White Feather 3-Book Bundle. Jennifer Dance

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      The seniors ran into the field pulling hay wagons and the juniors loaded the hay. Red Wolf tossed hay as high as he could, but most of it never made it into the wagon; it rained down on his head and shoulders, getting in the neck of his coverall and making him itch.

      By the time the seniors had pushed the loaded wagon up the earthen ramp of the bank barn, they were dripping with sweat, hair plastered to their heads. The juniors stayed in the oppressive heat of the loft, unloading and sneezing, while the seniors rushed downstairs, where thick stone walls held the night’s coolness. They splashed themselves with water from the cattle trough until the farm manager complained they were wasting water. Then it was back to the field for another load.

      Thunder was rolling in the distance as a Belgian mare the colour of rich honey trotted briskly across the hay field, a large empty wagon clanking behind her.

      “I thought you could use some help,” the driver called out to the boys as he slowed the horse to a walk and guided her carefully through the rows of hay. “Load her up fast, rain’s on the way.”

      The boys ran across the field like ants to a carcass, grabbing armloads of hay and flinging them up onto the moving wagon, their fatigue vanishing with the excitement. The horse sensed their eagerness and shook her head, jangling her harness buckles.

      “Hi there, neighbour,” the farm manager called out. “How did you know we needed help?”

      “From my place I saw these kids crawling all over the field. And I heard the thunder so I put two and two together. I’ve told you before, my friend, and I’ll tell you again. This school needs a good workhorse.”

      The farm manager laughed. “Why do we need a horse when we have all these boys?”

      “You could use one today,” the neighbour commented, disturbed as always by the subdued Indian children who worked as hard as grown men.

      The horse pulled the final wagonload under cover just as fat raindrops started to spatter. The two men sheltered in the barn as thunder crashed and lightning forked angrily across the dark sky, but, unmindful of the danger, the boys stood in the pouring rain, letting the deluge cool them. One decided to strip his coveralls, another his boots, another his under-drawers. Before long the entire student body was leaping around stark naked, stomping in puddles and dancing in the sheets of water falling from the roof.

      As the rain petered out, the farm manager poked his head out to look at the sky. He was appalled.

      “What are you doing?” he yelled. “Cavorting like savages?”

      The old man laughed. “No, they’re cavorting like children!”

      The farm manager ignored him. “Have you all gone mad? Get your clothes back on before Father Thomas sees you.”

      “They’re just being boys,” the old man said to the wind.

      A few days after the hay was safely in the barn, impatient boys clustered around the barred windows that overlooked the driveway. They watched other children pile into the neighbour’s wagon that would take them to the train station and the long journey back to their reserves. And they stared into the distance, hoping that the next person to come into view would be their mother or father, big brother, or uncle. As the day progressed, the number of children at the windows decreased and, for those who remained, excitement turned first to apprehension and then to fear that nobody would come for them.

      Mother Hall strode past the small group of remaining boys. “Are you still waiting?” she asked. “Perhaps your parents don’t want you no more. Heaven knows you’re a whole lot of trouble. I wouldn’t want you if I didn’t get paid for the job.”

      It was late afternoon when Mister Hall strutted along the corridor, his cane lightly tapping the side of his leg with each footfall. He whacked Red Wolf on the side of the head.

      “So your no-good father hasn’t shown up, eh?”

      Red Wolf was silent, but then realized that an answer was expected. “No, Mister Hall.”

      “Do you suppose he’s lying drunk in a ditch?”

      “Yes, Mister Hall. No, Mister Hall. I don’t know, Mister Hall.”

      “He probably spent all his ration money on drink and can’t even walk straight.”

      Mister Hall guffawed, thwacking the heads of the other two boys who waited with Red Wolf, then strode off down the corridor.

      The shadows were lengthening when Father Thomas stopped to talk to Red Wolf and the one remaining boy. The priest tutted at the wayward behaviour of Indian parents.

      “Such degenerate conduct! Imagine neglecting your own children in such a manner. This is the very reason we take you from your families: to spare you this pain of rejection; to feed you, clothe you and give you the opportunity to better yourselves.”

      Tears welled in Red Wolf’s eyes.

      “It hurts me to see you so disappointed. It’s George, isn’t it?”

      “Yes, Father.”

      “Believe me, George, you are better off without them. I know you feel hurt, but suffering is part of growing up. Suffering will mold you into a better person. Wait and see.” Father Thomas rocked back on his heels and looked upward. “We learn from our pain, George. We cannot taste joy until we have drunk from the cup of sorrow.”

      The priest was pleased with this analogy. Then he had another thought, and he beamed. “Just think, George, if you had not shivered through the cold, dark days of winter, you would not truly appreciate the warmth and light of summer.”

      He patted the boy’s head and continued down the corridor, mentally composing his next sermon, which, he realized sadly, would not be until September.

      Just before dark, the nurse came down the corridor and saw one lonely figure, his face pressed close to the pane of glass. “Oh, you poor dear,” she said. “Are you still waiting for your family?”

      “They don’t want me,” Red Wolf replied, his downcast face hiding the tears that stung his eyes.

      The nurse knelt and looked into the boy’s tear-stained face. “Oh, surely not!”

      “They’ve forgotten me.”

      “Heavens, that’s not true. How could anyone forget a boy like you?” She took a clean handkerchief from her apron pocket and wiped Red Wolf’s tears.

      “So why haven’t they come for me?”

      “Sometimes they can’t get permission to leave the reserve,” she explained sadly, “so they can’t come for you, even if they really, really want to.”

      “What happens to me if no one comes?” the boy asked very quietly, as if scared to voice his concern.

      “The big boys go into town. They work for white families in exchange for their СКАЧАТЬ