“This is James Hillsinger,” Peck said to George, the son of Billy Quick’s unfortunate cousins, whom Peck had just picked up at the train station in Jennings. “James is a good man to ask about almost anything.”
George, the new boy, had traveled without stopping for the last two days. He was handed off to new people at each stage of his journey, aunts and train conductors and now Edward Peck, and each person he had encountered had done roughly the same thing: handed him food, asked him nonsensical questions, and then taken him someplace new, where it all started over again with someone else.
Edward Peck carried George’s suitcase up the stairs and into an attic room filled with bunk beds lined up in a row. George could not see the circle of boys as he passed upstairs, but he heard voices coming from the living room and wondered why anyone would still be up. In the bunk room, James—who had followed them up—pointed out an empty bed, whispering “That one” to keep from waking the younger boy who was asleep on a lower bunk with his arm hanging over and resting on the floor.
Edward Peck searched the closets and found one of the old scratchy wool blankets. Now, he thought gratefully, he could sleep for few hours before the Migration began at dawn.
“George, you are all squared away,” Peck said to the new boy.
Finally, George thought. It was a small but important thing that Edward Peck said, since what George could not get from any of his handlers was a clear assessment of his immediate future. How long would he be on Seven? How long away from home? Some said three weeks, some longer or shorter; some wouldn’t say at all. Also, he had never been on a boat before and was too embarrassed to say so. He knew that when Peck said he was squared away he was only talking about the bed, but even so Peck seemed to know a lot and he’d said it confidently, which made George feel like his future was more solid.
“Thank you,” George said.
Peck walked down the stairs and out the screen door.
George knew it was late. He smiled at James, his latest benefactor, and waited for him to confirm that it was bedtime.
“Come with me,” James said, and walked back down the stairs.
52
Catta walked behind the men on the narrow creek bed for what seemed like a long time. Dale, Conrad, and Smock each carried his own flashlight and a large jug of what Dale called nectar. They stopped often to change carrying hands. They asked him if he was still hungry, and Dale said they would feed him properly on North Island although he would have to leave promptly so as not to create a problem with a Hillsinger being on that island during the Migration. There was apparently an extremely serious rule about that, a rule that was handed down from Cyrus himself, and Conrad was furious. They were surprised when Catta said he would not leave Baffin. Smock asked him what his definition of Baffin was, and Catta was confused. Then Dale said, “How much water makes an island?” and Catta thought the question must be some kind of trick.
“Well,” Dale said, “there’s earth somewhere under everything. Even the deep trenches got a bottom six miles down.”
Catta said, “OK, head-high water makes an island,” and Conrad laughed. Conrad hated him.
“These islands is a miracle,” Dale said. “That’s certified. Your family—or I should say both families—they own the land. They got the paper. It’s all arranged and tidy; there’s no debate about that. Ain’t no argument that the family can make certain rules. Paper says so, legislature says so. All agree. Even Conrad. But the Old Man ain’t own the ways.”
Dale paused.
“Before we go further,” he continued, “do you promise you will keep the ways we show you to yourself—even if you un–run away or are otherwise once again taken into the corrupt bosom of the Hillsinger family—and I mean no offense?”
“Yes,” Catta said.
“Raise your right hand and say it over again,” Dale said, “so it’s a valid contract in the State of Maine.”
He repeated as much of what Dale had said as he could remember.
“Good enough,” Dale said.
“Legislature can’t fix sin,” Conrad said.
“This is the Northern Path on Baffin Island,” Dale said, ignoring Conrad. “It runs along the creek bed we been walking on, from North Island to near where, judging by what you said, your fishing line is right now catching jack-all. There might be another path, too, but we ain’t gonna show you that one.”
“He don’t need to know the ways,” Conrad said. “It’s blasphemy.”
53
George followed James downstairs into the Cottage living room. The boy who’d been asleep on the floor was awake now.
“Hello,” George said to the assembled company.
There was no response, so George sat down at an open part of the circle.
“Stand up,” James said.
George stood up.
“You are new to Seven Island.”
“Yes!” George said. “I was never even on a boat before.”
“Seven Island is a sacred place,” James said. “Did you know that?”
“No, but I believe it,” George said. These were the kinds of questions and answers he was used to from the last three weeks. He would smile often and agree to everything, and then eventually someone would bring him something to eat. Right now, he wanted to sleep.
“When you come to a sacred place for the first time,” James said, “it’s important to show your respect for its mysteries. I’m sure you know that.”
“Yes, I do,” George said.
“That’s good,” James said, and he nodded to one of the younger boys, who ran into the kitchen and returned with a tall glass full of something dark. The boy handed it to George.
“What is it?” George said.
“Something for you,” James said.
All the boys murmured. It was hard for George to see it clearly in the light of the one candle. It was nearly full and fairly cool. It didn’t smell like much.
“Did they all drink it?” George said about the other boys.
“They are all here,” James said.
The screen door opened and slammed shut, and Penny Quick entered the living room, breathing hard. She thought it was odd that all the boys were still up.
“Who’s he?” Penny said, pointing at George.
“Go on upstairs,” James said.
Penny was furious. She had told herself that she would do anything necessary to keep up the fire on the headland, to keep the beacon lit for Catta, but she’d failed. She had been so tired and so hungry that she fell asleep next to the fire, and when she woke it was very cold because the fire had burnt down to ash. It was too dark to find more wood and Billy had kept the matches. She’d run the mile back on the road.
“What’s that?” Penny said about the glass that George was still holding.
“It’s not for you,” James said.
“I asked you what it is,” she said, desperate for a fight.
James didn’t say anything.
“It’s deer’s blood!” one of the younger boys shouted, and they all exploded in long-suppressed laughter. George stepped away from his own hand but didn’t drop the glass.
“I killed a deer this afternoon,” James said, “especially for George.”
Still panting from her run, Penny took the glass from George, and drank it. Then she walked outside into the tall grass and threw up.