Redeemed

by Maggie Blackbird

  She blew her nose.

  Guilt niggled at the back of Adam’s head. Bridget wasn’t used to people telling her what she could or couldn’t do. This afternoon she’d experienced clipped wings from a merciless hawk.

  “Kwe...”

  “Bridget, we must have faith.” Emery set down the pot of tea he’d made.

  Adam cuddled Bridget’s waist. She’d handled the bullshit for too long while he’d scuttled to a corner, feeling sorry for himself. Emery was right. This was a chance for Adam to prove to his child and the woman he loved that they could lean on him during the toughest time they faced as a family.

  He looked to Emery. “I offered her legal guardianship of Kyle. The Hawk said I can’t.” Adam curled and uncurled his toes.

  “The who?” Emery’s face slackened.

  “The caseworker. Something about if Kyle’s in care, I can’t do anything, even give someone guardianship.”

  “You’re still Kyle’s father, but the province found you unfit to parent because you were incarcerated. Many foster parents adopt children through the system when the biological parents agree to give up their children.” Emery filled the three cups.

  “What happens is Children and Family Services contact the biological parents, present the formal adoption to them, and the biological parents decide if they wish to relinquish their children, while the children are still under the care of the province.” He set the pot on the pot holder. “You can pursue giving legal guardianship of Kyle to Bridget. Your caseworker gave you the wrong information.”

  “Really? That old bitch lied.” A snarl invaded Adam’s throat. He did stand a chance.

  Bridget’s knee twitched beneath his palm. She blinked back the tears threatening to spill over.

  Thoughtfulness reflected in Emery’s eyes. “I’ll leave you to discuss which route you want to take.” He glanced at the clock. “It’s seven-thirty. I still have to call Darryl.” He grabbed his tea. “Excuse me.”

  Adam’s hand remained on Bridget’s knee while Emery headed for the short hallway to the left of the living room. The sound of the door closing to Kyle’s room carried to where Adam remained on the sofa.

  “Kwe, I’m gonna handle this.”

  “How? You’re on parole. Mrs. Dale’s your caseworker.” Bridget again sniffled and sipped some tea.

  Adam sank into the sofa. She’d reminded him of his failures, but just because he’d gotten a big fat F in the past didn’t mean he’d receive another one. Think. Think. Think. “Remember that Raven broad who was protesting outside the church?”

  Bridget’s jawline tensed, but she nodded.

  “We talked. Told me I gotta think about others, too. Said giving back was more than helping other alcoholics. It’s why I wanted to help Cutter find out what happened to his daughter. It’s why we gotta...” To hell with his own apprehensions. Kyle and Bridget came first. “Help the other Anishinaabeg. A lot of our people lost their children. Lots are trying to get them back. People like The Hawk are making it hard for them.”

  He removed his hand from Bridget’s knee and retrieved his cigarettes from the coffee table. “It’d be easier if we let a lawyer handle this shit. But we gotta fight. It might take a bit longer to get Kyle back. We can talk to him about it. You’re gonna still see him every day. I still get my weekly visitation.”

  He stood. “C’mon. Need a smoke.”

  Bridget’s reflection followed Adam in the glass doors that led to the balcony. When he stepped outside, the chill of the night clung to his bare arms. Fall was on the way. He reached inside his pocket and withdrew a lighter.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s the right thing to do.” Her voice remained shaky. She wrapped her arms around his waist.

  He puffed on the cigarette and hugged Bridget’s shoulder, drawing her tight to his chest. Traffic hummed down below. He sucked on the filter. It’d been ages since they’d last stood like this at her place.

  “It is. I was only thinking about myself, thinking how I hurt you and Kyle. Didn’t wanna hurt you two anymore. Thought giving you legal guardianship would make things right.” He took a drag.

  “The meeting’s tomorrow night. At least Kyle understood.” Bridget sniffled. “I... I feel like we let him down.”

  “Hey, he’s okay.” Adam petted her hair. “He’s at Jude’s. He’s with Rebekah and Noah. He knows he’s loved there.”

  “What if we can’t live up to our promise?” She tilted her head upward. Fear flashed in her wide eyes.

  “We told him this was only for a little bit. He knows we’re coming for him.” Adam kept petting her hair.

  How he wished he could remain at Bridget’s place, let her sleep in his arms. But the old-timers at the recovery meetings would tell him first things first. Moving out of the halfway house and into Bridget’s pad wasn’t the right thing to do. Patience. Their priority was Kyle and Sheena.

  “I’ll see him next Wednesday.”

  “I’ll come and get you.”

  “For the meeting at IWA?”

  Bridget nodded.

  * * * *

  Bridget got in the truck. Emery rode shotgun. Although they were on their way to the halfway house to retrieve Adam for tonight’s meeting at the Indigenous Women’s Alliance, after praying the Rosary last night, she had something else planned as well. Tonight, she’d give her shrinking heart a reason to inflate.

  “It’s going to work out. Have faith.” Emery patted Bridget’s hand.

  “My faith’s a mess.” Bridget steered the truck from the parking lot. “Adam’s right. The easy route is gaining legal guardianship, but I can’t let down the other parents out there. The other children. Those who truly want to reconnect and become a family again. We owe it to them.”

  She stopped at the light that would take them on the Expressway. “The Indian Residential Schools destroyed many families. I know there are parents who are too caught up in their addictions to recover their children, but I want to help those who do want help.”

  “It’s never easy. Some never reconnect. Darryl’s a fine example.”

  Bridget’s chest heaved—her brother-in-law’s upbringing was so sad.

  “Some can’t ever get past the pain of colonization, while other’s can.” Emery sighed. “The most we can do is help those who want help. I can’t force someone who isn’t willing.”

  “True. The leading the horse to water thing.” Bridget kept her foot on the pedal as they zoomed along the expressway. Too bad she wasn’t stomping her favorite clunky-heeled leather shoe on Mrs. Dale’s face. No, she couldn’t think that way. Not after spending a long time reflecting with God last night.

  Here went nothing. “We should get some Reggie’s first.”

  “Sounds good. It’s Jude’s loss he’s a Coffee Coffee man. He must not be a true Matawapit.”

  A giggle invaded Bridget’s throat. Always, Emery made her laugh and kneaded away the tension in her shoulders. “Isn’t Darryl a Coffee Coffee man?”

  “I’m working on him. In time he’ll convert to Canada’s best. I’m not sure how he can drink that tar he calls coffee.”

  When Bridget glanced at her brother, his face mirrored a guy who’d drank a pile of ditchwater. How hilarious. It wasn’t often Emery made fun of another person. “Should I tell Darryl what you said?”

  Emery placed his finger over his red lips. “This stays between you and me.”

  Bridget pulled into the Reggie’s Donuts on Arthur Street. Mrs. Dale would be inside—off the clock, and maybe, just maybe, Bridget could get through to the rigid woman. This was the nasty witch’s last chance at redemption. If Bridget failed, they’d go to war. But at least her conscience was clear since she’d tried.

  “It’ll be faster if I go on in. Why don’t you take the truck to retrieve Adam? It’ll save us time.”

  She got out and dashed into the restaurant where a handful of people waited in line. Mrs. Dale also waited. Bridget smoothed her shirt and strode up to
her former caseworker.

  “I see you’re a Reggie’s fan, too.” Bridget kept her tone welcoming.

  Mrs. Dale’s eyes lacked any warmth. “I like to partake in a tea in the evening while I read my newspaper.”

  “I guess everyone enjoys a coffee at this hour. I’m getting a few.” She’d first offer the old woman a fistful of benevolence—something Bridget had a hunch Mrs. Dale rarely experienced. “I’ll get yours, too.”

  Mrs. Dale held up her hand. “That is not necessary. If you think gifts will manipulate me into reconsidering my—”

  “It was an offer I’d make to anyone.” Bridget couldn’t help the hiss of her tone at the woman daring to say she’d attempted bribery. “I’m sorry you think everyone can’t be sincere in their actions. I hope I don’t become as bitter.”

  Mrs. Dale’s perennial frozen eyes actually heated. Flames almost danced in her pupils.

  “I’ll have you know I am not bitter.” The old witch’s voice was as hot as her fiery gaze. “You don’t think I’ve been bribed, threatened, and deceived in my position? I’m very careful around clients.”

  “Well, I’m not a client anymore. You saw to that.” Bridget stepped aside to let the man who’d been served his coffee walk by.

  “Yes, I did. And I have a good hunch who is waiting in your vehicle.” Mrs. Dale sniffed.

  “You mean my brother?” At Mrs. Dale’s raised eyebrow, Bridget continued. “My younger brother. Emery. Remember? I had to give you my life story before I was allowed full care of Kyle. Don’t worry. Jude is watching Kyle like a good foster parent.”

  “I’m not worried. I never worry. Why would I when I have guidelines to follow? And the full support of my supervisor.”

  “I guess that’s all that matters are guidelines.” Again, Bridget stepped aside to let another customer who’d been served walk by.

  “Am I supposed to consider something else?”

  “Maybe one size doesn’t fit all. Are each family’s unique circumstances taken into consideration?”

  “As I said—there are guidelines to follow.” Mrs. Dale huffed up to the counter and fired her battle-axe stare at the attendant. “One medium tea. A teaspoon, exactly, of skim milk. One package of artificial sweetener. Please ensure to stir precisely fifty times so the contents are fully blended.”

  “I’m paying for her order.” Bridget set her purse on the counter. “Three large coffees. Two double-doubles, and one with two milk and two sweeteners.”

  “I already told you, I cannot—”

  “You’re not at work and you’re no longer my caseworker.” Bridget handed the attendant a twenty.

  “If everything is off the record, then I accept.” Mrs. Dale held her nose high.

  “Yes, off the record. I fight fair and square. Never dirty. It goes against who I am.” Bridget plunked the change into her wallet and zipped the purse closed.

  “I see you ordered three coffees when you told me your brother is in the vehicle.”

  Mrs. Dale was actually inviting a conversation? Bridget almost gasped. “Emery’s on his way to get Adam. The three of us are going to a meeting at the Indigenous Women’s Alliance.”

  The attendant handed Mrs. Dale her tea. Then the girl set Bridget’s order on the counter in a cardboard tray.

  “We have some concerns with Children and Family Services. We intend on discussing them tonight.”

  “Really?” Mrs. Dale withdrew the paper tucked under her arm and held it out. “Perhaps you’ll discuss this, too.”

  Bridget grasped the paper. Her throat dried at the article detailing Sheena Keesha’s life—her father’s incarceration for second-degree murder, his membership in the Winnipeg Warriors, and her mother’s death from alcoholism. The personal information came from a neighbor interviewed by the press, whose daughter had known Sheena in school. The article went on about Sheena’s confusion and grief, and her numerous half siblings conceived by a convicted murderer callously impregnating many native women and not sticking around to be a proper father.

  “I’m not giving anyone a free pass.” Bridget’s head lightened. She had to force the words out, since her tongue was drier than the Antarctic. “We have choices. But there’re those who’re broken, not damaged, but broken, and can’t make choices.”

  “There are always choices. You had choices, did you not?” Mrs. Dale snatched the paper. She strode to a table, motioning for Bridget to follow.

  Bridget sat opposite the cold woman. The coffees remained in the cardboard tray. She opened her blend of milk and sweetener. “Yes, I had choices. But I was raised by two loving parents.”

  Mrs. Dale set the newspaper on the table, keeping the article on Sheena Keesha faceup. “It does not matter who raised you. Even if you grew up in dire circumstances, you would have succeeded.”

  “Easy to say, but living in hell’s different. I don’t know how life would’ve shaped me if I grew up in a less fortunate home.”

  “Please, Ms. Matawapit.” Mrs. Dale waved her hand in a dismissing manner. “You would have succeeded. You have the spirit to succeed.”

  “It’s not a matter of spirit.”

  “For you to accomplish what you have so far, it takes drive and determination. You do not use your past as an excuse. Believe me when I say you would have succeeded, no matter the odds.”

  “My ex-fiancé’s determined to succeed this time.” Bridget lifted her chin.

  The fine lines around Mrs. Dale’s eyes formed to wrinkles resembling a crow’s feet. Her long thin nose scrunched. “He will not succeed. After thirty-five years as a social worker, I know who will and who won’t. Experience has taught me much about people. He uses his past as an excuse.”

  Squaring her shoulders, Bridget leaned into the table. “Is there anyone you believe in?”

  “I believe in the children.” Mrs. Dale harrumphed. “I am always about the children. My job is to ensure each child is placed in a decent home where they will be cared for as stated in the guidelines. I inspect each home thoroughly. I interview each potential foster parent thoroughly. I am about the welfare of the children.”

  “If you believe in your guidelines, you know your position’s to reunite families.”

  “I’m a realist. The majority of families will not be reunited. Parents do not have the ambition to obtain custody of their children. They’d rather use excuses to drink, partake of illegal drugs...”

  The scowl in Bridget’s chest rose. “Not all Indigenous people are—”

  “No. They’re not. Your family is a fine example. Your brother is a principal for a Catholic school. His wife is a nurse practitioner. They have a fine home in a fine neighborhood. They are active in their church.

  “Your father is a deacon. Your mother devoted her life to raising children capable of contributing to society, not burdens. Your younger brother has his Bachelor of Social Work. He is studying to become a priest to help the less fortunate.”

  “Emery’s married now. He’s starting his master’s in January.”

  “Oh... well. See what I mean? His MSW to help the less fortunate.”

  “What happened?” Bridget’s shoulders seemed to sink where her purse rested on the floor. There was no getting through to this woman.

  “Excuse me?” Mrs. Dale lifted her coffee.

  “What happened to make you the way you are today?”

  Mrs. Dale’s gasped. “My personal life is none of your business.”

  “Not buying.” Bridget shook her head. “Something must’ve happened to you as to why you’re so jaded.”

  “I’m. Not. Jaded.”

  “I think you are.” Frustration and disgust lingered on Bridget’s tongue. “I’ve never met anyone so cynical in my life. I feel sorry for you.”

  “Sorry?” Mrs. Dale sputtered. Her narrowed eyes widened. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me. I’ve done quite well, considering my circumstances. I see treasures when those children come under my care, however, their parents do not. If I had childre
n, they would have been molded into responsible adults.”

  “Is this why you are the way you are? Because you couldn’t have children?”

  “I had every opportunity to have children. But when your husband passes on before you can begin planning a family, you cannot have children, can you?”

  Mrs. Dale’s honesty and sincerity annihilated the negative emotions coursing through Bridget’s veins. “Thank you for sharing. I appreciate you taking me into your confidence.”

  The wrinkles around Mrs. Dale’s eyes softened. Warmth saturated the gray of her irises like a cozy, sunless day. “You’re welcome.” Her bony chest heaved.

  Bridget almost reached for Mrs. Dale’s hand, but just as fast she stuffed the gesture of compassion into her coat pocket. The caseworker wasn’t a person who accepted sympathy. “I mean it. It helps me understand why you want the best for children in care.”

  “Then I’m glad you understand why I placed Kyle with your brother. As I said, men like your ex-fiancé never change. Mr. Guimond comes from a dysfunctional home. And I say this from experience, he will pass on the poor parenting skills he acquired from his mother and father to Kyle.”

  Tension of steel invaded Bridget’s muscles.

  “I hope for Kyle’s sake you will not rekindle a relationship with that man, but I sense you already have, although you refuse to admit as much.” Mrs. Dale sipped her tea. “Kyle’s drawing spoke volumes.”

  A bing came from Bridget’s cell phone. She checked the message. Emery and Adam were in the parking lot. “I have to go. It was nice speaking to you.”

  Mrs. Dale nodded.

  Bridget’s hope seemed to drag along the floor. She’d failed, even when God had told her to give the woman one last chance. Now they’d go to war.

  Chapter Thirty-six: Under the Gun

  Seven people surrounded the boardroom table at the Indigenous Women’s Alliance. Emery was on hand to advise them. He’d also volunteered to take minutes so the committee members could freely speak. Bridget sat at the head of the table, chairing the meeting.