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finished weaving the bowl, she took a bundle of dried salmon strips from her big basket.
    The cabin filled with a strong fishy smell. Sarah chewed loudly and smacked her lips. Grandmother gave a faint shudder. Shetook small sips of soup, her face cold with disapproval.
    After supper, Peter came back in the canoe. Grandmother stood by the table, her back rigid. Sarah gathered up all her belongings and packed them into her basket. With a huge smile, she gave the woven bowl to Grandmother.
    Grandmother blinked in surprise. She turned it over and over in her hands. “It’s very nice,” she said weakly. “Thank you.”
    â€œI come again,” said Sarah. She bent over and studied Grandmother’s black shoes peeking out from the bottom of her dress. Grandmother’s face froze. She took a step backwards.
    â€œI make moccasins for Agatha,” Sarah announced happily.
    Grandmother opened her mouth as if to protest, and then shut it firmly.
    â€œI want to hold Lucky one more time before I go,” said Annie. She lifted the little fox out of the washtub. She touched her brown cheek against his furry head. Then she tucked him gently back into his warm bed.
    Sarah made a clicking sound with her tongue. She poured out a stream of words in Indian to Peter.
    â€œWhat is Sarah saying?” I asked.
    â€œShe says the fox needs his mother,” said Annie. “She says the cow’s milk is not right.”
    A hollow feeling filled my chest.
    Annie looked down at the floor. She whispered, “My grandmother says Lucky will die.”

10

    In the morning, Lucky refused to drink. He lay limply in my hands, his eyes squeezed shut.
    â€œI’m going to take him to the Indian village,” I said.
    Grandmother’s eyebrows shot up.
    â€œI thought about it all night,” I said in a rush. “Sarah is right. Lucky needs a mother. Annie says there’s a fox family living behind their village. I’m going to take Lucky there.”
    Grandmother gave me a long hard look. “She’ll know he’s not her baby,” she said finally.
    â€œIt’s the only chance he’s got.” My voice wavered. “It’s a long way to walk. I’ll take Papa’s canoe.”
    A look of doubt crossed Grandmother’s face.
    â€œI’m allowed,” I said defiantly.
    That was only partly true. Papa let me paddle his canoe along the shore on calm days. But the Indian village was on the other side of the lake. I didn’t look at Grandmother.
    I went outside and fed the chickens and milked Nettie. When I finished, I scanned the lake. It was smooth and blue with not even a ripple. If I left right away, I could paddle across to the Indian village easily. I ran to the cabin.
    Grandmother stood by the door. She was wearing her black bonnet and coat and a pair of black gloves. She clutched her knitting bag in one hand and her cane in the other.
    We stared at each other. Then Grandmother said firmly, “You can’t go alone. I’m coming with you.”
    Grandmother sat in the bow of Papa’s birch bark canoe. Her back was straight, and her hands were folded in her lap. I put the washtub with Lucky behind her on the bottom of the canoe. Then I climbed into the stern and paddled.
    It was hard to stay in a straight line. The canoe zigzagged back and forth. I gritted my teeth, waiting for Grandmother’s sharp words. She gripped the sides of the canoe, but she didn’t say anything.
    I counted my paddle strokes on each side. One two three four. Change sides. One two three four.
    A loon drifted close to the canoe, watching us for a few minutes. Then it gave a loud cry and dove under the water.
    My arms ached. When I looked down at the water, it felt like we were hardly moving at all. But when I glanced over my shoulder, our cabin looked like a toy sitting on the shore.
    Slowly we inched across the lake. The Indian village was tucked into a small bay. At last I