" What capacity the Indians had not to worry. In Deerfield, all had been worry. Worry about the Lord, worry about sin. Worry about today, worry about tomorrow. Worry about crops, worry about children.
But Indians set worry down.
The next day, Mercy didn’t see Ruth once, nor the day after that, nor the third day. Finally she sought out Otter. “Is Spukumenen ill?” said Mercy anxiously.
“She has been sold,” said Otter. “She is in Montreal with the French nuns.”
Mercy was astonished.
He had sold Ruth? This man who had accepted everything Ruth had ever done--from throwing packs to kicking him in the shins? From wearing French clothing to refusing to speak a syllable of Mohawk?
“When she could not let you mourn your father, it was best for her to go,” said Otter.
Mercy wanted to sob. Difficult as Ruth was, Mercy would miss her terribly. She was Mercy’s only enduring link to Deerfield. “Would you tell me why you gave her a second name, Otter? Let the Sky In?”
“She never told you? I am not surprised. She looked two ways on this. Once on the march, she and I stood at the edge of an ice cliff and it was I who lost our argument. I fell over and was much damaged. Ruth risked her life to save me,” he said, using the English name Ruth had refused to surrender. “Without her, I would not again have seen the sky. But she was not glad to have done it. It was punishment for her to give me life.”
Ruth had saved the life of her father’s killer?
Oh, poor Ruth! Carrying her good deed with her! Knowing it was equally a bad deed!
Otter rested a hand on Mercy’s shoulder. “Your Ruth is well. She will not miss us. We will miss her, for she did bring our sky in. Someday in Montreal, you will see her again. Now go with the children and play. You have mourned enough. "
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