PART III

NINGAABII’AN

(WEST)

IN THE WESTERN DIRECTION THE JOURNEY FOCUSES ON THE RIPENED BERRIES AND THE HARVEST, A TIME OF CONSTANT CHANGE.

CHAPTER 45

I love camping. The smoky scent fills the air and burrows into fabric, hair, and skin.

Hold on. It’s camping but mixed with stale air. A closed- up, musty space.

My head throbs with my heartbeats. More smells: musky sweat and a nearby piss pot. I strain to open one eyelid, like breaking the crusty bond of a miniingwe eye.

Thin rectangles of orange light come from a woodstove across a small room. The light flickers, casting faint orange stripes against the walls and curved ribs.

I blink both eyes in slow motion, trying to focus on my surroundings.

It’s an old aluminum trailer with a rounded ceiling and only one window. The kind people use as powwow food- vendor trucks. Art calls them canned hams.

I lift my head. Or try to. The trailer spins like a centrifuge.

“Daunis.”

I jerk my head at the sound of Jamie’s voice. He sounds like he caught a cold, but it’s my head that feels foggy. He repeats my name. Each one pulses inside my skull.

“Daunis. Daunis. Daunis.” My groans form a word. “Sssstop.”

“Are you okay? What did they do to you?” Jamie’s breath is sour. He tries wrapping me in his arms, but something about

being held makes my heart race.

“D-don’t.” I push him away. “Your breath reeks.”

“We’re kidnapped. In a trailer somewhere. But my bad breath is what’s bothering you?” Even Jamie’s soft laughter has a stuffed-up, nasal tone.

Kidnapped. Trailer. I pop up.

“Oww,” I say, vision blurring from the fireworks in my head.

Once it clears, I look around the trailer, which is gutted inside. Just a woodstove, a card table, some metal folding chairs, and the squeaky bed I’m in.

“How long have I been here? Why are you here too?”

“The guys came by last night as I parked in my driveway. I thought Levi found out you punched me, and he wanted to kick my ass for whatever I did to deserve it.”

The memory of my fist smashing his nose catches up with me. Followed by why I did it.

There is just enough light from the woodstove to see the raccoon-like bruising around Jamie’s eyes. Two black eyes from a broken nose.

“I did deserve it, Daunis. Ron shouldn’t have been the only one getting you up to speed on that first drive to Marquette. You had a right to know—before you agreed to pose as my girlfriend—that I was the one who had the idea of us posing as a couple. But I swear, that was before I got to know you. When you were just a person in a case file, and I thought taking the initiative might help my career.”

It takes more effort than my groggy synapses can handle to fully process his words. Jamie takes my silence as his cue to keep talking.

“Levi dropped by, but he seemed happy, not mad. He invited me to Mike’s party and then asked about my nose. I was thinking of an explanation when Mike tasered me. They

must’ve stuck a needle of something in me, because I woke up here this morning.” He glances at his watch. “It’s just after eight p.m. You’ve been here six hours.”

Wisps of memories come back. Tea. Herri. Dana.

She drugged me with something … it must’ve been that date-rape drug. The name swims through the cloudiness. Rohypnol.

“Did Dana say anything when she brought me here?” My voice shakes as rage breaks through the roofie haze.

“Levi’s mom is involved?” Jamie is taken aback. “Daunis, a guy in a snowmobile helmet that covered his face carried you over his shoulder. He dumped you inside the door before tasering me. I couldn’t move. That’s when he shackled your leg to the bed frame.”

Shackled? I move each leg. There’s a heavy clanking with my left one.

Dana didn’t bring me here? Then … who else is part of this?

Jamie’s still talking. It takes effort to focus on his story.

“… removed the Taser barbs and threw a log in the woodstove. Five minutes tops.”

Memories form … unless I’m creating mental images to fit his story.

What did you do to her? Answer me, you—Jamie’s voice from a foggy dream.

“I was on the floor and you swore at someone?”

“Good! You remember,” Jamie says. “It was right before he tasered me.”

“Was it Grant Edwards?” My eyes dart around the trailer before I scramble to look under the bed. Upside down, my head feels like someone is using it as a drum.

“I never saw his eyes, but he was the right size, I suppose.”

I flinch at Jamie’s hand on my arm as I return to a sitting position.

“Hey, you’re okay. No one’s here, Daunis.” There is a seed of disquiet in his voice.

Avoiding Jamie’s probing gaze, I focus on the distorted memories coming back to me.

“I was in a truck with Dana. The ferry horn sounded overhead. She laughed when I asked for semaa to make an offering.” A shiver runs through me. I meet Jamie’s eyes. “My mom will call my aunt; they’ll look for me and contact the police. When they try reaching you, Ron will tell them you’re missing too, and that he’s been looking for you.”

“He is? You talked to him? Why isn’t he here with backup?” Jamie eyeballs the door, expecting Ron to bust in.

“He texted this afternoon and asked if I had any contact with you since last night.”

“That can’t be.” Jamie looks confused. “Ron should be getting a tracking signal from my watch.” He holds up his wrist.

“Really?” I say, impressed that his watch is a James Bond gadget.

“Yeah. Through satellites. My location coordinates are relayed to the FBI.”

Satellites. I hold up my hand to silence him.

Assess the problem.

We’re trapped inside a trailer on Sugar Island.

The rusty bed frame creaks when I rise. A wave of nausea and more centrifuge pile onto my headache. Jamie is at my side in an instant with steady arms.

He held me like this on the dance floor, leading while protecting my shoulder. It was just last night. How is that possible? A lifetime of bad things have happened since then.

“Thanks.” I break away.

The heavy chain is a tether; I get as far as the card table in front of the window.

“Are you—”

“Shhh,” I interrupt. “I’m listening.”

We stand absolutely still, listening for any sounds beyond the window.

Gentle waves lap a nearby shore.

“What do you hear, Jamie?” Uncle David taught me to avoid leading questions. Otherwise, you steer the responses to what you hope to hear.

“Waves,” he confirms. “I’ve heard them since I woke up.”

“What can you tell me about the wave pattern?” It feels good to think like a scientist.

“They’re just small waves, Daunis.”

“If we’re on the west shore, any freighters passing by will generate a …” My mind goes blank on what it’s called when those ripples hit the shore. I hate this brain fog.

“A Kelvin wake?” Jamie offers. “Like Friday night at the breakwall?”

“Yes! Like that,” I say. “The bigger the ship, the bigger the wake. Did you hear any change in the waves? Depending on freighter traffic, it could take hours for a ship to go past.”

“Why does it matter which side …” His voice trails off.

I witness the awful moment when the answer gut-punches Jamie.

“Cliffs and caves.” His voice is a sinking anchor in the deepest part of Lake Superior. “You said the east side of Sugar Island is all cliffs and caves. You can’t get any cell phone signals except near the ferry or the north end. Satellites can’t pick up GPS signals through stone, cement, or water.”

The despondent look in his eyes leaves me completely rattled. He’s a grown adult. Twenty-two years old. A cop.

Yet, somehow, I am the less-terrified person in this trailer. The one who will say out loud what we both need to hear.

“The FBI doesn’t know where we are, Jamie. They think you’re dead in the water like Heather. Ron’s not coming.”

CHAPTER 46

In the disheartened silence that follows, we hear voices approaching the trailer.

“… bet you a hundred bucks someone budges this week.”

I recognize Mike’s voice.

“Players or owners?” Levi asks.

They’re talking about the NHL lockout. Goddamn hockey.

Quickly removing his watch, Jamie squats in front of me and grabs my untethered leg.

“It wasn’t turned on when they tasered me, but it’s been on since I woke up,” he whispers, taking off my running shoe and sliding the stretch watchband up to my ankle. “There should be enough of a charge still.” My laces are loose enough for him to slip my shoe back on my foot. “If there’s a chance for you to leave with them, you take it.” He rises and locks eyes with me. “No matter what, Daunis. Understood?”

I’m too scared to even nod.

A faint light is barely visible through the grimy window as they reach the trailer.

“Doesn’t matter,” Mike says. “Whoever makes the first offer has the weaker position.”

“Nuh-uh.” Levi sounds like he’s ten years old.

Wood clunks against wood. Someone fumbles with a lock.

Levi comes in first. Never making eye contact, he sets a camp lantern on the table and retrieves the plastic bucket that

serves as a piss pot. Levi heads to the door with it, stepping aside when Mike enters with one section of log.

“Hey, lovebirds,” Mike says with a toothy smile. “We interrupt anything?”

I expect Stormy to waltz in, making his usual bow-chicka- wow-wow noises, but he doesn’t. Must be on goon duty, standing guard outside. Figures.

Mike opens the door of the stove and pushes the thick cylinder of wood atop whatever pieces are still going strong.

Levi returns, setting the bucket next to an angled line of dark tape across the floor. A parallel line of tape is several feet away.

Boundary lines marking the reach of the chains. One line for our feet; the other for our grasp. The bucket, table, and window are within the caution zone. Beyond it, the woodstove, the trailer door—and freedom.

Mike takes off his puffer vest and hangs it on a hook by the door. He stands behind the table, leaning casually against the trailer wall with an amused expression.

I stare at Levi, but my brother still won’t look at me. Instead, he removes his backpack and pulls out a roll of paper towels before dumping the rest of the contents on the table. Bottled water, sports drinks, and protein bars scatter. My thirst springs to life when a rogue bottle of water rolls off the table to join us by the bed.

Jamie drops the bottle when picking it up. He hands it to me after grabbing a second time. I chug half before offering him the rest. He motions for me to finish it. Cold water sloshes noisily in my empty stomach.

“Your reward for being so nice to Dauny Defense.” Mike tosses a water to Jamie, who fumbles that bottle as well. “Good thing you’re not playing football.”

I grit my teeth. Let’s see how you guys like Dauny Offense. “What’s going on, Levi?” I demand.

“We need your help,” he says, finally meeting my eyes.

Jamie reaches for my hand.

Now is not the time for him to get mushy with a triple squeeze.

He stops at two. His code from Shagala. Two squeezes meant Keep going.

“We who?” I say. “You and the guys? Your mom who drugged me? Who all is ‘we’?”

Levi shakes his head. “Forget about everyone else. I need your help.”

“This is how you ask for help?” I shake my leg iron. “Did you buy these shackles at Home Depot or Ace Hardware?”

“We found them in a shack. Figured those Al Capone stories were true.”

“So, you’re a wannabe gangster?” I repeat my first question. “What’s going on, Levi?”

“A business opportunity—”

“A what?” I bellow.

Jamie’s hand pumps mine once, like a shock. Shagala squeeze code: Stop.

I serve it back with more force: No, you stop.

“Just hear me out.” Levi’s Adam’s apple bobs with the gulp he takes before continuing. “I tried bringing it up that day at Chi Mukwa. When I punched the asshole who insulted you.”

“You did?” My surprise is genuine.

“Yeah. I asked if you were gonna stay in the Sault because you were dating him.” He half nods at Jamie. “If me and you could go into business together someday.”

The day I asked Levi to look for Dad’s scarf. The scarf he later lied about not having.

“What kind of business has you doing this bullshit?” I shake my leg again for the sound effect. “Because I thought you meant, like, buy a house to rent to college students.”

The double squeeze from Jamie means I’m back on track.

“Here’s the thing …” Levi starts his team-captain pep talks this way. “Sometimes I’d wait in the hallway outside your uncle’s classroom. Before hockey practice.”

“You were out there just lurking in the hall like a creeper?” Levi came by once in a while to mooch snacks for him and the guys, but I always assumed he strolled right in.

Levi shrugs and continues, “He’d ask you about chemicals. What would happen if you mixed this with that? You’d think out loud till you figured out if it was poisonous or what the reaction might be.”

Coldness washes over me. He listened to Uncle David and me playing What Would Happen Next?

“I knew you were smart, Daunis,” Levi says. “But, hearing how your mind worked, I realized what a genius you really are.”

I’m surprised to see his expression filled with admiration. I hate that my first impulse is to bask in his proud smile.

“Watching you two dance around this shit is excruciating,” Mike cuts in, moving closer.

Jamie’s firm grip pulls me a half step backward. His adrenaline flows through our joined hands to flood my system too.

“Here’s the thing.” Mike mimics Levi’s earlier lead-in. “Two years ago, I’m helping Levi and Stormy write a business plan for Coach Bobby’s class. We’re tossing around bullshit ideas, like franchising the Naughty Nickel. And Levi goes, ‘Why should big-city drug dealers end up with more per-cap dollars than any tribal member?’ He was right: If people are gonna buy the stuff anyway, why not buy local?” He turns to

Levi. “You and Stormy turned in a different plan—to put a Tim Hortons in Chi Mukwa, right?”

Something’s off, but I can’t pinpoint it. The stuff Dana put in my tea … it’s as if I’m two seconds behind every play on the ice.

“How about you tell the next part, about Travis?” Mike says, grabbing a folding chair to sit just inside the caution zone. He doesn’t offer the other one to my brother.

As Levi opens his mouth to speak, my own thoughts whisper from some other place. This is it. How it happened. How we all ended up in this trailer.

“Travis’s ma dated some guy from Las Vegas who got hired in the VIP room at the casino. He made serious bank in tips and spent a lot of it on Angie. Even got her a new ride.”

I try to identify what’s different about Levi. He seems younger somehow.

“Turns out high-stakes poker wasn’t the only thing Vegas dude was dealing,” Levi says. “He got her to switch from vodka to meth. Angie could party all night with no hangover. Lost weight, too. She gave free samples of go-go juice to her rez friends.”

It’s his breezy use of meth lingo that pisses me off.

“How can—” I start to lay into him, but Jamie’s hand pulses for me to stop. His thoughts are inside my head as well: Don’t get riled. Just let them talk.

Levi continues. “Travis wasn’t playing in a league anymore, so he’d hang out at the old city rink looking for a pickup game. He never said whether the Vegas dude gave him a free sample or he helped himself to it. Travis told us meth wasn’t a big deal. It just made him skate faster. Gave him stamina to play for hours.”

My brother leaves out his own role in why Travis wasn’t on any league team.

Mike jumps in. Tag-team storytelling like the guys always do.

“Vegas dude starts knocking Angie around for not meeting her sales quotas. As long as he did it on the rez, Tribal Police couldn’t touch his non-Native ass. But they could harass him, and the casino could fire him. My dad says the Tribe gets rid of troublemakers during the one-year new-employee probation period. They don’t have to give a reason, and the fired person can’t appeal it.” Mike gleefully adds, “Someone gave Vegas dude a free sample of advice to get the hell out of town.”

“Travis could help Angie with the business,” Levi says. “He wanted to, Daunis. No one twisted his arm. He was smart and figured out how to make meth even better than Vegas dude. Their only problem was in scaling up production. All we did was invest in a growing business.”

That’s all they say they did. But—

Levi doesn’t know that I know he did way more than invest. And he wasn’t a mule forced to do it; Levi was a distributor, risking his hockey career …

What would you do, if you could get away with anything? If you grew up getting special treatment? If you had a friend like Travis to take the fall for a big mistake?

Mike tag-teams back into the story.

“Travis became his own best customer. He started adding psychedelic mushrooms to batches of meth. And last Christmas, when he was crying over Lily, he experimented with all kinds of wild stuff in the product.”

My breath catches at hearing her name.

“Levi tried experimenting with the meth, but it’s the one thing your brother actually sucks at.” Mike shoots him a look of … annoyance.

The hair prickles at the back of my neck.

“Well, two things,” he continues. “Levi couldn’t pitch a simple business plan to his sister last winter when it would

have prevented all the fuckups that happened since then.”

My brother doesn’t tell Mike to fuck off. He just stands there and takes it.

There is a lilt to Mike’s voice now. “If you had been part of our team, Dauny, we could’ve gotten help for Travis. Lily would still be alive.”

“Don’t talk about her!” I snap, but my heart is in my throat. It’s true. I could’ve saved her. If only …

Don’t fall for it, Daunis. Jamie is inside my head again.

The scientist part of my brain steps in. I think back to all the times Levi had an idea and Mike provided a key suggestion and a sequenced plan. Sometimes a chemical is harmless in one form but becomes toxic under specific conditions. Mike is a catalyst.

When Mike kissed me, one of the excuses I gave was that my brother wouldn’t like it.

Believe me when I tell you I’m not afraid of Levi.

Levi may be team captain on the ice, but in this trailer, Mike Edwards is in charge.

“You’re the brains,” I hiss at Mike. The goalie who can always anticipate where the puck is headed.

Jamie squeezes my hand. Stop.

“Oh, Dauny, it’s hard being the smartest person in the room.” Mike rises. “I thought you and I had that in common. Turns out, my dad was right.” He imitates Grant, “ ‘Winners outthink the losers. Winners see opportunities the losers notice in the rearview mirror.’ I used to think my dad was full of shit, but Tenacious G outthinks everyone. He always plays the long game.”

A look passes between Mike and Levi. My brother exits, casting a worried look behind his shoulder, and I brace myself for the finale he didn’t want to witness.

“Now, I’ve got a story for you, Firekeeper’s Daughter,” Mike says. “Once upon a time there was a smart princess who fell in love with the new guy in town. The prince that her brother encouraged to date his sister. She was presented with an opportunity to help her brother. A choice to make: to help or not help. To save the prince or be responsible for a tragic ending.” Mike yawns while casually stretching his arms above his head. “We’ll be back tomorrow for your answer. For Jamie’s sake, I hope you go with happily ever after.”

Mike walks to the door and reaches for the doorknob. He turns to tell us one last thing.

A shudder runs through me. My sweaty hand is still intertwined with Jamie’s.

“I never thought I’d want to be like my old man. Turns out, all of his lectures and lessons taught me how important it is to set a goal and do whatever it takes to see it through.” Mike turns the doorknob. “My dad can be extremely persistent when he wants something.” He smiles. “But you know all about that, don’t you, Dauny Defense?”

My chest tightens. Mike knows what his dad did to me.

CHAPTER 47

I can’t breathe. The trailer is too hot. I blink to find myself sitting on the bed. Jamie presses something damp and cool against my forehead. I need to know what it is, as if this one fact will provide comfort. The handkerchief from his suit- jacket pocket.

“You’re okay, Daunis. They’re gone. I’m here with you. You’re safe.” His voice is soothing, but I get stuck on his last word: safe.

My dad can be extremely persistent when he wants something. But you know all about that, don’t you?

Jamie saw my frantic kicks and air punches last night. He tried alerting Ron that something was wrong. I wait for him to repeat his question from the overlook.

What happened to you?

He doesn’t. I think Jamie is starting to figure it out.
I watch for a recriminating glance, a tsk-tsk, a lecture. It doesn’t come.

A trickle of sweat runs the length of my back. It’s a sauna inside the trailer. Jamie gives me a sports drink and pats my forehead again. I take a few sips before offering it to him. He peels the wrapper of a protein bar like a banana before handing it to me. My stomach growls as I devour it. Chain smoker– style, he unpeels another bar while I chew my last bite of the first one.

“Let’s have you turn off the tracker on the watch to save the battery. Okay?” He motions toward my ankle. “It’s the

knob on the side. You push it in to power down the tracker, so it’s just an ordinary watch.”

I reach down and push the knob in.

“We know the guys will return for you. They need you wherever their lab is set up. We have to hope that it’s off the island or at least somewhere a signal could be detected. As soon as you’re away from these rocks, pull the knob out and turn the tracker back on. Okay?”

I look at this person, backlit by a lantern and dancing orange lights, kneeling in front of me. What do I actually know about him?

He is twenty-two. He has strands of copper hidden in his curly brown hair. His deepest laughter tugs at the bottom of his scar. He was a pairs figure skater before he switched to hockey. He pinches the bridge of his nose when frustrated. He doesn’t know his tribe or clan. His fingertips are as soft as a whisper against my skin. He takes the black olives off his pizza.

He kisses with confidence, no holding back. His eyes look ordinary from a distance but, up close, they are glorious. He was abandoned before. He always drives the speed limit. He speaks French and Spanish. He thought he was going to die when they cut his face. He prayed to Creator when he felt for Lily’s pulse at her carotid artery, prayed to find it. He wants to belong to something bigger than himself. He is stronger than he appears. He loves me. And, finally: When he agreed to this undercover assignment, he never envisioned any of this happening.

Unable to keep my eyelids open, I lie down on the mattress with my back pressed against the wall. The cool metal against my shirt keeps me from dripping with sweat like Jamie. My hands shake with the tiniest of tremors. A side effect of the Rohypnol, their plan, or both.

I drift off to the sound of gentle waves stroking the shore somewhere on Sugar Island.

Orange lights move against the walls. Only it’s not a trailer anymore; it’s a rib cage illuminated with orange stripes. I’m not just inside the tiger; I am the tiger.

I crouch low, unseen, watching three boys. My eyes never leave them until a beautiful black jaguar, Panthera onca, glides past. He’s not supposed to be this far north. It’s not his territory. He doesn’t see the threat until they circle him. An owl hoots in the distance. Something slithers nearby. I remain hidden; no one ever needs to know I am here.

They transform. Three boys become a creature with Levi’s face, spiky blond hair, a concave chest, and six muscular arms, which extend like rubber.

Jamie, in a black suit, stands where the panther was. The creature’s punches are like machine-gun fire. Jamie’s white shirt rips to reveal abdominal muscles already forming purple bruises. The only sounds are the cracking of his ribs as he tries to catch his breath.

Ron shouts from a distance, “I can’t find him, Daunis!”

I leap from my safe spot, already tasting the creature’s warm blood in my throat. But I am jerked back and hit the ground with an “oof.” My ankle is tethered to an old bed.

The creature transforms into three guys I no longer recognize. I roar at each one. The first won’t meet my eyes. The second fades as if he was never there. The third smiles, revealing teeth that are much sharper than mine.

Jamie falls to the ground face-first, rolling over to frantically swing and kick at the air. I listen for breath sounds, but there aren’t any. His movements slow until his arms and legs go still.

I cannot reach him. Jamie will die believing I abandoned him.

Hot breath on my neck turns me into a frozen statue of a tiger. Petrified, as a snake slithers up my leg.

I wake up, heart racing, with my forehead and palms pressed against the cool wall.

I’m scared. I want my mom. I gotta get out of here.

I turned over in the night, but Jamie didn’t. His arm found my waist and his face is buried in my hair. Each time he exhales, his breath seeps through the tangled mess to tickle my neck. I know Jamie’s breath is not Grant’s, but rational fears are still terrifying.

As I climb over Jamie, my full bladder shifts uncomfortably. It’s not my first time using a piss pot. Super- rustic cabins and hunting camps in the U.P. don’t have running water. A bucket outside the front door means no trip to a spider-filled outhouse in the middle of the night.

After finishing, I sit on the floor at the center of the closest masking-tape line, staring at the woodstove. I wrap my arms around my knees pulled up to my chest. The only sounds are the gentle waves beyond the trailer and the sizzling pop of one sizable log in the stove.

Wood isn’t solid; it’s made of cellulose, which transforms during combustion into a gas. The gas builds up until it breaks through the cell wall at its most vulnerable spot. That’s all the popping is—pressure finding a weakness.

I try to shake off the bad dream by organizing my thoughts.

What I Know:

1. The guys, Grant, and Angie Flint are responsible for the meth.

2. Dana drugged me and had me brought here.

3. They are using Jamie as incentive for me to cook meth for them.

4. There is no way they will let Jamie go. 5. Levi is the weakest link.

What I Don’t Know:

1. What is Mom doing right now?

2. Did Levi have anything to do with Uncle David’s death?

3. What is the extent of Dana’s involvement?

4. How were Heather and Robin mixed up in this? Were their deaths accidental or intentional?

5. What does Mike have planned for Jamie?

6. How far would Stormy’s inner goon go without any limits?

7. How do I stop loving the brother I don’t recognize anymore?

I sit until the trailer lightens with Zaagaasikwe’s song beginning a new day. Rising, I stretch my stiff limbs. My tailbone is sore. The tiredness behind my eyes feels permanent.

At the window, I use my sleeve to rub away soot to stare at a wall of darkness just beyond. Metamorphosed igneous peridotite. We are in a trailer hidden in black rock.

“East side,” Jamie says from the bed. Not a question at all.

He gets up to pee in the bucket before returning to bed. Bone-weary already and the day is only minutes old. I heard waves and pops in my trance bubble … but no snoring. Jamie was awake the entire time as well.

Jamie’s in the spot I had last night, his back against the wall. He pats the bed in front of him for me to join him.

“Let’s sleep for a bit. They won’t be back for a while and we’re too exhausted to think straight. We can come up with a strategy when we’re less fuzzy,” he says. I lie on my back next to Jamie and stare at the curved aluminum ceiling.

It’s comfortable in the trailer, not too hot or too cold. It will cool off steadily, though, as the fire dies down through the day.

At some point, Jamie will try to cuddle for warmth.

“You need to face the wall,” I say.

His eyebrow rises, but he rolls over. The trailer lightens with the only sun that’s likely to reach us.

I say a silent prayer to Creator for zoongidewin. Today is a day for courage.

“Would it be okay for me to put my arm around you?” I ask.

“Of course,” he says.

I turn toward Jamie and drape my arm over him. I like the feel of his body next to me this way. It calms me to know I’m not alone. I take a deep breath.

“You can’t put your arm around me like this because …”

Jamie tenses. I pause, then continue slowly, “… because Grant Edwards held me down from behind when he attacked me last night in his hotel room. I went with him because he said he had a security video of me snooping around his home office from that Sunday night we were at their house.”

Jamie doesn’t say anything for what feels like an hour.

“You’re gonna leave here today,” he says finally. “The tracker will lead Ron to you. Tell him everything; he’s a good agent. The FBI will take it from there. They’ll get Grant Edwards and you can put this behind you, Daunis. You’re gonna be okay.”

I don’t know whether I believe him or just want to so badly, but I finally relax. He rests his hand on top of mine in front of him. His thumb strokes the soft pad between my thumb and index finger with the same rhythm as the waves from Lake George.

We wake at the same time, as the voices approach the trailer. Both of us scramble to stand next to the bed. We each reach

for the other’s hand at the same time.

I’m light-headed from standing too rapidly and my heartbeat racing in fear.

“I’ll agree to whatever they say,” I whisper. “I’ll tell Ron everything as soon as he finds me. We will come back for you.”

Jamie gulps the air, as if he’s about to dive into the deepest pool.

“I love you,” he says quickly. “No matter what happens, Daunis, I love you. If everything goes bad, save yourself and get away from here.”

My lips are at his ear now. “Trust me. Levi is the weakest link.”

Someone fumbles with the lock.
I don’t know why the truth matters now. Only that it does. “I love you, Ojiishiingwe.”

CHAPTER 48

They repeat their entrance from last night. Levi enters first and goes straight for the bucket. Mike goes to the woodstove. He’s brought only one small log. My stomach drops at the implication that Jamie might not be alive long enough to warrant a larger one.

“Well, Princess, what’s it gonna be?” Mike says when they finish their tasks.

Letting go of Jamie’s hand, I step forward.

“What assurance do I have that Jamie will be safe if I agree to help you?” I ask Mike. “Because I don’t trust Levi.”

Mike blinks his surprise.

“What?” Levi says with high-pitched shock.

“Did I stutter?” My voice is ice. “You’re a liar and a snake.” I look to Mike and repeat my question. “What assurance do I have that Jamie will be safe if I agree to help you?”

Mike assesses me with a tilt of his head, furrowed brow, and lips pursed as if he’s a Nish giving directions.

“What are you talking about, Daunis?” Levi asks.

“You lied about Dad’s scarf,” I seethe. “You knew how much it meant to me, and you said you couldn’t find it. But you knew exactly where it was.” I take another step forward, as far as the chain will allow. “I found it in your closet yesterday. If you’d lie about Dad, anything out of your mouth is sketchy.” I give one last disgusted look at my brother before

turning to Mike. “At least with Mike, we understand each other. Don’t we?”

Mike does the smirk that reminds me of his father. I swallow the bile rising in my throat. My mask is one of cool detachment with Mike and unbridled fury toward Levi.

“What are you doing, Daunis?” Jamie says, clearly alarmed.

“You were the one who broke into my room?” Levi is bewildered, outraged, and embarrassed. A mixture of emotions swirled together yet still discernible.

“Yup.”

“I’m impressed, Princess,” Mike says as he steps into the caution zone. “Put your leg on the table.”

“My leg?” I fight to keep my voice calm. How could he know about the watch around my right ankle?

“You want to lose that leg iron, don’t you? But you, Prince Charming”—he nods toward Jamie—“lie down on the bed facing the wall so you don’t try anything funny. Unless you prefer to get tasered.”

We follow Mike’s commands at the same time. Behind me, the rusty bed frame squeaks with Jamie’s movements while I pull the card table closer so my left leg can rest on it.

Mike leans over the table to insert a key in the padlock at my ankle.

My newly unshackled leg feels as if it might float away. It’s my right leg, now, that has the weight of the world around it.

“Thank you,” I say.

Mike smiles benevolently.

“You can get back up, Prince Charming,” he says. “Princess Dauny, he will be safe because I will tell Levi to keep him safe.”

“So, you’re taking me to your meth setup?” I ask Mike, adding a glimpse of relief for him to see.

“That’s the plan,” he replies. “Although, I must say, you’re awfully concerned about the safety of a guy you cheated on.”

“What?” Levi and Jamie say in unison.

“Dauny banged my dad at Shagala.” At last, Mike’s smile reaches his ice-blue eyes.

I recoil. Mike thinks it was a consensual hookup? I want to combust in a ball of fury.

I can’t take back my clearly visible reaction, so I transform it into anger at being tattled on. To further sell it, I add uncomfortable fidgeting and a guilty look at Jamie. Jamie picks up the cue immediately. I know he is just playing his part, but his look of hurt and confusion cuts at me.

“You’re a cheater?” Levi stares as if I am a stranger. He doesn’t give me time to answer, instead turning to Mike. “You knew?”

“I always know when my dad chases tail.” Mike shrugs. “He’s so predictable. He won’t let me have a girlfriend during hockey season. Meanwhile, he screws everything, and my mom pretends not to notice.” Mike struts right up to me. “He gave Robin the heave-ho and started scoping you out. Out with the old. In with the new.”

As I glare at Mike, a disturbing thought comes to me. He took Robin to Shagala three years ago and kissed me a few weeks ago. Maybe Mike’s attentions had nothing to do with me and were about proving something to his dad instead.

I can’t get distracted. I need to stick to the plan I made while staring at the woodstove this morning. My plan to get to the weakest link.

“Well, now that you’ve told Levi what a snake he is,” Mike begins, “and he knows the truth about his cheating puck-slut sister … I think he should be the one to take you to your new

work site. I’ll stay here with Prince Jamie while you two siblings go on.”

Mike is pleased with himself. He set up this hat trick—a hockey trifecta where a player scores three goals in one game. Revealing a secret to turn Levi against me. Ruining my relationship with my boyfriend. Showing me that he’s in charge and capable of outsmarting me.

“Anything you want to say before you go?” Mike asks me.

I pivot toward Jamie and say in the most pathetic voice I can, “I am so sorry. It was a stupid mistake and didn’t mean anything. I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

My back is to Mike and Levi, who cannot see my wink.

Trust me. Levi is the weakest link.

The plan was to find a way to separate Levi from Mike somehow. My only chance to talk sense into my brother is to get him alone. I was hoping that if they were going to take me away from the trailer, that it would be just one of them and not both. I had to make sure it was Levi, and the best way to do that was to make Mike believe I didn’t want anything to do with my brother.

Mike showed me last night that he enjoys opportunities to shake me up. It’s part of his need to prove he’s the alpha in this operation.

I keep my mask on, playing the part of a girl who just got shown who the boss is.

“Oh, and Dauny, if anything keeps Levi from getting back here within two hours, it will not be a happy ending for Prince Charming.”

Mike motions for me to go to the door with Levi. I shoot one last angry look at Mike while, inside, I try to keep from breaking into a gleeful, triple-speed Smoke Dance. My plan is going exactly as I’d hoped.

CHAPTER 49

I follow Levi north along the shore as if shackled to his leg. I scan the surroundings, looking for something familiar to indicate where we are. My nose twitches from all the wonderful, non-trailer scents: clean water in the air, fishy- smelling lichen on rocks, the sweet tobacco-like aroma of decaying leaves, and the familiar comfort of cedar and pine.

Levi turns at a cave in the black cliffs with a creek flowing toward the river. The cave turns out to be a tunnel passageway opening to a forest. We cross the creek by stepping on flat rocks that form a bridge of sorts.

My right foot hits the last rock just so and skids on the slick surface before my shoe drives off the edge. My toes dip in the cold water, jolting me as if electrocuted.

I could’ve ruined everything had my shoe completely submerged and soaked the watch.

Pausing to rub the side of my foot with shaking hands, I pull the tracker knob on the old-timey watch around my right ankle. Ten seconds later, I’ve caught up to Levi as we approach a grove of pine trees.

An old truck is parked between pines. It isn’t so out of place; rusty trucks like this are scattered across the island and throughout the county. Both Nishnaabs and Zhaaganaash call them rez trucks, regardless of who actually owns them. Some die a slow, oxidized death in an overgrown field or behind a shed with other discarded relics. This rez truck is still perfect for going mudding or hauling an ice shanty onto a frozen lake.

Levi starts it up with a key left in the ignition. The gearshift extends from the steering column like a skinny arm raised in greeting. Something about the truck feels familiar when I sit on the passenger side of the front bench seat. My finger finds a tear in the olive-green vinyl that I knew would be there.

This is the truck Dana used to bring me to Sugar Island.

The pine trees quickly give way to maple trees. Levi’s zigzagging route makes sense only because the fallen leaves are flattened ahead where the truck must have come from. The tire tracks are like a trail of bread crumbs.

It isn’t until the winding path in the woods becomes a narrow road that Levi speaks.

“I can’t believe you cheated on Jamie. I thought you were better than that.”

This is the first thing he wants to say to me? “I didn’t cheat. His dad raped me.”

Levi jerks his head to gape at me. “That’s not what Mike told me.”

“Do I need proof for you to believe me?” My voice falters because his question is my answer.

I unzip my jacket and yank my shirt and bra strap from my shoulder. The bruise from his fingers is turning from dark red to purple.

“Well, how did he get you alone?” he chides me. “I thought you were smarter than that. Everyone knows he’s a creep.”

“Is that the part that matters, Levi?” I blink away tears and force myself to focus, making a mental note of the dome- shaped rock along the path that looks like a mini madoodiswan. “You were gonna kick your teammate’s ass for disrespecting me at Chi Mukwa the day you asked if I wanted to go into business with you,” I say.

He swerves around a fallen birch tree blocking the trail, eyes glued to the path while I keep talking.

“It’s so wrong, Levi. All of this is wrong. You being involved with this meth business. You defending me every time but now. You letting Mike run the show. Your birthday present in my closet. Your mom drugging me. And Uncle David … did you have anything to do with his death?”

“No,” Levi says quickly. “Mike thought that once your uncle tried meth, he’d be incentivized to produce good stuff. Your uncle injected too much at once. Mike thought he might’ve done it on purpose. I wasn’t there when it happened.”

“Incentivize.” I say dully. “Is that why you put that box of pucks in my closet?” His Adam’s apple bobs but he doesn’t respond. “What happens when you guys go too far with Jamie and take him out of the equation? I know you won’t let him go. Will you go along with them when they want to ‘incentivize’ me?”

“Mike would never hurt you. The box of pucks was just a backup. Insurance if you tried to take the high road. I never would’ve played that card, but Mike said to be stealth and direct your opponent’s fate.”

“I’m your opponent?” I ask quietly.

“No,” Levi sputters. “It’s just a safety net to keep you on board. We’ll let Jamie go and he’ll stay quiet. We can scare him into keeping his mouth shut,” he insists.

“Like how you threatened to end TJ’s football career?” I say. “You can’t trust anything Mike says. He kissed me in his bedroom that Sunday night when he helped me set up my BlackBerry. I had to give him a half-dozen reasons why I wasn’t interested. When I mentioned you, he said it could be our secret from you. Mike’s not the loyal friend you think he is. Please listen to what I’m saying, Levi.”

Levi falls silent as we leave the woods. We drive across a field that’s morphing from a farm into something else. Returning to an untamed state. A patch of mashkodewashk

grows. I wonder if it’s the male or female version of sage. Then I wonder why I’m wondering about it.

We drive down a dirt road. I read a bent street sign and at least recognize where we are. He is headed west, toward the main road that runs north-south through the island.

My heart pounds in anticipation of Levi’s next turn. If he takes a left, we’re going somewhere on the island with no chance for a signal to be sent. If he goes right, we might be headed to the ferry, or a secondary location to the north where a signal might get through.

My only chance is a right turn.

When Levi reaches the main road, he pauses for so long I might vomit out my own heart. I look down at my lap, my hands resting on my black jeans.

He turns north, and I nearly cry out my joy.

We might have a chance.

If Jamie’s watch around my right ankle is transmitting anything.

If I switched it on properly by the creek when Levi’s back was turned.

If Ron can be waiting on the mainland, maybe set up a checkpoint for all the cars exiting the ferry, like the night Lily was killed. This time it would be to find Jamie and me.

If I can get back to the trailer to reach Jamie before two hours are up. How much time did it take us to come this far?

After arrests are made, will Sugar Island and my tribe be ripped to shreds by people in town who will be quick to distance themselves?

“Who else is mixed up in all this?” I name the other two tribal members on the team—one graduated with me and the other with TJ.

Levi shakes his head. “You got it all wrong. It’s not Mike and some ’skins.” I resist the urge to yell about his use of a

racial slur. “It’s me and Mike and some poor guys who could use the money. Rob, Max, and Scotty.”

My relief at hearing the names of three Zhaaganaash guys is chased by guilt and anger. Now they can’t say it’s an Indian thing. Because they would.

“Levi, why are you involved in this? It can’t just be for the money. I mean, you already get per cap.”

“Sure, to you money’s no big deal.” It’s the first time he sounds angry. “My mom says that when the casino implodes like all of our boneheaded tribal business ventures eventually do, we won’t be dependent on the Tribe for anything. We’ll never go back to being poor pitiful Nishnaabs fighting over scraps. If you want something, say it out loud and decide in your heart to do whatever it takes to make it happen. She said that’s how she got everything she wanted.”

“Like with Dad?” I blurt out, before I think about how it might not help the situation.

“It wasn’t just her,” he says hotly. “She wasn’t the cheater. He cheated on your mom.”

Levi sounds like a little boy. A scared one.

“Levi, why did you lie about Dad’s scarf?” I ask quietly as he drives north on the main artery through Sugar Island.

“I don’t know!” His voice cracks. “I found it when I was little, and when my mom saw it, she got real mad. Said it was a present from your mom to him. Fancy cashmere scarf that matched her green eyes. Whenever Dad wore it, he was letting my mom know that he should’ve been with your mom instead.” He floors the truck so hard it shakes, like an old man forced to sprint. “Maybe I thought if you had the scarf, you’d wear it, and it would be like rubbing my mom’s nose in what she did that night on the island. She had Macy’s dad do shots with Dad till he could hardly walk, so she could take her shot with him.”

I want to freeze time so I can digest each part of what my brother is telling me, but I need to focus on my plan. Our lives

depend on it.

Levi turns west toward the causeway to the ferry launch. We hear the ferry horn, and I’m racked with fear that we’ve missed it and will have to wait a half hour for the next one.

“My mom wanted Dad so bad, she wished for me and made it happen. I couldn’t let you wear that scarf. I just couldn’t. Daunis, please don’t ever wear it around her.”

I breathe a sigh of relief when we pull into a long line of cars waiting for the ferry.

“Okay, Levi, I promise I won’t wear the scarf.”

He’s the relieved one now.

“We aren’t responsible for their choices,” I say. “We love imperfect people. We can love them and not condone their actions and beliefs.”

My brother’s lower lip trembles. He seems on the verge of tears. I feel the same way.

“Levi, I don’t regret Dana’s choice the night of the party on Sugar Island, because it gave me my brother, and I love you.”

He smiles as one teardrop falls. I’m filled with hope that we’ll get through this mess.

“We could do this, Daunis,” he says excitedly. “You and me. We could figure out how to buy out everyone else and run this ourselves. No one would ever suspect us. We would be unstoppable.” His expression is absolutely radiant.

My heart tears open, and something leaves. Whatever it is, it stays behind on Sugar Island as Levi claims the last remaining spot on the ferry. I look behind as if I might see a spot of fresh blood on the ground. The hydraulic ramp lifts like a drawbridge. I face forward at the ferry horn.

“Would we be unstoppable because you always get away with stuff?” I ask wearily. “Like when Travis took the blame for the BB gun blinding that lady’s eye?”

My brother’s face registers shock, fear, guilt, and shame. Then it smooths over into a mask of his own.

Levi digs a flip phone from his coat pocket and dials a number. Instructs someone to meet him at the ferry launch. I listen for Grant’s voice, but the person says nothing.

The numbness in my upper arm seems to spread to the rest of my body.

“Put this on,” Levi says, handing me a ball cap. When I don’t, he adds, “I’ll tell Mike.”

I comply, and as I do, I think about Jamie alone in a trailer with Mike Edwards.

Assess the problem. Jamie is in danger, and Ron doesn’t know where we are.

In the car next to us, Seeney Nimkee stares up at me. Inventory your resources. One Elder.
My eyes plead. Help me. Help me. Help me.

When the reverse thrusters jolt the ferry, I realize there are no barricades or police cars in the mainland parking lot. No one is coming to save me. Which means I won’t be able to save Jamie.

The front drawbridge lowers. Cars unload ahead of us.

Levi lays on the horn because the car directly in front of us hasn’t started its engine.

“What the hell, Minnie. Start your fucking car!” he shouts to the red Mustang ahead of us.

I look over to Seeney once more. At first, I think she is telling us to get going. But then she mouths the words again, and I understand she is speaking only to me.

Get out.

CHAPTER 50

I have one instant, like when the puck drops, where all is calm and quiet. Enough for one deep breath in and a long, slow release. Then time catches up and sprints ahead.

Levi swears again at Minnie. I grab the door handle and am outside the truck before he’s finished his sentence. I’m in the back seat of Seeney’s car an instant later.

She puts the car in reverse, backs up, and jolts forward at an angle. Metal scrapes against metal as Seeney blocks Levi from following my exit route.

Minnie hasn’t budged. Levi’s truck is too close to the back drawbridge to make any turns. There’s nowhere else for him to go except to his left. My view is blocked by the truck.

I grab her flip phone from the drink holder and call Ron’s cell phone. He answers.

“Jamie’s on Sugar Island,” I shout. “In a trailer hidden in between the east shore black rocks, about a hundred feet south of a cave-like opening with a creek along one side. Mike Edwards is going to hurt him.” I unlock the right door, leave the car, and sidestep behind the truck to reach its other side.

Jonsy Kewadin’s Lincoln Town Car. The one he calls his pony.

Cursing a blue streak from his Navy days, Jonsy sits inside with both feet braced against the open door on his passenger’s side. He has created a nearly perpendicular blockade to keep Levi from escaping.

The wind snatches the ball cap from my head. Hair whipping across my face, I rush along the ferry rail until I’m ahead of Minnie’s red Mustang. She hasn’t moved.

Somehow, these three Elders coordinated a rescue.

Minnie rolls down her window and shouts, “Get in, my girl. Ambe!”

I do as my Elder tells me, and watch Levi’s movements from the safety of Minnie’s car.

He tries rolling the passenger window down to crawl out. Something must not be working, because Levi thrashes around like a toddler having a tantrum.

Seeney follows my brother’s lead, exiting from her passenger side. She runs to the front of the ferry. Instead of continuing down the ramp, she turns to face us on deck.

She points at Levi with one hand, while holding an invisible feather to Creator with the other.

Seeney trills a high-pitched call: “Lee-lee-lee-lee-lee!”

Minnie joins in, laying on her horn. Jonsy adds his horn as well.

At last, Levi gets the window down and rolls over Seeney’s car. He runs past Minnie’s car, continuing toward the ferry ramp. He speaks into the flip phone he had earlier.

Seeney continues to point and trill at the figure running directly toward her.

I’m out of Minnie’s car the instant I realize Levi’s not swerving to avoid Seeney. He needs to create a diversion to get away.

Levi plows into her. He continues down the ramp and across the parking lot.

I rush to Seeney, who is flat on her back with her arm still raised overhead. The wind knocked out of her, a pause before she inhales a raspy gulp of air.

What comes out of her makes my heart soar.
She continues her trill. I know it means: We faced worse

than you and we are still here.

It is our survival song.

While Minnie, Jonsy, the deckhand, and people from waiting cars rush to Seeney, I race after Levi. He reaches the far end of the parking lot and continues toward the golf course down the road. He has too much of a head start. I cannot catch my brother at a full sprint.

Think, Daunis. Think.

I scan the row of cars waiting to board the ferry. I don’t see any familiar ones, until a black Range Rover pulls into the line.

Grant’s car. He’s here to get Levi. Ron needs to know about Grant’s involvement. Seeney’s cell phone is still in her car.

Before I turn back for it, a car horn grabs my attention. Coach Bobby’s BMW pulls up next to me. He can help me.

“Coach Bobby, I need a ride. And your phone. We’ve gotta follow Levi.”

“Of course,” he says without hesitation. “Get in.”

I do so. He looks at me expectantly, and I realize he’s waiting for me to put on my seat belt. It’s ridiculous, really. To worry about little things when we are in a crisis.

“Are you serious?” I raise my voice as I comply. “You’re gonna be Mr. Safety First?”

Coach Bobby exits the ferry parking lot, turning left toward the golf course. I reach for his cell phone resting in the cup holder. He moves it to his left hand, farther away from me.

I echo my incredulity. “Are you seri—”

Wait. I never told him which way Levi was headed. Coach never asked.

I look back at the cars lined up to board the ferry. Grant’s car hasn’t moved.

When we were in Green Bay, Coach Bobby said Grant had donated the pucks for the tribal youth program but was keeping it quiet because he didn’t want the publicity. But when Grant donated his legal services to set up Robin’s foundation, he posed for a photo opportunity splashed across the front page of the Evening News.

Grant Edwards has never shied away from publicity.

Coach Bobby lied.

Their partner is a high school business teacher. An entrepreneur. A gambler. Big wins and losses. A starter of many small businesses that never really took off. Until one did.

He says, “Bet you wish you were playing D-one hockey right about now.”

CHAPTER 51

“Be smart, Daunis. No running,” Coach says.

Following Bobby LaFleur’s directions feels normal. Muscle memory from the Before.

Coach Bobby always listens to public radio. All those rides home after practice. Returning from away games in the middle of the night.

He looked out for me. Defended me when other high school coaches said no girl should be on a guys’ varsity team. Shut up and treat that player like any other.

“Once we get you set up outside Raco, middle of nowhere, you’ll do everything we say. Forget about your boyfriend. He’s done,” Coach says with a terrifying calmness.

No. Jamie isn’t dead. Mike wouldn’t …

I am no longer able to assess what people are or are not capable of.

Coach continues, “You’ll cook the best meth and your mom stays alive.”

Jamie is no longer the incentive. They’ll hurt her. I should’ve called Mom when I had Seeney’s phone. I could’ve warned her.

If they get me to their remote meth lab, I’ll never see Mom or Jamie again. They’ll keep threatening people I love to keep me in line. Maybe Auntie and the twins next. One by one.

Coach pulls over at the golf course, near an equipment garage. My brother emerges from it and sprints to the car. In one blink, Levi is in the back seat directly behind me.

He’s breathing hard as he reaches around the headrest of my seat to place his hand on my left shoulder. The one he knows always hurts. The one with a bite-shaped bruise. My brother doesn’t do anything but rest his hand there. It is a threat and a betrayal.

A low keening comes from deep inside my chest.

Coach shrugs—too bad, so sad—as if I’ve complained about a crap call on the ice.

We can’t control the bad calls, Fontaine, but what can we control?

I’d answer, I can control how I react. Move on. Focus on the next play.

As Coach gets back on the road, we hear sirens in the distance. Ron and his law-enforcement colleagues arriving at last? Did my tracker bring them? Or are they responding to the ferry captain, who must have reported an assault on an Elder by the Supes’ team captain?

Levi turns to look behind us; I only know because his hand pulls away from its resting spot on my shoulder. Coach tilts his head slightly to look in the rearview mirror.

I’m the only one with my eyes ahead, focused on the next play. Which is why I see the tribal cop car approaching from the opposite direction. A massive figure fills the driver’s side.

I keep mixing up the bad guys and the good guys.

With lightning speed, I jerk the steering wheel toward me. We instantly leave the road, hitting a tree at an angle with enough force to spin the back end of the car into another tree.

The next thing I know, my face hurts. I piece together what happened.

I raised my arms instinctively as we left the road. The front airbag deployed with enough force that I punched myself in the face with my forearms. Something is dripping over my lips. I taste tangy copper pennies and salt. My nose is bleeding. Both shoulders hurt like hell. The seat belt is tight

against my chest. It’s only now that I realize how hard it is to breathe. When I manage to undo the seat belt, my lungs expand. My vision comes back. I was on the verge of passing out.

Coach Bobby’s door is open. I crawl over the gearshift and his seat to tumble onto the ground. I get away from the car as quickly as possible because the possibility of it exploding from leaking fuel is a rational fear.

A deep voice shouts behind me, “Put your hands on your head and drop to your knees.”

I do as TJ orders, landing hard. When I try raising my hands like on television shows, I gasp at the searing pain in both shoulders. My stomach hurts when I twist to look back at him.

TJ’s gun is aimed at Coach Bobby, who is frozen exactly like me on the other side of the road. TJ’s partner reaches Bobby in a few quick strides.

Once Bobby’s arms are secured with handcuffs, TJ runs past me as if I’m invisible.

Wait … did I die?

I watch TJ aim at something along the side of the road. I don’t remember us hitting a deer. Standing slowly, I announce my movements, so I don’t spook TJ or his partner.

“I’m walking over to you. My arms are raised, but my left shoulder can’t go any higher. I don’t have any weapons on me.”

TJ gulps when he looks at my face. He returns his gun to its holster on the black leather belt with all his cop gadgets.

“Paramedics are on their way,” he says in his normal voice.

“Wait … you know I’m not part of Levi’s meth ring?”

“Yes. I know now,” TJ says, looking at the deer in the grass. He kneels down to help it.

It’s not a deer. I nearly collapse in shock.

Levi is crumpled on his side looking up at us. His leg is bent at an odd angle.

“You and the undercover agent were reported missing and in danger. We know about the FBI investigation. Bobby LaFleur is news to us, but maybe not to the FBI.” TJ sounds ticked off. “They aren’t telling us everything.”

“Help me, Daunis,” Levi says. “Tell TJ the truth. Coach forced us to be in his business.”

I step back in disbelief.
“I was trying to help you escape,” he says. One more step away from the lies.

“Stay with me, Daunis. Kneel over me like you did when we were little. When you protected me until the ambulance came,” he pleads.

It’s not that moment I recall, but the one where his hand rested on my shoulder in the car.

“I love you, Levi,” I say. Levi brightens with hope. “Enough to do this.”

I turn to TJ. “Coach Bobby, Levi, Mike, Stormy, and Dana Firekeeper are part of the meth operations. Maybe Grant Edwards too—I’m not sure. At least one of them was involved in my uncle David’s death, and I think they have info about Heather Nodin and Robin Bailey. Dana drugged and kidnapped me. Levi and Mike tasered and drugged Jamie. And …”

Jamie.
“I need to go back for Jamie!”
“You need medical attention,” TJ says.
“He needs to know I didn’t abandon him, Jon!”

It’s been almost three years since I called him that. Our middle names whispered to each other. TJ hesitates, then

speaks into his walkie-talkie to alert all LEOs that I’m headed to the ferry.

As I take off, my brother shouts after me, “I love you. I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry.”

His voice gets smaller with each repetition until it’s no longer in the air.

The ferry hasn’t left the mainland. The loading ramp is still extended like a drawbridge.

I run past an ambulance. Seeney pushes away an oxygen mask. Minnie pats her arm.

A line of cop cars waits to board the ferry. An officer drives Levi’s rez truck down the ramp.

Ron sprints toward me, but I keep running until I’m on the ferry deck. Jonsy pats the hood of his very good pony. And the door of the tomato-red Mustang is still ajar.

I shout over my shoulder at Minnie that I need to borrow her car. “Miigwech. Miigwech. Miigwech,” I add. For helping Seeney. For slowing Levi down. For safe harbor.

I turn her car around, into the spot where Levi’s truck was just a moment ago. I’m facing the back drawbridge, which will become the front ramp once we reach Sugar Island.

Rolling down my window, I shout at the deckhand for us to go. Instead he waits for Jonsy to exit and the ferry to fill with law enforcement vehicles.

Ron catches up to the car. “Daunis, let me drive,” he offers.

I don’t budge. He sighs and gets in the passenger side.

“You’re hurt,” he says calmly.

“Jamie was still alive when I left the trailer.” My voice is all cracks and bumps.

The blast of the ferry horn makes me cry out in joy or pain. Or both.

I tell Ron everything as we cross the St. Mary’s River. The story spews forth like vomit. There’s no time to sequence my thoughts.

It feels like five hours later instead of five minutes when the reverse engine thrusters signal our arrival. The deckhand tosses the thick rope around the dock pilings before pressing the button for the hydraulic ramp.

My patience lasts until the ramp is halfway down. I shift the Mustang into gear and am airborne for an instant before Minnie’s tires burn rubber on Sugar Island.

People always tease Minnie about driving ten miles under the speed limit. My foot is heavy on the pedal. The Mustang roars as if to say, Yes, yes, finally, yes!

I pass a line of cars waiting to board the ferry.

Ron breaks into my recap to ask about the location. “We’ve got the Coast Guard headed to Lake George. Is it on the northeast or southeast shoreline? Or more toward the midpoint?”

I shout the east-west road I remember from the way out of the woods. “Ron, it’s an overhang in the black rocks. It looks narrow but it angles back. It’s wide enough for someone to float a trailer on a barge and wedge it in. It’s why Jamie’s GPS signal couldn’t reach you. He had me wear it around my ankle.”

A voice on the other end of the device confirms the Coast Guard is on its way.

It isn’t until we are flying across the field that I see the cop cars behind us. Not right on our tail, but still keeping up. They must have been behind me this entire time, lights flashing and sirens blaring. I just hadn’t noticed until now.

Strange, how the mind can tune things out.

I pass the stone shaped like a mini madoodiswan and swerve around the fallen birch tree. The road narrows until it’s a winding trail. I follow the bread crumbs of tire tracks that

zigzag around maple trees until we reach the pine forest. I park in the exact spot where the rez truck was. I don’t waste time shutting off the engine or closing the door.

Ron keeps up with me as we hopscotch the rocks to cross the creek. When we run through the cave-tunnel, I get a stitch in my side that takes my breath away. I power through as we run along the shoreline. Ron’s in decent shape for an older guy.

We round the sharp corner where the trailer is nestled in the crook of black rocks.

“Don’t kill him! We’re here. It’s all over!” I yell, arms reaching for the door. “I came back for you, Jamie. I didn’t abandon you.”

I yank it open and rush inside. My legs go rubbery at what I see.

I should not have announced our arrival.

Their backs are to me. Stormy standing and Jamie kneeling in front of the bed.

I scream as Stormy brings an ax down on Jamie’s ankle with one powerful heave.

CHAPTER 52

I throw myself onto Stormy’s back, knocking him over Jamie and onto the bed. I claw his face and am about to bite his ear, intent on removing chunks of him with my teeth, when Ron pulls me off. Stormy’s head is still in my grasp; he is dragged away from the bed with me.

“Daunis.” Jamie’s voice cuts through my rage. “Daunis, let go.”

He spoke. Jamie isn’t screaming in agony.

I let go of Stormy, who drops to the floor with his hands at his face. He makes noises like when Auntie was in labor— releasing pain with repeated sounds and deep breaths.

Ron yanks Stormy up and pulls him out of the trailer.

Jamie stands on two feet. I push him back to get a better look, my heart pounding. His black dress boots are scuffed but otherwise undamaged. No blood anywhere. The iron shackle is still around his ankle, but the chain ends abruptly after three links.

Stormy cut Jamie free?

I can’t move or speak; every ecstatic thought and feeling envelops me simultaneously.

Jamie’s face lights up as he watches my euphoric shock. “Daunis, I’m okay. But we have to get out of here.” Taking my hand, he leads me down the trailer steps.

A swarm of law-enforcement officers rounds the black rocks. They arrive in time to escort Stormy back to the mainland for questioning. One guy in a suit stays at his side, a

federal agent, most likely. Just before they step out of view, Stormy looks over his shoulder at me.

I don’t know why he helped Jamie, but I’m grateful. I put my left hand on my hip even though it hurts my shoulder. My other hand painfully raises an imaginary feather in thanks at the four honor beats I hear in my head. Stormy gives a half- nod acknowledgment before walking beyond the edge of the rocks.

“You did it,” Jamie exclaims. “Oh, Daunis, you did it.”

Euphoria continues to wash over me. My body starts shivering but I don’t mind. Jamie and I are both outside the trailer. Alive.

“What happened?” Jamie asks, looking more closely at my face.

“Car accident with Bobby LaFleur and Levi,” I say. “I’m okay. Just punched myself in the nose when the airbag went off.”

“Ron, we need medical attention,” he calls out.

“Coast Guard coming around the north channel. Should be here any minute,” Ron says.

“How did you keep Mike from killing you?” I ask Jamie.

“Mike didn’t say anything while we waited. I don’t think he thought I was worth the effort. When the deadline passed, I told Mike that no matter what he may have done or known about, he was only seventeen, and with his dad’s connections, he had favorable odds in court.”

“Why would you try to help him?” I ask incredulously.

“ ‘When you surround an army, leave an outlet free. Do not press a desperate foe too hard,’ ” Jamie says before grinning. “Mike and his dad aren’t the only ones who know Sun Tzu.”

“Whoa. That’s clever.”

“Well, then he took off and left me alone in the trailer with no heat, water, or food. The more time went by, the more I

worried something had happened to you.”

There is fear and concern in the softness of Jamie’s voice.

“I heard someone quietly approach the trailer,” he continues. “I didn’t know if Mike had changed his mind or if Levi had returned? I never thought it would be Stormy. He peeked in, saw me, saw the chain, and grabbed the hatchet from the woodpile stored under the trailer. I asked what he was going to do, because I really didn’t know which way it was gonna go.”

“What did he say?” I ask breathlessly.

“Stormy never said a word. The only sound he made was when you went at him.”

A scream breaches the cove. We whip our heads around to see Auntie running toward us.

“Oh my God. What happened?” Auntie’s eyes are wide with terror.

When she reaches too quickly for my face, I pull back. Auntie bites the back of her hand and tears leak down her face.

“I’m okay,” I assure her, and I mean it. I feel light-headed. Like I am giishkwebii, happy and tipsy. Everything surreal and —“Wait.” I stare back at Auntie. “What are you doing here?”

“Seeney called from the ferry. Said you looked scared. And Levi was driving. Your mom said you were missing. No one wanted to take it seriously because Jamie was missing too. Everyone tried telling her you ran away together, but she insisted something was wrong.” Auntie cautiously inspects my face with gentle fingertips. “TJ came to me … he was scared you might become the next Robin. He told me how widespread meth is, and how certain officers were looking the other way. Judge Firekeeper was letting some people go when TJ knew the case files were solid. He didn’t know where to turn.”

She continues talking. “I’ve been meeting with Elders and some traditional healers about the drugs in the community. It

all fell into place when Seeney called. I was racing to the ferry when Minnie’s car flew past and I saw you behind the wheel being chased by cops. So I followed you.”

“She saved me,” I tell my aunt. “Seeney boxed Levi in. I don’t know how she coordinated it with Minnie and Jonsy.”

Auntie grins. “Tribal Youth Council service project. They taught the Elders how to use their cell phones and they set up a group text. Seeney told me she sent a text message for anyone on the ferry to block the truck that Levi was driving.”

I love my Elders.

I thought I had no resources on the ferry, except for one lone Elder. But one led to another, and another. A resource I never anticipated during my time of dire need.

I’m reminded that our Elders are our greatest resource, embodying our culture and community. Their stories connect us to our language, medicines, land, clans, songs, and traditions. They are a bridge between the Before and the Now, guiding those of us who will carry on in the Future.

We honor our heritage and our people, those who are alive and those who’ve passed on. That’s important because it keeps the ones we lose with us. My grandparents. Uncle David. Lily. Dad.

I feel giddy as Auntie, Jamie, and I laugh. The sound surrounds us. Echoes off the black rocks and fills the space like an amphitheater. I laugh until I’m dizzy and my stomach hurts. I wince and touch my right side—it feels rock hard and swollen.

Auntie pulls Jamie to her for a half hug. His eyes sparkle. Jamie is alive. It’s such an exhilarating feeling that I begin to shiver.

The investigation will wrap up. People will finally learn the truth. There will be justice for those who were taken from us.

I want justice too, for what Grant Edwards did to me. It makes me nauseous to even think about him.

And, just like that, something heavy and dark reaches inside my chest. As if it’s not enough that I want to puke, but his name in a thought manifests into a fist squeezing my heart.

I gasp, but it feels like one of these rocks has fallen onto my chest.

I cannot breathe.

Jamie’s face transforms. His incandescent smile dims in slow motion, before becoming something blank for an instant and then turning into … panic.

My legs go out from under me.

I blink and I’m on my back, one arm over my head like Seeney. I cannot catch my breath to mimic her trill.

I see the overhang of black rocks and a beautiful sky beyond. That pretty color the sky gets when the sun is setting and the light has more tricks to reveal. Saving the best colors for that in-between time.

Jamie’s face blocks my view. I want to brush him away, but my hand remains against the cold pebbles that make me shiver even harder. Auntie is on her knees next to Jamie. Their faces mouth words to me. She touches my abdomen, but I can’t catch my breath to scream. Her eyes are wide with terror.

I don’t understand why they’re so scared. The pain isn’t so bad anymore.

Even my shivering has stopped.

I just want to see the sky. A combination of purple and gray, mixing to become lilac. My mother’s favorite color. Her favorite scent. Sweet little flowers that bloom for such a short time. But lilac bushes are hardy, surviving cold temperatures. They can live for over a hundred years.

I want my mom.

She is who I am thinking about—my strong, beautiful mother—when I die.

PART IV

KEWAADIN

(NORTH)

THE JOURNEY INTO THE NORTHERN DIRECTION IS A TIME FOR RESTING AND REFLECTING IN THE PLACE OF DREAMS, STORIES, AND TRUTH.

CHAPTER 53

I rest on a large rock, an island of stone surrounded by woods. The rain has only just stopped; heavy drips leak from branches and ping when meeting the forest floor. A breeze rustles the trees, turning them into wind chimes. The last remnants of rain now shower the forest in softer sprinkles. Boulders rumble, low and constant. Sunlight breaks through the forest cover, casting spotlights that hum and awaken sleeping pansies.

A small fire is surrounded by grandfather rocks to my left. East. Its smoke rises, calling out prayers in the melodic cadences of Anishinaabemowin. In front of me, to the south, is another fire with more grandfathers and prayers carried on wisps of gray smoke. To my right, west, the grandfathers wait. There is no fire there yet. Behind me, north, more patient ones.

Pansies sing to me. They surround the rock, dotting the periphery with gently swaying yellow and purple faces. So many voices blending together. I add my own, weaving through the chorus until I find a niche that my voice fills to make the song whole.

This world is beyond any contentment and beauty I have ever known.

We sing more loudly, the pansies and me. Their purple mouths open, faces basking in the sunlight. I do the same, feeling the warmth of the glow as if from within.

A drum joins in. Its steady beat grows louder, fueled by our song.

The pansies grow taller. Leaves become arms outstretched with fluid movements. They dance together with linked hands,

as if they have done so, forever.

I want to join them.

I rise, turning to view the panorama. Every pansy has become a singing woman. Their voices have a familiar timbre. Scattered among the faces, I see women who remind me of others. Auntie’s eyes. Gramma Pearl’s pointed nose. A wide smile I have only seen in a mirror. Women who are neither old nor young.

I am aware of someone on the rock with me as I turn around.

Lily.

As she was and also as something more. She isn’t Lily anymore. She is Binesikwe. I want to talk to her. There is so much to say.

Where to begin?

And then I know.

Words are no longer needed. Everything I would say, she already knows. Any question I might ask, I know her answer.

She is part of me and always will be.

The drumbeat continues as everything begins to spin around us. Only Lily and I remain rooted, stone underfoot. The rotation speed increases. The women’s linked arms become a braided green circle filled with faces transformed back into pansies. They rise above us, whirling and compacting, until Lily reaches up for the floral necklace. Her touch halts all movement. The drum remains steady.

Lily places the lei of pansies over my head to rest on my shoulders. Her smile is brighter than any star. She kisses me once on each cheek as this world fades.

CHAPTER 54

Everything is loud. Jarring. Heavy darkness. Cold. A rough mixture of sounds. Beeps. Voices. Buzzing. Pain.

I want to go back to the other place. It is so near.

My mother’s voice finds me in the chaos.

Her words make no sense, but her voice is a helium balloon lifting me. Each time, I grasp on to it for a little longer. Her voice begins to take shape. She calls to me. Sings. Reads to me. I am so close, sometimes, before I slip back into the darkness.

Daunis, my beautiful girl, come back to me.

Her kiss centers on my forehead. Gentle stroking from the side of her palm to brush hair from my face. A warm washcloth caresses me.

My lips tingle and I cannot make sense of it until I feel the glide of something waxy. It coats my lips. First the upper one, with a dip as she adjusts for the philtrum. Then the lower lip, so full she needs to backtrack.

It falls into place.

Mom is putting lip balm on me. The way we made sure GrandMary started her day with a perfect red lip.

At least … I think it is just lip balm.

I hope I’m not lying in this hospital bed with a slash of lipstick. Something pink and cheery. She wouldn’t do that. Mom wouldn’t dare.

Oh God. She totally would.

I groan and feel the edges of my mouth break into a smile.

CHAPTER 55

When I regain consciousness three days after I nearly died, my brain feels foggy. Mom’s eyes are red from crying. Something isn’t right. Her voice was upbeat in the darkness.

My first words are “What’s wrong?”
“GrandMary passed away this morning,” she says. “I thought she died after a party.”

“Sweetie, you’re confused and that’s okay. The doctor said it’s common.” Mom kisses my forehead. “GrandMary died in her sleep.”

“Can I visit her?” That’s not what I meant. “Funeral.”

“We are in Ann Arbor. You’re in the intensive-care unit at the U of M Medical Center. Aunt Teddie was here, but she went back home to make the arrangements.”

“But GrandMary doesn’t like any Firekeepers,” I say.

“Teddie offered so I could stay here. I’m not leaving you.”

“Are you sure GrandMary didn’t die after my graduation party?”

“She was in between, I think,” Mom says. “Maybe she waited until we weren’t there so she could leave us. It’s a comforting thought, don’t you think?”

“No. It’s weird. I’m weird. My brain is fuzzy. I’m sorry, Mom, I’m going back to sleep.”

Mom kisses me again. There is healing medicine in those kisses.

“One week ago, I, Daunis Lorenza Fontaine, deliberately grabbed the steering wheel of a BMW to veer off the road, to get the attention of a Tribal Police officer, so I could sprint back to the ferry launch, where I borrowed Minnie Manitou’s tomato-red Mustang to lead a high-speed caravan of law- enforcement vehicles to an old aluminum trailer to rescue someone whose name I don’t know so his life could not be used as a threat to pressure me into cooking high-quality crystal methamphetamine for a drug operation whose product was distributed via souvenir pucks at hockey games primarily in the Great Lakes states and Ontario.”

I take a huge breath and keep going.

“However, when the car hit a tree or two, my liver was torn —probably a grade I or II laceration originally, but exacerbated to a grade IV when I jumped on someone who was helping, but I didn’t know that at the time—and I bled internally, undetected, until my blood volume level decreased and I went into hypovolemic shock, which would have killed me if not for the quick actions of my aunt Teddie, who is a registered nurse, and the Coast Guard boat that transported me to the local hospital so I could be stabilized and taken by medical helicopter to the University of Michigan Medical Center in Ann Arbor, where I was unconscious for three days and then monitored for three more days in the intensive-care unit as a precaution against rebleeding and other liver complications, but I am now in a regular room, currently answering your question, which is whether I am aware of my surroundings and the events that led me here.”

Dr. Roulain blinks in surprise, then smiles. “Well, Daunis, I’ll note in the chart your mental capacity is undiminished. We want to keep you here through next week and monitor you as you increase physical activity. As you stated, we are watching for rebleeding and other complications, such as slow- developing biliary-tract lesions, or infection from sepsis or

hepatic abscess. After that, we will transfer your outpatient care to the hepatology clinic.”

Mom asks about the time frame for my liver to heal fully.

“The liver is the only internal organ that can regenerate,” Dr. Roulain explains. “Even if your daughter’s liver had torn completely, it would grow back to its full mass within six months. Since her injury was a laceration, or tear, it should take a few months for her liver to heal.” He turns to me. “Now, I hear you’re a hockey player. You need to avoid all contact sports, including hockey, for at least six months. To be on the safe side, I’d recommend a year-long hiatus.”

I squeeze Mom’s hand before answering.

“I gave up hockey because of nerve damage from chronic shoulder instability,” I say.

After Dr. Roulain leaves, I pause before I speak. I already alerted my mother that she was going to hear a lot of secrets that might surprise or hurt her.

Protecting my feelings is something you can let go of, Daunis, she said.

Once I stop analyzing and filtering my words, I find I have more energy. It turns out that lies, in whatever form, are exhausting.

I start with the most important secret first.

“Uncle David was helping the FBI as a confidential informant.”

Mom’s hands fly to her mouth, trapping any gasp or sob. I continue in her silence.

“He was researching mushrooms on Sugar Island that might have been added to crystal meth to cause hallucinations.” I add, “He was concerned about Levi and

went to talk to Dana about him. That’s when Uncle David went missing. I don’t know what happened after that.”

When my mother moves her hands from her face, her eyes shine with vindication that she had been right about her brother. Uncle David’s only defender.

“The FBI might know more by now. Dana could have confessed,” I say. “I don’t know what details will come out.”

“David would only care that you and I know it was foul play. And his students, I think.” Mom seems at peace. “He lived his life not caring what the gossips thought.”

Auntie brings bundles of medicine when she arrives two days later. She cannot strike a fire to smudge the room, but we know it’s there. She has the sage, cedar, sweetgrass, and tobacco nestled in the iridescent bowl of an abalone shell on my bedside table. Next to the raspberry lipstick that gives my mother an inordinate amount of pleasure to put on me every morning.

My aunt has been the dearest friend to my mother for my entire life. She ensured that Mom’s wishes were followed. GrandMary wanted to be cremated and her ashes placed with Grandpa Lorenzo after a memorial service that would be scheduled once I was back home. From a place of love and with a good heart, Auntie tended to my grandmother’s final journey.

I loved GrandMary and I know she loved me. Correction— I love her, and she loves me. When our loved ones die, the love stays alive in the present.

Ron is my first non-family visitor now that I’ve been moved from the intensive-care unit to a private room on the regular inpatient floor. My mother bought a white cotton nightgown and a matching robe for me. Although it’s more her style than

mine, I’m thankful to be wearing something other than the standard issue hospital gown. I sit in a chair flanked by Mom and Auntie. It feels good not to be alone. Ron pulls up a chair across from me.

“Daunis, let me begin by thanking you for helping with the investigation,” he says.

Mom interrupts. “You put my daughter in an impossible situation.” She squeezes my hand. “It may have been legal, but it was hardly ethical.”

Ron accepts her anger, saying nothing to defend himself.

“Who are you?” Auntie asks.

“My name is Ron Cornell. Senior field agent with the FBI.”

“Not what you do,” she clarifies. “Who are your people? Which community claims you?” Her voice is neither friendly nor hostile; it’s her speaking-to-Tribal-Council voice.

He names a tribe from out west. Grew up in Denver.

“Does your family know what you do? Going undercover in tribal communities?”

“They know I work for the FBI,” Ron tells her. “My sister thinks it’s dangerous. My cousins think I’m a sellout. I do this work because we need good people working at the agencies that help tribes.”

Auntie snorts. “Scariest words ever spoken: ‘I’m from the federal government and I’m here to help.’ ” She continues, “Was anyone from our tribal law enforcement involved?”

“This was—is—a federal investigation. We kept the Tribe out of it because there have been investigations on other reservations where people in law enforcement have tipped off family members.” He pauses to clear his throat. “I can’t speak to more details because the U.S. Attorney’s Office is still pursuing charges.”

“What can you speak to?” she asks.

Ron focuses his attention on me.

“Levi’s been charged with several crimes: kidnapping of a federal officer; possession, manufacture, or distribution of controlled substances; maintaining a drug-involved premises; employment or use of persons under eighteen years of age in drug operations; and conspiracy to defraud the United States. The financial crimes fall under Canadian jurisdiction. You’ve been implicated in the wire transfers, so you’ll need to get an attorney. But it should be fairly straightforward because the evidence will show Levi’s activity.” He pauses. “When we searched his bedroom, a woman’s black platform flip-flop was found in one of the boxes in his closet. It’s the same style Heather was seen wearing on Labor Day, and it’s her shoe size. Levi is being questioned about her disappearance.”

“Ron, I searched every box and bin in that closet looking for my dad’s scarf. If the sandal was there before that Sunday, I would’ve found it. Someone put it there afterward.” I meet Auntie’s gaze. “Levi is guilty of many things. He may or may not be involved with Heather Nodin’s death, but the timing of when the evidence turned up feels …” I use Ron’s word, “hinky.”

“I agree,” Ron says.

“I think Mike put Heather’s flip-flop in Levi’s closet. He’s been the mastermind this entire time. Mike had access to Levi’s room and could have set up my brother to take the fall.”

I can see Ron mulling this over, and I lean forward.

“When you question Levi, watch his face when you tell him about Heather’s flip-flop. That’s when he will realize he was set up. Levi might turn on Mike at that point.” I sigh. “Maybe he won’t, though. Levi’s choices have been … disappointing.”

It takes a few beats for Ron to respond.

“Michael Edwards is missing. No one saw him leave Sugar Island. Our best guess is that he crossed into Canada and accessed money and resources there. We’ve questioned his

parents. They were shocked to learn about their son’s involvement. Devastated, really.”

“Grant Edwards wasn’t the person Levi called from the ferry, but he still might be involved,” I tell Ron. He nods to acknowledge my suspicion but doesn’t confirm or deny.

I envision Mike finding the narrowest passage on the north channel. Swimming the frigid water and struggling not to get pulled under its treacherous current. Regrouping on the other side. Doing post-game analysis and plotting his next move. Basing his strategy on quotes from his dad, Coach Bobby, and Sun Tzu. Starting over somewhere. It seems more likely that Mike would have help from his dad.

“What about Stormy? I still don’t know why he freed Jamie,” I say. Auntie pats my hand.

“Stormy Nodin hasn’t spoken a single word since I led him from that trailer,” Ron says. “Since he’s a minor for a few more months, his parents have to be with him when he’s questioned.” Ron looks perplexed. “He hasn’t even talked to the attorney his parents hired.”

“Maybe Stormy would rather stay quiet than do or say anything to hurt Levi,” I say. “What happens if he never talks?”

“Well, there’s little if anything that can be done while he’s a juvenile,” Ron says. “The statute of limitations on federal cases is five years, so once Stormy turns eighteen, the U.S. Attorney’s Office can subpoena him into a grand jury. He could be charged with obstruction of justice for failing to provide relevant evidence, and even possibly charged for aiding and abetting if any facts suggest he may have been involved.”

“What if he heard or witnessed stuff but told Levi he wouldn’t be part of it?” I ask.

“If Stormy wasn’t involved, he could still be called to the grand jury and put under oath. Should he refuse to testify, the U.S. Attorney’s Office would request a hearing in front of a

federal judge to order him to testify.” Ron pauses. “If Stormy Nodin never talks, he could be held in contempt and kept in jail until he complies.”

I say aloud what I know in my heart with a sinking, nauseating certainty.

“Levi and Stormy are gonna sit in jail, while Mike gets away with everything.”

I take Ron’s silence as agreement. Auntie reaches for a tissue to wipe her eyes. Mom hugs me, the only comfort she can provide. After a few minutes, Ron begins speaking again.

“I’m sorry, Daunis; I know this is a lot to take in. But I wanted to make sure you heard everything from me. Robert LaFleur was charged with several counts of being part of a conspiracy to distribute methamphetamines on the reservation —aiding and abetting. He had an accomplice at the casino, who wasn’t filing currency reports for cash deposits of more than ten thousand dollars. That’s how he was able to launder money.”

I had ignored the clues: the fancy car, the high-end renovation to his waterfront cabin, gambling trips to Vegas. A lifestyle that exceeded a teacher’s salary and modest rental income.

I don’t understand how Coach could treat me so well for all those years and then …

Over and over, I relive the moment when Coach moved his cell phone away from me and the realization hit me like a slap shot to the throat. Coach is involved!

The man who Mom had trusted with my health and safety was willing to drive me to an isolated house or garage to cook meth for the business he had with Mike … and Levi.

My brother was on board with the plan.

Levi’s betrayal is a sinking anchor that still hasn’t found bottom.

I look at Ron, who is waiting patiently for my attention to return. He continues after I nod.

“Dana Firekeeper has been charged with several counts of aiding and abetting a conspiracy to distribute methamphetamines on the reservation. Those are only the federal charges; the Tribe is expected to file charges against her after finishing an audit of her Tribal Court cases.” Ron sounds genuinely shocked. “It looks like, as tough as Judge Firekeeper was on alcohol-related crimes and some drug crimes, a number of meth-related cases were dismissed on technicalities in her court. She protected Levi’s operations while taking actions against his competition.”

“What about her drugging and kidnapping me?” My voice shakes with fury. “Auntie, wouldn’t my blood still have had traces of Rohypnol when I was in the ER in the Sault?”

Before my aunt can answer, Ron clears his throat.

“Daunis, there’s something else I need to talk about with you.” Ron braces himself, breathing deeply and exhaling loudly.

A chill runs down my spine.

“The trailer is on land the Tribe purchased a few years back and put into federal trust.”

I wait for Ron to continue, but he seems unable to go on.

Auntie gasps; I feel her sharp intake within my own lungs. She tells me what Ron cannot.

“You were an enrolled citizen when Dana took you. When a crime takes place on Indian land and the victim is a tribal member, the feds decide whether to press charges.” Her words fit between sobs. “They’re not going to pursue charges for your kidnapping. Only Jamie’s.”

Special Agent Ron Cornell doesn’t meet my eyes.

“Did Jamie tell you that Grant Edwards raped me in a hotel room at Shagala?” I shout, feeling my mother stiffen next to me. “When Jamie put his GPS watch around my ankle, he said

to tell you what Grant did so the U.S. Attorney’s Office could seek justice for me.”

I shake my head.

“Jamie’s naive, isn’t he? He thought, after all I did for the FBI, that my case would get more consideration from a federal prosecutor than what’s normally given to Native women.”

I stare at Ron until he meets my eyes.

“Jamie doesn’t know that ten times zero is still zero,” I say flatly.

Then something else occurs to me. “I think Grant Edwards planned to rape me as soon as he heard about my enrollment vote. He knew the resort was on tribal land. He counted on the federal government not wasting resources going after non- Native guys like him. They knew the tribal court couldn’t touch him.”

I am so tired. The weight of my expendability is crushing.

Not everyone gets justice. Least of all Nish kwewag.

Ron seems at a loss for what might be appropriate closure under the circumstances, so I do it for him.

“Please go, Ron.” I hold my stare until he breaks away.

As he leaves the room, I collapse against Auntie and my mother. I picture Grant Edwards rolled up in a blanket, in the trunk of a car deep in the woods on Sugar Island. My female cousins lift the heavy roll and drop it on the ground. The muffled groan is an echo of the one in my ear on a hotel bed where the sheets smelled of lavender.

“Blanket party,” I tell Auntie. “You’ll bring me.”

She exhales and closes her eyes. When she opens them and nods, Auntie has aged ten years in one blink.

CHAPTER 56

A little boy visits me. Huge, somber brown eyes gaze up at me. His serious expression reminds me of Grandpa Lorenzo, when he would talk about the old days. This little one approaches everything with an intensity far beyond his few years.

I want to make him smile.

Kneeling in front of him, I say his name. Then I kiss the back of his hand before pretending to lick it and clean his face like a mama cat.

His beautiful lips curve into a smile filling my heart with so much light. Rays of sunlight kiss his tousled hair, brown curls with a few random strands that glimmer copper.

I bask in the gloriousness of that smile. His tiny hand beneath mine is warm.

Then a larger hand is atop mine. A warm thumb caresses the soft pad between my thumb and index finger.

For one perfect instant, my hand is sandwiched between both.

As I open my eyes, the tiny hand fades away and there is only Jamie’s touch.

“You’re here,” I say.

It’s been twelve days since he watched me die on Sugar Island. The bruises that made him look like a raccoon in the trailer have faded to a yellowish brown. The bite impression on my left shoulder is about the same color.

“I’m sorry, Daunis. This was the soonest I could come. There were things I needed to take care of with the investigation.” He looks at the colorful balloons from the twins. “Ron said you’re getting out tomorrow.”

I keep my hand beneath his. “I’m moving to an apartment downtown to be near my medical appointments. My mother is staying with me awhile, but then I’ll be here on my own.”

Jamie looks down at our hands. When he looks back at me, his eyes glisten.

“I’m sorry, Daunis,” he says again. “That you were part of this. About Lily. And David Fontaine. For everything that happened to you.” His voice cracks. “I am so, so sorry.”

He cries. I don’t soothe him. He needs to feel this, and I need to hear it. Investigations involve real people. Informants face real risks. Developing real feelings for me doesn’t wash away that he was willing to use me, a girl he didn’t know, to pursue a case and get a career boost.

Sunlight has changed to an orange dusk outside my window when he wipes tears from his face. At last, I remove my hand from his, so I can trace his scar.

“Jamie, you can’t keep doing this. You need to find out where you come from. Stop pretending in other communities, and find yours.”

“I wasn’t lying about being Cherokee. I am, but that’s all I know about it.” Jamie closes his eyes against my palm cupping his jaw. “Everything with you was more real than anything in my other life. It didn’t feel like pretending, being Jamie Johnson, a guy playing hockey and falling in love with you. It was the realest thing, Daunis.” His eyes open. “Don’t you see? My life before this? That’s what felt fake.”

“You are not cut out for undercover work,” I tell him. “You cannot wear masks like other agents—it affects you differently. You get sucked in, in a way that Ron doesn’t. He can live the lie because he knows it’s a lie. But you? You don’t

know the truth of your life.” I grip his hand. “Promise me you’ll try to find out?”

Jamie nods before lifting my hand to his lips. He plants kisses that I feel all the way to my toes.

“Let’s make plans to be together.” There is a frantic edge to his voice. “When you’re healed, you pick a school anywhere in the country, and I’ll go there. We can meet as strangers, like none of this happened. We can start fresh.”

“Oh, Jamie. There you go again, ready to live the lie, but not ready to live the truth.”

“I love you, Daunis. You know that part isn’t a lie.” His voice is low and steady. “I felt something the first time I saw you. At Chi Mukwa. Seeing you in person, not just research in a case file.” He reaches for my hand. “You were right in front of me. Beautiful and real.”

I want to be with him. Fall asleep to his gentle snoring. Share an apartment. My books and music mixing with his, until we forget whose is whose and there is only our stuff. Starting every morning intertwined. Running together. Discovering new things—true things—about each other.

My daydreams must play across my face, because he gets excited.

“I need you, Daunis. Help me find out if there’s a plate set out for me at a feast somewhere. I don’t think I can do it without you.”

Something heavy drops inside me. Into a deep cavern, where Travis’s words to Lily bounce off jagged walls.

Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.
I can’t do it without you.
I need you.
“I can see our life together, Daunis. You can too, right?” Granny June’s voice: Things end how they start.

Jamie and me. We started with deception.

I could end it now with a lie. Tell him that I don’t see a future for us. Lie about the little boy with the crazy messy hair and dark eyes that observe the world quietly and deeply.

I decide to stand in my truth.

“I love you. Whoever you are. Wherever you came from. Without our names or stories.”

I touch the sides of his face—the perfect side and the scar. He closes his eyes, immersing himself in the sensation of my fingertips.

“I love you and I want you to be healthy. To find whatever is missing in your life, so you stop pretending. Stop putting yourself and others in dangerous situations.”

Another deep breath. More pain.

“It’s your journey. You gotta do your work and I gotta do mine.” I taste salt from my tears. “Your need scares me. I’m afraid I’ll focus on your needs over mine.” I clear my throat. Breathe in and out. Steady myself. “I love you … and I love myself. I want us to be healthy and strong. On our own. So that no matter what happens, whether we meet again or not …” I look him in the eye. “Love means wanting you to have a good life, even if I’m not in it. And your love for me? It should be that strong, so you want that for me, too.”

He says nothing, just sits there. Strokes my hand with his thumb. His eyes are sad, as if someone turned out the lights and pulled curtains across.

Finally, he lifts my hand to his lips and gives it a long kiss before setting it gently down on the bed. He leans over and kisses the tip of my bruised nose, smells the top of my head as if committing it to memory. Then he walks to the door. He never looks back.

Only after enough time passes—during which I have imagined his elevator ride, the long walk to a car in a distant parking garage, and his drive away from the city—do I speak.

“We named him Waabun,” I say to the space where he was sitting. Telling him about the little boy from my dream. From a Someday in the future. A future in which we are both healthy and independent people. “After the eastern direction.”

It dawns on me: I don’t even know what our son’s last name would have been.

CHAPTER 57

TEN MONTHS LATER

Powwows are not ceremonies, and yet there is something restorative about the gathering of our community. The collective spirit of our tribal nation coming together, sharing songs and fellowship with others. It’s our annual powwow, the third weekend in August, and my community needs healing now more than ever.

The recent tribal election included a banishment referendum, heatedly debated during community meetings. Members told heart-wrenching stories of loved ones lost to drugs, pleading with Tribal Council to do something. Others claimed that the referendum would lead to selective banishments to punish the families of political rivals. Fingers were pointed, and leaders told to “wash your own dirty asses before telling us what stinks.”

Last week, my first time voting in a tribal election, the referendum narrowly passed. The day after the election results, a group of members began circulating a petition to recall the Tribal Council members who voiced support for the banishment referendum.

Now, any tribal member convicted of a felony drug crime in any court is subject to a banishment hearing. The length of the banishment, up to five years, depends upon the severity of the crime and whether the individual is in recovery. The intent is to rid the reservation of dealers, while showing compassion to members who are struggling with addiction. Banished individuals are still enrolled citizens but are barred from tribal

land and ineligible for any tribal programs, services, or benefits. This includes per capita payments.

Former tribal judge Dana Firekeeper will be the first person to appear at a banishment hearing. She pled guilty in federal court to a single felony count of obstruction of justice in exchange for no prison time. In Tribal Court last week, she was found guilty of ten counts of dereliction of duty for every meth-related mistrial she presided over. She was fined the maximum $5,000 amount for every count but received no jail time. Some think she got off too easy. Others say Dana is being made an example because people enjoy when powerful women are torn down.

On Friday evening of powwow weekend, I pick up Granny June and we head to Sugar Island. When we arrive at Auntie and Art’s place, dozens of cars are parked in their front yard. I help Granny from the Jeep and we walk to the clearing overlooking the north channel of the St. Mary’s River. I am surprised to see over a hundred women sitting around the fire in concentric circles. Art is nowhere in sight. My aunt motions for us to join her in the innermost circle. We must be the last to arrive, because Auntie welcomes everyone as soon as we sit down.

There was a Nish kwezan who collected pansies with her nokomis all summer long. Each evening she helped separate the flowers by color. She knew the brightest colors would be used to dye the strips of black ash for weaving baskets. Others were for medicines. Her nokomis put all the yellow pansies in one pile. What are the yellow ones for? she asked. Nokomis wouldn’t say.

Each summer she collected pansies with her nokomis, who never told her what the yellow pansies were for. The kwezan became a kwe and still helped her nokomis each summer. One day she said nothing as she collected pansies. When her nokomis asked what was wrong, she didn’t know how to tell

her grandmother that a man had hurt her. She only shrugged. For the rest of the summer, she and her nokomis collected pansies in silence.

At the end of the summer, her grandmother took her into the woods one evening. They were joined by other women, who sat in a circle. She watched as her grandmother’s black ash basket was passed around the circle and each woman or girl present took a single yellow pansy. When the basket was in her lap, she took one pansy for herself. One by one each person came to the fire and said a prayer before offering the pansy. Some said their prayers aloud. Others mouthed silent prayers. And others released their prayers through tears. When it was her turn to pray, she understood what the yellow pansies were for. She said a silent prayer and released her pain. The pansy offerings and their prayers were carried in the smoke to Creator and to Grandmother Moon.

As my aunt tells the story, a large basket is passed around the inner circle. I take a yellow pansy and pass the basket to Auntie. I watch as women approach the fire, each one offering a pansy.

As I release the pansy, I think about what Grant Edwards did to me and say my silent prayer. There is comfort in watching the smoke rise to the full moon.

When I return to my seat, Granny June holds my hand.

“Liliban was thankful each year that you weren’t here,” she says.

“Wait. She was here?” My heart breaks.

“Yes, my girl. Ever since she came to live with me.”

I cry for my best friend and the secrets she wanted to protect me from.

On the ferry back to the mainland, I realize that Macy wasn’t at the fire. Relief washes over me. Macy wasn’t there. When Granny and I do our usual semaa offering midway across the St. Mary’s River, I say a silent prayer of profound

gratitude for all the Nish kwezanswag and kwewag who weren’t at the fire tonight. Chi miigwech.

I spend all of Saturday afternoon walking around the vendor stands, catching up with cousins, Elders, former classmates, and teammates.

A few people pry for details about Levi. My response: Nothing.

I gave Auntie a pouch of semaa and asked her to keep me updated on Levi’s case. She doesn’t tell me her sources, but I think she stays in contact with Ron.

Levi was deemed a flight risk, even with a busted leg. He remains detained without bond until his trial, to begin in the fall. My brother has refused any plea offerings, but he may change his mind now that the federal prosecution has its star witness.

I am not the star witness. I haven’t stepped foot in a courtroom or any law enforcement office since the day I signed my CI agreement. Senior Field Agent Ron Cornell has protected my identity so far. I’ve had no contact with Levi. He may have tried to reach out but I suspect that Auntie and my mother intercept any messages from him. I know that if I ask Auntie, she will tell me the truth. For now, I am fine with not asking.

Neither is it Stormy Nodin, who has still not uttered a single word in English. Ron’s prediction of what would happen once Stormy turned eighteen was spot on. Stormy remained silent before a grand jury and at a hearing in front of a federal judge. Held in contempt of court, he sits in jail.

According to Auntie, when Stormy’s parents visit him, they all speak Anishinaabemowin. His parents are there every visiting day; they moved to a town near the federal detention center where their son is being held. His father parks outside the facility and drums each night.

Nor is it Michael Edwards, who is still at large. There are rumors he is playing hockey for a Swedish pro league under a different name. His parents divorced. Helene moved downstate. Grant still lives in their house. Auntie drove past one night and said the house was dark except for a Sault High hockey game playing on the giant plasma screen.

My nightmares began when Robert LaFleur accepted a plea deal to be the star witness against Levi. It’s the same bad dream each time. I jerk the steering wheel of Coach’s BMW and nothing happens. Levi grips my bruised shoulder as the Tribal Police car passes by. I scream in pain. TJ never sees me. They drive me to a modular home in the middle of nowhere. I wake up as Mike describes in precise detail what he will do to Jamie if I don’t cook meth for them.

On those nights, I light a braid of wiingashk and inhale the sweet smoke. Then I put on my dad’s choker and pray for debwewin. To know truth is to accept what cannot be known.

On Sunday, I start my day with a prayer for zaagidiwin. Love. Today is the official end of my traditional one-year mourning period for Lily. I will dance at a powwow for the first time since Uncle David died almost a year and a half ago.

I offer semaa and give thanks for all my loved ones, those in this world and the next.

When it’s time to get ready for Grand Entry, my nieces and I sit on the picnic table outside while I braid their hair. I asked Teddie for this time to tell the girls about my college plans. My fingers move quickly through Pauline’s hair to get it out of her face, so she will be less likely to chew on it.

“I have some news to tell yous,” I say to the back of Pauline’s head. “I’m leaving in a few weeks for Hawaii.”

“You’re going away again?” Perry asks from beside me. She’s frowning, and I imagine her sister’s face has the same expression.

“The University of Hawaii at Manoa has a great ethnobotany program. That’s the study of how people all over the world use plants as medicines. It’s got biology and chemistry, but something else, too. They look at things with Indigenous eyes. And every summer, I’m coming back to do an internship with Seeney Nimkee. When I graduate from college, I’ll be her apprentice at the Traditional Medicine Program.” I can’t stop smiling. “I know what I want to be, what I am … a traditional medicine practitioner and scientist.”

“A traditional scientist?” Perry asks.

My smile grows beyond my face. It reaches my fingers and toes.

“Yeah. That sounds exactly right,” I tell her.

I peck a kiss on Pauline’s head to let her know I’m done with her hair.

“Yous are gonna visit over Thanksgiving. I’ll know my way around by then.”

“Can we go to museums?” Pauline turns around, trembling with excitement. She loses herself in museums, absorbing every detail of each exhibit.

“Museums are boring,” Perry says, shoving her sister aside to sit in front of my braiding fingers. “I wanna go surfing.”

“We’ll try different things every day.” I spray Perry’s head with the setting gel and use a rattail comb to divide her thick, dark hair into sections.

“Is college like a boarding school?” Pauline asks, sitting next to me on the picnic table.

“I guess so. I mean, you sleep in dorms and there are dining halls. Why?”

“Auntie, did you know there were boarding schools for Anishinaabem?” Pauline asks, overenunciating parts of the Anishinaabe words in her eagerness to pronounce them correctly. “And the government took kids even when moms and dads said no.” Her bottom lip trembles. “They didn’t give

kids back like they promised.” She looks up at me with doe- eyed sorrow. ”They got punished if they didn’t follow the school rules. Will that happen to you?” Before I can respond, Perry turns to me. Her eyes narrow in outrage.

“Kids couldn’t speak Anishinaabemowin and they couldn’t go to ceremonies.” Perry points defiantly at her own chest as she declares, “Indanishinaabem.”

Auntie and Art must have decided they were old enough for the talk.

I am overcome with a mixture of emotions. Sad that their innocent eyes are open to the trauma that still impacts our community today. Angry they must learn these truths in order to be strong Anishinaabeg in a world where Indians are thought of only in the past tense. Proud that they—smart, sturdy, and loved—are the greatest wish our ancestors had, for our nation to survive and flourish.

“College isn’t like boarding school in those ways. I take the classes I want. I don’t have to stay if I don’t want to or if I don’t feel safe. I promise I’ll come home every summer.” I add, “It’s good to know our tribal history and what our ancestors went through. It’s important to know the truth, even when it makes us feel sad. It’s good no one is keeping you from ceremonies.” I hug Perry from behind. “And yes, my girl, you do speak our language.”

When I finish Perry’s hair, both girls stand atop the picnic table. They trill perfect lee-lees as they jump off and run to the RV where their mother waits to dress them for Grand Entry.

I’m wearing the shorts and T-shirt I’ll keep on underneath my regalia to help absorb my sweat. I put on my red dress. The top half is plain material, and the skirt has seven rows of gold cone jingles. There are 365 cones, one for each day of the year Auntie spent teaching me about being a strong Nish kwe, when I was fourteen. Gramma Pearl’s thick leather belt gives

shape to the dress, and I attach the flat beaded bag Teddie gifted me at my berry feast. I lay the black velvet yoke over my shoulders. This summer, Eva beaded it, adding a lei of yellow pansies with purple faces.

My final touches are my dad’s bone choker, the blueberry earrings from my mother, and the beaded strawberry bracelet that Jamie gave me. Auntie helps me attach an eagle plume to the back of my head, rising between my two long braids. I look in the mirror and apply GrandMary’s red lipstick before tucking the gold tube into the high pocket.

I am ready.

Art is snapping pictures of the twins when I emerge from the RV. He calls me over and I pose with them. Then I ask him to take a picture of me with the powwow in the background.

While Art adjusts his camera lens, I think about the envelope that came in the mail yesterday morning. There was no return address, and it was postmarked Milwaukee. Inside were two postcards. The first had a picture of a lake in Minnesota. On the back, someone had written one sentence: The kids are all right. The second postcard was of a stately brick building labeled COLLEGE OF LAW, UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN, MADISON, WIS. On the back was one word: Someday.

“Now, that’s a great picture,” Art says.

We walk into the arena for Grand Entry. My dance steps are simple. The circle is filled with rows of dancers, no room for big spins or intricate steps. I need to conserve my energy if I’m going to last all day. My dancing muscles have been dormant for a year and a half.

When the drum hits the honor beats of the song, I raise my feather fan in the air. I lead the twins, and Auntie follows behind us. When I glance back, my aunt smiles through happy tears. Niishin. It is good.

In the late afternoon, the emcee announces one final special before the contest winners are named for each dance style and age category. Those Jingle dancers who are wearing

red regalia are invited to dance. As I make my way to the arena, he tells the story of the jingle dress.

A girl was sick, and her father feared she would not recover. He sought a vision and it came to him: a dress for her, with rows of jingles made from tin cones that clinked melodically when she danced. The more she danced, the more she healed. Once she was all better, she continued to dance, to heal others in her community.

The Jingle Dance represents healing. And the red dress symbolizes our women. So, today’s Red Dress Jingle Dance Special is for all the Anishinaabe kwewag and kwezanswag, Indigenous women and girls who are murdered or missing. Their spirits taken too soon, lives cut short. For each one … mikwendaagozi. She is remembered.

Everyone rises as seven of us enter the arena. We range in age from around five to fifty years old. Each picks a spot around the dance arena. I find the section on the northern side where Mom, Granny June, Seeney, Auntie, Art, and the twins are standing.

My mother smiles. She is proud of me. Excited for my adventure. Ready to let me go. Understands, at last, that letting me go is not the same as losing me.

As Granny June waves, her words echo from when I told her about my plans to go away to college. My girl, some boats are made for the river and some for the ocean. And there are some that can go anywhere because they always know the way home.

When Seeney invited me to become her apprentice, I told her about the ethnobotany program in Hawaii. I gifted her with semaa and asked if it was possible to study both ways. She said, We Anishinaabeg are not stagnant. We have always adapted to survive.

I take in a panoramic view of my community: Minnie. Leonard. Jonsy. TJ and Olivia. Macy.

The entire dance arena falls completely silent before the host drum begins the honor song. Every songbird gathers around the drummers to add their voice.

As I dance, I pray for Lily. For Robin. For Heather. And even for myself. For all the girls and women pushed into the abyss of expendability and invisibility. It doesn’t matter that my steps are clumsy and heavy. In my mind, my feet move with lightness and speed. I am in the zone, between this world and the next.

I am not dancing in step with the drumbeats.

It is the opposite.

The drumbeats are coming from inside my heart.

Boozhoo, Aaniin Gichimanidoo. Miskwamakwakwe indizhinikaaz. Makwa indoodem. Bahweting indonjiba.

Gizhemanido naadamawishinaam ji-mashkawiziyaang miinawaa naadamaw ikwewag ji-ganawendaagoziwaad, gichi- ayaawag ji-minawaanigoziwaad gaye oniijaanisag ji- inaabandamowaad Anishinaabemong.

Greetings, Creator. I am Red Bear Woman. Bear Clan. From the Place of the Rapids. Keep our community strong. Our women safe. Our men whole. Our Elders laughing. And our children dreaming in the language. Thank you very much for this good life.

When the song ends, I stand at the eastern door. Where all journeys begin.

AHO (THAT IS ALL)

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Ahniin! Angeline Boulley indizhinikaaz. Makwa indoodem. Bahweting indoonjiba. Gimiigwechiwi’in gaa-agindaasoman ndo’mazina’igan. Hello! I’m Angeline Boulley. Bear Clan. From Sault Ste. Marie, the place of the rapids. Thank you for reading my book.

I set out to write Firekeeper’s Daughter because there are simply too few stories told by and about Native Americans, especially from a contemporary point of view. We exist and have dynamic experiences beyond history books or stories set long ago.

The creative spark for Daunis’s story was ignited when I was in high school, and a friend mentioned a new guy at her school who was just my type. Although I never met him, it was later revealed he was actually an undercover narcotics officer. As a teen, I loved reading thrillers, an early favorite being the Nancy Drew series, and I began wondering what would’ve happened if I’d attended that school. What if I liked the new guy and he liked me? Or, rather, what if he needed my help? The story captured my overactive imagination and stayed with me.

After college, I worked in tribal communities, focusing on Indian education to impact Native students. My career led me back to my own tribe in Sault Ste. Marie and, eventually, to Washington, DC, when I landed my dream job as director for the Office of Indian Education at the U.S. Department of Education.

Yet every morning, I’d wake early to write for a few hours before going to my “day job.” Because that spark of a story—

about an Ojibwe Nancy Drew and the new guy in school—had never died, and over the next ten years, it grew into Firekeeper’s Daughter. When my book sold, I realized it might have a wider impact on Native youth than anything I’d done prior. After all, storytelling is how we share what it means to be Anishinaabe.

Although Firekeeper’s Daughter is rooted in my tribal community, it is a work of fiction and I have taken a great deal of creative license. Among other changes, I chose to fictionalize a tribe facing issues in the realm of what my actual tribe, the Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians, might experience. By no means is it intended to be representative of all 574 federally recognized Indian tribes, bands, and villages. Each has a unique history, culture, and dialect. Even within a community there is a wealth of diverse experiences.

However, one all-too-real aspect of the story is the rampant violence against Native women. More than four in five (84%) Native women have experienced violence in their lifetime and more than half (56%) have experienced sexual violence. Nearly all (97%) of the Native women who have experienced violence had at least one non-Native perpetrator. Although it is a difficult and exhausting narrative, I felt it was important to show the painful reality of these experiences, especially within the specific context of the predatory targeting of Native women and the jurisdictional quagmire on tribal lands.

There’s an important distinction between writing about trauma and writing a tragedy. I sought to write about identity, loss, and injustice … and also of love, joy, connection, friendship, hope, laughter, and the beauty and strength in my Ojibwe community. It was paramount to share and celebrate what justice and healing looks like in a tribal community: cultural events, language revitalization, ceremonies, traditional teachings, whisper networks, blanket parties, and numerous other ways tribes have shown resilience in the face of adversity.

Growing up, none of the books I’d read featured a Native protagonist. With Daunis, I wanted to give Native teens a hero

who looks like them, whose greatest strength is her Ojibwe culture and community. When making decisions for our tribe, we look seven generations ahead, considering the effect on our descendants. My hope is that, in sharing our Anishinaabeg experiences, Firekeeper’s Daughter will have that impact on future generations.

Mazina’iganan mino-mshkikiiwin aawen. Books are good medicine!
Angeline Boulley

Sources

U.S. Department of the Interior Indian Affairs, “What is a federally recognized tribe?” bia.gov/frequently-asked-questions

Rosay, Andre B., National Institute of Justice, “Violence Against American Indian and Alaska Native Women and Men: 2010 Findings From the National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey.” May 2016. nij.ojp.gov/library/publications/violence-against-american-indian-and-alaska- native-women-and-men-2010-findings

National Institute of Justice, “Estimates of Lifetime Interracial and Intraracial Violence.” nij.ojp.gov/media/image/19456

RESOURCES

StrongHearts Native Helpline 1-844-7NATIVE (762-8483) offering culturally- appropriate support and advocacy for American Indians and Alaska Natives experiencing domestic, dating, and sexual violence.

strongheartshelpline.org

National Indigenous Women’s Resource Center

niwrc.org/resource-topic/domestic-violence National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-8255

suicidepreventionlifeline.org

MIIGWECH

Many people and organizations helped make this book possible.

My children, for inspiring me. Sarah, my first reader- listener, believed in every draft of the story. Ethan, with his superpower of sardonic wit, kept me from taking myself too seriously. Chris was my go-to expert for hockey and shenanigans.

My firekeeper father and my strong, beautiful mother, who told me a never-ending love story. They also shared it with my siblings: Diane, Henry, Allan, and Sarah and Maria, who are telling it in the next world.

Authors Cynthia Leitich Smith and Debby Dahl Edwardson, who organized an unparalleled writing retreat for Native writers, LoonSong Turtle Island, with editors Arthur Levine, Yolanda Scott, and Cheryl Klein.

Ellen Oh, Dhonielle Clayton, Meg Cannistra, Miranda Paul, and everyone at We Need Diverse BooksTM, for their work in putting more books featuring diverse characters into the hands of children. Francisco X. Stork, my mentor in the WNDB mentorship program, whose kindness, talent, and generosity changed my life.

Laura Pegram and everyone at Kweli Color of Children’s Literature Conference, which will always have a special place in my heart. Beth Phelan, for organizing #DVpit, which was an invaluable part of my search for an agent.

Faye Bender, agent extraordinaire, for her astute guidance, industry reputation, and graciousness that makes her a rock

star in the literary world. There is a word in Anishinaabemowin for “beautiful woman” that encompasses the spirit and character of a truly wonderful person. I am beyond blessed to have Faye Bender, Mandaakwe, in my corner. The team at the Book Group, for helping me navigate the business of being an author. The international co-agents, for finding the best publishers to share Firekeeper’s Daughter around the world. And film agent Brooke Ehrlich at Anonymous Content, for a dream deal.

My editor Tiffany Liao, for scaring me in the best way possible during our first phone call when my manuscript was on submission. I never met anyone who talked so quickly and conveyed such a strong editorial vision for Firekeeper’s Daughter as Tiff did. She pledged to work with me to Indigenize the YA canon, strengthen the promise of the premise, and protect my voice every step of the way. Mission accomplished!

The team at Henry Holt Books for Young Readers and Macmillan, for fervently believing in Firekeeper’s Daughter as a publishing game-changer. Jon Yaged, for a moment that Faye and I will never forget. Jean Feiwel, Allison Verost, Molly Ellis, Mariel Dawson, Kathryn Little, Christian Trimmer, Katie Halata, Jennifer Edwards, Mary Van Akin, Katie Quinn, Morgan Rath, Johanna Allen, Allegra Green, Mark Podesta, Kristen Luby, Leigh Ann Higgins, Mandy Veloso, and so many others, for their incredible creativity, hard work, and passion. Macmillan Audio, especially Samantha Mandel and Steve Wagner, and actress Isabella LaBlanc (Dakota/Ojibwe), for bringing Daunis to audio-life.

Creative director Rich Deas, for designing a cover that is so spectacular and truly honors Anishinaabe art. Artist Moses Lunham (Ojibway), for his interpretation of Daunis’s journey. I can think of no higher compliment than to say the cover feels purely Nish, and I am grateful to Birchbark Books for hosting a virtual cover reveal event.

Numerous sources helped shape the story. Any errors are solely mine. Those I can thank publicly: Jeff Davis

(Chippewa), former assistant U.S. Attorney for the Western District of Michigan; Dr. Aaron Westrick, Associate Professor of Criminal Justice at Lake Superior State University; Walter Lamar (Blackfeet), former FBI agent; and Robert Marchand (Ojibwe), Chief of Police for the Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians. Invaluable assistance with Anishinaabemowin was provided by Dr. Margaret Noodin (Anishinaabe) and Michele Wellman-Teeple (Ojibwe). Destany Little Sky Pete (Shoshone-Paiute), for her science fair project on the medicinal properties of chokecherry pudding.

The Alexandria Women of Color Writers Group led by Kat Tennermann, Novuyo Masakhane, and Dr. Cynthia Johnson- Oliver.

Barb Gravelle Smutek, my best friend, for never hesitating to say, “A rez girl wouldn’t say that!” My friends, for their love and laughter: Chrissy, Sharon, Leslie, Anne, Laura D., Laura P., Bonnie, Audrey, Mary, Charmaine, Summer, Melissa, Dawn, Stacy, Traci, Carole, Ronalda, Ellen, Lori, Kim, Colleen, Debra-Ann, Elaine, Rachel & Bill, Phillip, Cinda, Stephanie, Dana, Yolanda, Marie, and many others.

Special shout-out to: Amber Boulley, for my official author photograph; Sione Aeschliman, for her editorial magic; Alia Jones, for research help; and Bill Matson, for every beautiful chapter in our children’s stories.

The readers, listeners, booksellers, educators, librarians, and book bloggers and vloggers, for embracing this debut.

My tribal community, cultural teachers, and ancestors, for being and sharing.

Chi Miigwech.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Angeline Boulley, an enrolled member of the Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians, is a storyteller who writes about her Ojibwe community in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. She is a former Director of the Office of Indian Education at the U.S. Department of Education. Angeline lives in southwest Michigan, but her home will always be on Sugar Island. Firekeeper’s Daughter is her debut novel. You can sign up for email updates here.