At school the next day, things are just as bad as I figured.

“Hey! Loretta! We used to have Copper Kings here! Now I hear we got a Craps King!”

“That your old man I seen rolling dice behind Batho’s store? Must have been; he had snake-eyes!”

I can’t stand it. When Joan sees me coming toward her, she loses herself in a group of girls who all stare and whisper. Even Mr. Majec knows something is wrong, but he can’t do anything about it. Teachers never can. I hold my head up and ignore them, even though tears burn at the back of my eyes. I wonder how Teddy is handling this, then I think, “Serves him right, whatever he gets. He’ll learn not to have such a big mouth!”

I try to concentrate on Mr. Majec’s lesson.

“The next class assignment, which will count for twenty-five percent of our Easter exam mark, is an essay on some aspect of our local history,” Mr. Majec says. “You can write about British Columbia’s flora and fauna, its people, its history, anything you choose. Hand it in by next Monday.”

I somehow make it through the day. After school, I pick up Teddy in front of his classroom and make him come to the school library with me. I have to get books for my essay, and I want to avoid being taunted as we walk home.

Teddy is quiet, which is the way I prefer it.

“I know you’re still mad at me, Loretta,” he says, as he follows me around the library.

“I’m not mad, I’m hurt,” I say, which should make him feel even more miserable. “You ought to know after Eagle, Fairbanks, and Weasel City that we can never talk about Bean-Trap’s business. I can’t believe you mouthed off in front of Joan.”

“I’m sorry. I just forgot.”

I kneel down so I’m at eye level with him. “Never forget again, okay? He may be different from most Dads, but he loves us, and he’s all we’ve got.”

Tears come to Teddy’s eyes. I leave him sitting on a chair, while I go to the history section.

I find books on every subject from the fur trade to native migrations and settlements along both sides of the Canada-U.S. border, and then I find a subject that jumps out at me-the trek made by Chief Joseph and the Nez Perce. I check out a couple of books, and we leave to go home.

Angel is at the door to meet us. We call him our “watch-cat,” because he’s just as sharp and protective of our home as a dog could be. I scoop him up in my arms.

“That cat’s got a purr like a well-oiled roulette wheel!” Bean-Trap exclaims. He has supper for us: bacon, eggs and apple pancakes-his specialty!

“What’s the occasion?” I ask. He grins and turns back to the grille. “Had a good night last night. Payday at the mines!”

Okay, I’m going to tell him. He should know how hard it is for us to hide from other kids what he does for a living. I’m tired of running, lying, pretending, doing all the things that I, and Teddy, have to do to protect our secret. I’m tired of being the gambler’s daughter.

“Something happened yesterday....”

“It’s my fault!” Teddy pipes up. “Let me tell, Loretta. Dad, I squealed.”

Bean-Trap becomes pale under his unshaven whiskers. He sets down the pancake flipper and slowly turns from the grille. “You did what?”

Teddy swallows hard. Two bright red spots appear on his cheeks. “I blabbed. I talked about, you know, your business, in front of Loretta’s friend, Joan Myers. Joan told everyone. Now no one will talk to us.”

“Joan Myers,” Bean-Trap repeats.

“Yes. My friend-my ex-best friend!” I say.

“That wouldn’t be Sal Myers’ kid, would it?”

“I guess so. They own Sal’s Fashions for the Family downtown on Windsor Street.”

He throws back his head and lets out a big guffaw. His gold teeth gleam. What’s going on?

“Dad!”

He wipes the flipper on the leg of his pants and slips it beneath a big pancake, turning it expertly.

He turns to face us. “Look, I ain’t a squealer. Those kind end up in the river wearing concrete boots. But let me tell you a little joke. You’re nobody in this town unless you’ve got at least one ancestor who was crooked. Understand that.”

He sets the flipper on the side of the grille, pulls out a kitchen chair and sits down, facing us.

“Once upon a time there was a man who wanted to turn a dime into a dollar. He’d tried ‘legit’ ways-running a grocery store, a butcher shop, a clothing store-but these were penny-ante trades. He’d make a few bucks, then spend them to buy his next season’s stock or fix up the shop. So he gets the idea he should ‘invest’ his Christmas sale money in poker. When he won, he’d have cash to expand his store, maybe take the family on a little holiday-most apples’ dreams.”

“Yours too?” Teddy says with a smirk.

“Well, we’re worlds apart, this man and me. You see, I don’t trust Lady Luck as much as he did. I hedge my bets a little-”

“Like with cold-decks!” Teddy says.

Bean-Trap looks at him curiously. “Good memory, son. Combine that with ‘going on the Erie’ and you’ll make a good businessman. Now-”

“Going on the Erie?”

“Keeping silent. Code as old as time. Eyes and ears open, mouth shut. Now, this man, he don’t know what he’s up against. He plays, badly. Can’t remember nothin’. Gets panicky. Bids crazy. I say to him, ‘Mister, you better cool it for a night. Take your losses, go home, think about it, maybe come back in a month or so.’ But no, he insists on staying, and it’s no go. Dice are cold. Well, I ain’t a priest, or a financial counselor, so I let him go on.”

Bean-Trap stands to scoop the bacon to one side of the pan so the grease will drain, then he cracks a half-dozen eggs. They sizzle as they hit the hot pan.

“So what happened to this man?” I ask.

“Well, you might see a certain store go up for sale here pretty quick. It’s a sad story, but one based on stupidity and greed. So don’t get thinking you’re not as good as some other people. Everyone’s got skeletons in their closets, everyone’s got secrets. You ain’t no rabbit-so don’t run like one.”

“You mean, it was Joan’s father? Are the Myers’ going to lose the store?”

He holds up his hand. “No! No! ‘Go on the Erie,’ remember? Ears and eyes open-mouth shut. But if you get hassled by anyone, you tell me, okay?”

I nod. Angel has stopped purring, as if he, too, has been listening to the story-or maybe it’s just the bacon grease that has captured his attention.

We eat a supper fit for a king. The wood blazes in the cook-stove, the food is delicious, and there are no cards in sight.

On Monday, I hand in my essay. The following day, Mr. Majec motions for me to stay after class.

“That’s quite a piece you wrote, Loretta,” he says. “It deserves the ‘A’ that I’ve given it. It brings out a very important, though perhaps shameful, aspect of North American history. I’d like you to read it to the class. Do you think you could do that?”

Oh, boy. Many of the kids’ families have lived on both sides of the border-perhaps they were part of the problems! But, no one is speaking to me now, so what does it matter if they like me even less after my essay is read?

CHIEF JOSEPH AND THE NEZ PERCE
by Loretta Benedictson

In 1877, the U.S. federal government tried to force the Nez Perce (which means “pierced nose”) Indians out of their home in north-eastern Oregon, so that white settlers could have their fertile and valuable lands. That started the Nez Perce Wars.

Eight hundred Indians, their leaders including Chief Joseph, and horses headed through Washington, Idaho, and Montana, then north through what’s now called Yellowstone Park. They were trying to reach Canada, where they felt they would be treated better.

But the army followed, and battles were fought along the trail. The Nez Perce fought bravely because they were armed with pride, hope-and humour. When they camped, even though they were hungry and death stared them in the face, they told jokes so that their tired minds and bodies could relax.

The army caught up to them forty-five miles from the Canadian border at Bear’s Paw Canyon. The Battle of Bear’s Paw lasted four horrible days, in cold, snowy weather.

After Chief Looking Glass and Joseph’s brother had been shot, and others, including children, were dead, wounded, freezing or starving, Chief Joseph had to call it quits.

“Hear me, my chiefs, I am tired,” he said. “My heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more.”

Chief Joseph, whose Indian name means “Thunder Travelling Across a Lake and Fading on the Mountainside,” died in 1904. Some say he died of a broken heart.

The years since this battle have been very hard for native people of North America.

Before Mr. Majec or the kids can say anything, I decide to head right into it. “I have another story about injustice, but it’s not written here,” I say.

The room is silent. All eyes are on me.

“A gambler made a bet with the Devil that he’d find on his travels an honest man; the Devil bet he couldn’t. He at last came to British Columbia, where he decided to test people, one by one beginning with the important people.

“The Devil found that the gambler himself was one of the most honest people around-because he admitted what he did for a living, while others lied and tried to hide it.”

I look over the class, at Tommy Turcotte who has a slight smile on his face, at Joan Myers whose eyes are downcast, at the rest of the kids who look at each other and then at Mr. Majec. Then someone starts to titter. I see a smile begin to break over Joan’s face. Tommy Turcotte lets out a big guffaw. The sound builds, from one side of the room to the other, until the class, and Mr. Majec too, join in the laughter.

Joan stands up and begins to clap. Others, not quite sure of what’s going on stand too, and applaud as I walk back to my desk beside Joan’s.