I’ve got a lot of problems to deal with here, more than I liked. I had to accept the nuns at their word. Their uniform would always be more commanding than the one I wore. Their story ached in my ears, because I was telling myself the same story, because somehow the blame rested with me, because I was Indian too. And Ernestine Chief Spear died, I thought, because she was Indian. She died because she was Indian, and Indians are stupid. Stupid, stupid, the whole while I attended the Ursulines’ the nuns told me how stupid Indians were, again and again, so many times that I began to believe we were stupid. The idea sank to my heart, and I would go home and sulk at the hard life I couldn’t escape, knowing my grandparents must be stupid, too, because they were so proud to speak a language that couldn’t be written. Illiterate. To the nuns we were all hopelessly stupid, unteachable, lost.

I’m not even sure why I chose to believe what the nuns told me when I was growing up or why sometimes their words still sting. Even Baptiste Yellow Knife refused to believe most of what they said. The nuns couldn’t get to him like they got to me. When Yellow Knife draws a sober breath he still says the old ways of our people are the best, the right path is simple and the right path is still living in the ways of our people. I can’t stand his self-righteousness. I’m seeing too many of our people stumbling toward an early grave, and he’s one of them. I’m seeing too many Indians who may be as stupid as the nuns gave them credit for. If the old ways are the best, the best is losing, and I want to win.

“When did you last check on Ernestine?” I asked.

Sister Simon told me Chief Spear had only been checked once that morning when her door was unlocked for breakfast. “We lock them in,” she said, “because Louise White Elk and Ernestine Chief Spear were climbing out on the fire escape or sneaking down to the boys’ corridor to smoke.” She squinted at me, suggesting something more. She handed me a key from her deep, black pocket and nodded her head toward the door at the end of the hall.