Free Julie of the Wolves by Jean Craighead George

nine dress and a size six shoe, which my mother finds embarrassingly big. Frankly, I like my big feet. They get me up and down the steep hills of San Francisco and shoot me through the water like a frog when I swim. I am in the eighth grade and am studying French. I hate it, but would like to learn Eskimo. My father goes to Alaska often and he has taught me a few words. They are pretty words that sound like bells, but I can’t spell them. Can you? How do you spell the word for “daylight”? Quaq?
    I take dancing lessons, which I love, and I also like to play baseball with the kids that live on our hill. When I grow up I think I’ll be a dancer, but it is an awful lot of work. One of the dancers at the San Francisco Opera House said so, so maybe I’ll be a schoolteacher like my aunt and have the whole summer off.
    Last month at school we saw your island on a television show. It was so beautiful, with the birds flying over it and the flowers blooming on its hills, that I wanted to write to someone who lives there, a girl like me.
    Here is a picture of my house. That is me standing on one foot on the patio wall. Please write soon.
    Your new friend,
    Amy
    P.S. When are you coming to live with us in San Francisco?
    Julie folded the letter and whispered to herself: “Daylight is spelled A-M-Y.”
    The wonders of Mekoryuk dimmed as weekly letters from Amy arrived. Julie learned about television, sports cars, blue jeans, bikinis, hero sandwiches, and wall-to-wall carpeting in the high school Amy would soon be attending. Mekoryuk had no high school. The Eskimo children of the more prosperous families were sent to the mainland for further schooling, something which Aunt Martha could not afford. But, she thought, if she married Daniel, perhaps Naka could send her to school.
    As the winter passed, Martha became irritated with her. She nagged Julie for wearing her hair short, and complained about Judith. “She’s disrespectful of her parents,” she snapped. “And she’s bad.” That’s all she would say except, “The old ways are best.”
    After that Martha gave her chores to do on weekends and refused to let her attend the movies with her friends. The winter nights in the dark little house became nightmares. Julie waited for letters from Amy and the call from Naka.
    The call came suddenly. One morning in June as Julie was dressing to go to the store, the head of the Indian Affairs in Mekoryuk appeared at the door. He explained that Naka had written, requesting Julie to come to Barrow and marry his son.
    “You are now thirteen,” the man said, “and I have in my files an agreement for this arrangement signed by Kapugen and Naka.” Martha sputtered and whispered in her ear that she could say no if she wanted to.
    “The old ways are best,” Julie said, and Martha could not protest.
    The next day transportation was arranged for her by the Bureau of Indian Affairs and Julie packed her few possessions in a moosehide bag and walked to the airport with Martha. The old lady dragged behind, taking slow steps, and by the time they reached the airport she was limping.
    “What shall I do when I’m too crippled to get out of bed?” she said angrily. Julie was about to remind her how strong her legs had been a few hours ago, but had time to say no more than good-bye. The pilot himself escorted her up the steps into the gleaming cabin and showed her how to fasten her seat belt.
    Cautiously she looked at the upholstery, the overhead lights, the open door to the pilot’s cabin—then she closed her eyes. She was afraid the plane could not really fly. The engines roared, the ship moved, and minutes later she opened her eyes to see the houses of Nunivak shrink to specks and the island grow smaller and smaller. When it was but a jewel in the sea, she touched her seat and her armrest and stared down at herself.
    “I’m sitting in the sky!” she said to the man beside her. He winked and she pressed her head against the window. She was