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“It’s the Hudson’s Bay store manager. It’s the nuns. It’s everyone.”
    We walked north across the Albany to where Charles was skinning the caribou. By the time Papa, Alex and I got there, the animal lay on its side in a pool of blood, its brown fur skinned from its belly and hanging like a cape from its neck.
    â€œShe’s all yours,” Charles said. He gave the knife to Papa.
    â€œNo thanks,” Papa said. Charles raised his eyebrows.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” he said.
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œSomething’s up.”
    â€œEd is going to St. Anne’s next year.”
    â€œYeah, Bernadette says we have to do the same for Madeline and the boys.”
    â€œWomen!” Papa said, clenching his fists. Charles waited for him to go on, and after a pause, Papa began speaking in a low voice. “What are you going to do?”
    â€œDunno. Not much choice. What about you?”
    â€œToo late. Mary already signed the papers with Father Lavois,” Papa said.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Charles said.
    â€œMe too,” Papa said.
    â€œWhy are you sorry?” I asked.
    Charles said nothing.
    â€œBecause you’re growing up,” Papa said. He turned away from me and began cutting the caribou skin. I knew that wasn’t the truth,but since no one was paying attention to me, I squatted down in the grass and watched how the knife divided fur from flesh.
    A few days later I awoke before everyone else was up. I brought the goose fat and Papa’s gun to his mattress, then lay next to him.
    â€œEd,” he said, waking and rubbing his eyes. “What are you doing?”
    â€œI brought you these,” I whispered. “So you can teach me.” He looked at me. We both knew that I could clean his gun before I even knew how to build a fire. He sat up and got dressed, then helped me button my shirt and pants. He motioned for me to follow him outside.
    The leaves had started to turn, layers of amber masking the dirt roads. We began to walk to the edge of town.
    â€œYou’re going to school,” he said.
    â€œI know,” I said. “Why did Charles say he was sorry when you told him?”
    â€œBecause he knows that I’m going to miss you.” Papa stroked my hair. We were both quiet. “I won’t see you for a while.”
    â€œHow long?”
    â€œYou will have to be there all winter.”
    â€œCan I come back and visit?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause we will be at the family camp.”
    â€œWho will look after me?”
    â€œThe nuns will be looking after you now.”
    â€œI don’t want them to look after me. I don’t like them.”
    â€œYou don’t even know them.”
    â€œThey are mean.”
    â€œYou don’t know that.”
    â€œYes, I do. Joseph told me.”
    â€œWell, he doesn’t know them either.”
    â€œI don’t understand.”
    â€œYou need to learn to read and write.”
    â€œWhat if something happens?”
    â€œNothing will happen,” he said.
    â€œI don’t believe you,” I said.

THREE
    The day I was scheduled to leave for St. Anne’s, Papa rose early to fetch river water. Normally he scrubbed my hair. This time he wanted me to do it. He showed me how to lather the hard-to-reach parts behind my ears.
    We came inside and Mama gave me a plate of dried fish. I nibbled at it but my tummy was too upset to eat all of it. Normally Mama and Papa told me off if I wasted anything but Papa just took my plate and finished it. After breakfast, he and Mama stood around their bed and spoke in hushed tones about what I should pack. Mama wanted me to take the family photo of us all. It was an old one, taken the summer before Rita got sick, so she was there too. I knew it was really special because there were only three photos of Rita, and they were all worn until the paper was soft. But Papa said, “No point,