didn’t seem to hear as he stared off into the distance. “At last the rain stopped and the sun came out,” he said. “Everyone was hungry, wet, and tired. On a rise of dry land, a young boy spotted a goat. He paddled to the shore to catch it, but the goat disappeared. The boy left his canoe and searched. He found more goats inside a huge, dry cave full of driftwood and stranded fish.”
“Who are you?” Jonny asked again.
The old man from the hill took something from the woven pouch hanging around his neck. His weathered hand pressed a small round stone into Jonny’s hand.
Jonny took it. At first he didn’t understand what was so important about a stone washed smooth by the water. There were hundreds of them along the shore. He ran his thumb over the surface. The feeling brought him a sense of comfort. Then he turned it over to find a carved engraving of a small owl.
“You must find your way to Golden Mountain,” the old man said.
When Jonny looked up, the old man had disappeared.
2
Missing
When Jonny entered the dining hall at breakfast a few days later, everyone stopped eating to stare. He slipped into his usual place on the bench at the wooden table.
“Klahawya, Whiteman,” Sam, the oldest boy in the school, called out to him. Jonny had gotten the nickname the first time he showed up for basketball. They all laughed at him wearing the team singlet with the word “Indian” printed across it. “We thought you ended up in the basement.”
“Bump on the head,” Jonny explained, reaching for a slice of bread. He took a spoon loaded with white lard from the jam jar and scraped it across the bread. With the back of the spoon he smashed it down and spread it around. There was no point telling anyone they’d kept him in the infirmary for a few days because of his dreams. One night it had been a log cabin consumed by fire. Another night it had been a man with a pipe. The smoke drifted upwards to the sky and formed the face of a wolf. Each time he told the nun, she just shook her head and applied another cold compress.
“Your bed wasn’t the only one empty in the dorm,” Sam said, lowering his voice. “Tom-One, Tommy-Two, Billy, and Jimmy took off.”
Jonny put down his spoon. He’d heard those boys whispering their escape plans at night, but hadn’t thought they would really do it. But why now? he thought. They were all going home for the summer in a couple of weeks.
“Father John found out at bed check this morning,” Sam told him, sticking his spoon into the grey mushy porridge they called muckamuck. “One of the canoes is missing.”
Father Paul, the school principal, dragged his heavy, thick-soled shoe, which compensated for a short leg, to the centre of the dining room. His white hair, yellow with oil, stood straight up like a wooden brush. He tapped his cane on the floor and waited. Jonny turned and faced him.
The rest of the boys kept right on eating.
Father Paul lifted his cane and brought it down on one of the tables. The metal plates and mugs clattered.
The room fell silent.
“Four boys ran away last night,” he said, shivering with anger. His hard, dry body rattled as he spat out the words. “All of them were in Dormitory C.”
The whole room turned and looked in the direction of Jonny’s table.
Father Paul lifted his cane and pointed at them. “I know that everyone in Dormitory C knows exactly where those boys are heading.” He waved the tip of the cane at them. “I am not going to send out a search party until I know where to search.” He lowered the cane and rested both hands on it. “Which of you is going to tell me where they went?”
“No one is going to tell Old Stumpy anything,” Sam announced in a loud voice.
Everyone stared down at their plates.
The priest whirled on his good heel and moved to their table. “I will find out,” he threatened as he laid his cane across their table. Jonny stared at the brown spots on Father Paul’s dry, veiny hand, not daring to move. His stained cassock carried the musky smell of old clothes and body odour.
“You give me no other choice,” the priest murmured. “One by one, you will get this across your dirty little knuckles until I find out.”
The bell clanged for class. The boys leapt from their benches to line up at the doorway.
Father Paul placed his cane on Sam’s shoulder as he moved to get up. “Tell me where they went,” he hissed.
Sam looked Father Paul straight in his bloodshot eyes. “Who knows?” he said.
Father Paul placed the tip of his cane into the middle of Sam’s chest and pushed him backward.
Sam bit his lip as the priest prodded him down the hall.
In the classroom, Father Gregory yanked down the large map of the world. He paced in front of it, wringing his thin hands, as the boys opened their notebooks. He picked up the pointer and tapped the map. The boys scribbled the name of the continent. Father Gregory paced from door to window, window to door, his cassock swishing. When he hit Africa for the second time, Jonny knew Father Gregory wasn’t paying any attention to what he was doing.
The classroom door burst open and Father John shoved Sam inside. The tall, lanky boy stumbled to his desk, his eyes burning red. He slumped into his seat, his arms dangling at his sides, and closed his eyes. His bruised, swollen fingers looked like rotting carrots.
Father Gregory put his hand on Sam’s shoulder, but Sam shrugged it off.
The school bell clanged again. This time it was for work.
Everyone made for the door. Jonny’s class had the job of chopping firewood. Once the truck was loaded, they took it to the dock, where they piled the logs onto the old barge. Built by students, the long flat boat forever needed bailing, which kept the boys busy as they moved across the water. The priests sold the wood in town, but the boys never saw any of the money.
“Jonny,” Father Gregory called. He handed him a rag and a can of brass polish. “Today, you stay inside,” he said. “You can polish door knobs instead of loading the truck.” Father Gregory placed his long, elegant hand on Jonny’s head. “Don’t forget evening prayers,” he said with a wink. “I missed your beautiful blue eyes at Mass.”
There were no door knobs to polish on the second or third floor. In fact, there were no doors at all in the dormitories, nothing but rows and rows of grey-blanketed beds.
Suddenly he heard Father Paul yell, “I’m seventy-two years of age. I plan to finish my career in peace, not chasing dirty Indians through the forest.” The door to his office slammed. Jonny wondered what he was talking about.
Jonny started at the opposite end of the building and worked his way down the hall, making the brass knobs above the keyholes glisten. It wasn’t until he heard the heavy sound of leather boots beating down the stairs that he looked up.
“We need Father Gregory at the dock!” Father John yelled to Jonny as he raced out the front door. Clutching the hem of his cassock with his large, meaty hand,
