Free The Indian School by Gloria Whelan

ONE
    It was September before they knew what to do with me. I was to go to my aunt Emma and uncle Edward. It came about in this way. A letter was sent telling them of the terrible wagon accident that killed Mama and Papa. They wrote at once kindly offering to care for me.
    Uncle Edward, who was my father’s brother, was a minister. Some years ago he and Aunt Emma traveled north to start a mission school for Indian children.Just as they would take me in and care for me, so they took in and cared for the children of the Indians. Mama and Papa always spoke kindly of Uncle Edward. “He means well,” Mama had said, “but he has a weakness. Just when something must be done, he cannot make up his mind.”
    â€œEmma makes up for him,” Papa had answered. “She is strong enough for the two of them.”
    It was Aunt Emma who wrote:
    September 3, 1839
    Coldriver, Michigan
    My dear Lucy ,
    Your uncle and I were greatly sorrowed to hear of the unfortunate accident that befell your dear mother and father. The Lord has gathered them into heaven. We must not question His ways .
    We have arranged for Luke Jones, a blacksmith from our school, to bring you here to us. He will be in Detroit to purchaseiron the first week in September and will return with you .
    Bring only sensible clothes. Your mother, God rest her soul, was not a practical woman. It may be that you have fripperies in your wardrobe. Do not bring them. Our life here is a simple one. It will be best if your parents’ possessions are sold. Such money as they bring can be given over to you to provide for your keep. There is little money to spare here .
    Since you are an only child, it is likely that you received much coddling. You must not look to us for the kind of attention you had from your mother and father. The good work we do in our school for Indian children takes all of our time. You will be welcome here but you will be expected to do your share .
    In the Lord,
Emma Wilkins
    The letter seemed a cold one. It did nothing to ease the misery I had felt sincelosing my dear mama and papa. I told myself I was fortunate to have a place to go. Still, I could not be happy, for I found little welcome in my aunt’s words.
    I was curious about the Indian school. Indians were often seen in Detroit. They brought furs to trade. They came to collect yearly payments given in exchange for the sale of their lands. Some had taken up residence in the city. A few attended Father Richard’s university. The only Indian I knew well was Waugoosh, who worked along with Papa building ships.
    When the day came to leave, Mr. Jones appeared at our door. Although he was dressed as a white man, I could see he was an Indian gentleman. One of his pant legs was rolled up to reveal a wooden leg. He did not seem bothered by his infirmity but had a pleasant way about him. There played about his mouth a little smile as though his thoughts took him only to agreeable places. Though he limped badly, his arms and shoulders were those of astrong man. It was not hard to imagine him shaping iron on his anvil.
    I had heeded my aunt’s words, so I had only one small trunk to take with me. This Mr. Jones placed in the wagon on top of his new store of iron rods. I kept beside me a small package of books. My mama and papa had often read to me from them. When I held them, I could still hear their voices.
    I bid good-bye to our elderly neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Bontee, who had cared for me since the accident. After reading my aunt’s letter, Mrs. Bontee had shaken her head. “I only wish, Lucy, that Mr. Bontee and I could keep you with us. Sadly, we are too old. You are only eleven and must have someone younger to care for you.” They embraced me warmly. Mrs. Bontee had prepared a large basket of food for my journey. I wished I did not have to eat it. I wanted to keep it with me as a reminder of the Bontees’ kindness.
    As the wagon headed away from Detroit, I looked