
“‘Hurry,’ the chief told them all,” the old man continued. The deep lines around his mouth hardly moved as he spoke. “‘Leave your houses and sit in your canoes.’ And the people did. For many days and nights the people drifted in the high water. In fear, they watched it rise above the treetops.”
Jonny sat up. Every boy in the dormitory had felt a priest’s wrath at one time or another for talking after lights out. If Father John had to come up the extra flight of stairs, there would definitely be
