“Until seven-thirty.” Bridget pointed at the clock. “Go get changed. Dad’s going to cook, and I’m going to set the table.”
“Okay. Okay.” Kyle swiped up his backpack and trudged to his bedroom.
The first thing Bridget had done after the meeting yesterday was retrieve Kyle’s belongings from Jude’s and cart everything back to the condo. She squealed and did a little victory dance.
“When’s that meeting again for Sheena?” Adam lumbered into the kitchen, carrying the bag of groceries.
“Next week. Have you spoken to Cutter?” Bridget pranced after him to the kitchen.
“Nope. Can’t have contact with other felons.” Adam emptied the groceries and set them on the counter. “But he’s got his ways of hearing what’s happening on the outside. We all do.”
He washed his hands. “I think The Hawk and that foster parent are in big trouble. She didn’t look too happy yesterday.”
“My intention wasn’t to cause trouble for Mrs. Dale. I even gave her a chance to make amends when I visited her at Reggie’s Donuts last month, but she refused to take it. Sheena was one of her cases. The investigation’s already underway. Next week, we’ll hear what Children and Family Services will do to ensure this doesn’t happen again.”
She had no desire to see Mrs. Dale fired. Bridget’s intentions were to make sure children were properly supervised so another child didn’t get into drugs and alcohol.
“Now what’s eating your brain, kwe?” Adam stood at the island, cutting uncooked chicken into thin strips.
“We’re a family now, but Sheena and Logan will never be.” Bridget meandered around the island and stopped behind Adam. She hugged his waist.
“Who says they’re not?” Adam kept slicing the chicken breasts. “Have some faith. I say they’re in a better place.”
The phone call Bridget had received at work still irked her. Kyle had been assigned a new caseworker. Mrs. Dale had resigned. Bridget vacated the truck at Reggie’s Donuts. Sure enough, the witch sat at a table by the window reading her newspaper.
How cowardly to leave and retire on a cushy pension after what the woman had done. Bridget trounced inside the restaurant and barreled straight for the table.
“Searching me out again?” Mrs. Dale sipped her tea.
Bridget plunked in the opposite chair. “You won’t be present at the meeting next week? I see you decided to retire.”
“I’m sixty-eight. It’s time I traveled. I’m also considering becoming a snowbird. My older sister lives in Florida. A beautiful retirement community.”
Bridget bristled. “That’s it? You don’t want to answer to everyone about Sheena Keesha?”
“Now that I’m no longer officially an employee of Children and Family Services, I’m going to speak my mind, young lady.” Mrs. Dale set aside her tea. “As you thought to tell me, there are those who are fixable and those who are broken.”
“I see, and Sheena was broken?”
“Very much so. When a child comes into care, they must be young or they will fail. From my interviews, I know which ones will withstand the system and go on to become productive members of society, while others will not. Kyle stands a chance. Excuse me, he did, until you decided to push him back into a life I strove to keep him from.”
“Excuse me?” Bridget sputtered. “He’s doing extremely well. His grades are excellent. He enjoys school. He’s learning about his culture from his dad. He’s going to become an altar server once he receives his First Communion. He loves his extracurricular activities. He sleeps well at night.”
“For the time being.” Mrs. Dale raised her hand, palm facing Bridget. “But once the novelty wears off for Mr. Guimond, I guarantee Kyle will experience the same unstable environment his father did. You’ve proven to me you are not as strong as I thought you were, by allowing that man into your life again, after what he put you and Kyle through. You think nothing of the child’s feelings. You Indian women and your vaginas.”
Never was Bridget so insulted. The bitch was referring to women who had children with various partners. “Maybe you should consider using your vagina now and then. If you had, you would’ve found solace in your job by helping families to reunite. Helping children in need.”
“Oh, my job provided satisfaction. The same for the children who could be saved. But day after day, Indian after Indian, giving the same excuses...” Mrs. Dale’s face contorted. “How many times are your people going to use colonization and the residential schools as an excuse for being unfit parents? When are you going to stop blaming the government and move on?”
“What happened was only recent. The last residential school closed in nineteen ninety-six. And consider this. Your government was so intent on Westernizing us that you forgot to take the good with the bad. Yes, many of us are productive members of society. Good little Indians kowtowing to the system, people as yourself like to think. However, you also taught us your bad qualities. Right?” The old crank could chew on that.
“Another excuse.” Mrs. Dale sniffed. “A quarter of Canada’s prison population is Indigenous. Your fiancé is one of them.”
“Was. W.A.S. Past tense.”
“Your population is growing faster than any other race in our country. As a former social worker, do you know how many of them are in care? The number is no surprise. Those women have babies they don’t have the wherewithal to care for. Mentally, emotionally, physically, and financially. I bet you see more than your fair share at your work place.”
“Yes, I do, and what I see are women determined to educate themselves for better jobs and a better life for themselves and their children.”
“Oh please.” Mrs. Dale flicked her hand. “They receive financial aid to attend school. They also receive daycare aid. It’s free money to them.”
“Free money?” There was no getting through to this woman. “You know, I feel sorry for you.”
“Sorry?” Mrs. Dale’s face reddened, and fire flashed in her gray eyes.
“Yes. Sorry. You haven’t enjoyed your life since your husband died. Maybe you didn’t even enjoy it before he died.”
“How dare you.” Mrs. Dale blinked rapidly. “You know nothing—”
“I don’t need to be privy to your personal life to see what kind of person you are.” Bridget stood. “It shows in your face and the way you judge an entire race based on a few bad apples. No, First Nations people aren’t perfect. We have our good and bad like any other population, but people like you refuse to see the good. Instead, you lump us into—”
“I told you once before I classed you as a good person. You’re a hard worker. Financially successful. A great career. A good heart with the amount of volunteer work you do. It’s too bad you let that man—”
“You never thought of me as your equal. You saw me as a good little Indian who conformed. Nothing more.” Bridget snatched her purse. “Enjoy the rest of your miserable life.”
Bridget marched out the door of the restaurant and straight to the truck. Her heart bloomed. Yes, it’d been awesome to tell off the bitter Mrs. Dale, who’d die a lonely, angry woman.
Chapter Thirty-nine: Keys to the Kingdom
Adam opened the truck door to a squirming Kyle, who’d flung off his seat belt. “Let’s go, Dad! Let’s go! You gotta see it!”
“See it? I helped you decorate the tree.” Laughter filled Adam’s chest. He threw his arm around Kyle. They meandered up the walkway he’d shoveled the other day.
A three-bedroom bungalow. He still shivered at the brown siding and brick wainscoting, big picture window, front porch where he liked to sit and smoke a cigarette, and flowerbeds covered in snow that Bridget would tend in the spring.
Next October he’d call this crib home, instead of having to leave every evening, much to Kyle’s dismay. Each time his son whimpered when Adam headed off to catch the bus to his twelve-step meeting, his heart shrunk.
“Won’t be long. You’ll be eight. And I’ll be an old man of thirty-nine wh
en we all live here.”
Bridget trailed behind them. “Gimme a sec.” Her keys jangled.
Adam opened the porch door. He’d fixed up the cozy pad to accommodate a table and chairs. “Boots off, kiddo.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Kyle snickered and removed his heavy winter boots.
Adam also kicked his off. When he entered the house, his breathing rattled at the living room full of the same classy furniture that had been moved from the condo. After the New Year, he’d save some money to buy some of his own furnishings to add his stamp on the home.
The tree they’d decorated Sunday evening stood in front of the picture window. Already, Adam had wrapped Kyle’s presents. They were back at the rooming house. The clincher was Bridget’s engagement ring. She deserved a Hollywood movie star rock, but he couldn’t afford something like that. The savings he’d scrounged up had gone to presents.
He sank in the plush armchair. Part of him wished he could call Cutter. Even though the Indigenous Women’s Alliance had met with Children and Family Services, talks still dragged on. Red fucking tape. Maybe in two or three or even five years they’d see some kind of changes, but the province moved at a slow pace. Survey this. Question that. Reports. Committees. On the bright side, the protest walk had gotten the ball rolling.
“I started the kettle. Want some tea?” Bridget curled up on the sofa.
“Nah. I’m good.”
“Is Children and Family Services decision still bothering you?”
“I expected it.” Adam ran his hand through his hair. “I told you back in September. Going through these kinds of channels takes forever. I should know. I sat on remand for a year and a half before the judge finally got off his ass. Ain’t nothing new there.
“C’mere.” He patted his lap.
Bridget rose. “Yes, something concrete would’ve been nice, but it’s a start. I’ve been on this board for a million years and I’m used to waiting. Always waiting.”
Her firm buttocks rubbed against his thighs. She laced her arm around his shoulder. “Look at the positive. We get to spend Christmas together as a family. Mom, Dad, Emery, and Darryl are flying in on Boxing Day. We’ll get to see them for five days before they go back to the rez. You get to cook the turkey. And your curfew was upped to eleven.”
“My curfew.” Adam chuckled.
“Pretty quick you’ll be curfew free.” She traced her finger along his jawline.
“I’ll still be on parole. Got two more years to serve.”
“That doesn’t matter. You’re not going to do anything to violate your conditions.” She pecked the top of his head.
“Nope. Those days are done.” He rubbed the small of her back. “I wish there was a better answer for Cutter.”
“That’s how it goes. It’s why we have to continue to fight. If we don’t, they’ll keep walking over us and taking away our rights.” Bridget sighed. “And that’s why I’ll always serve on the board.”
“You do a lot for everyone, kwe. You taught me a lot.”
“I’d say it works both ways. I learned lots from you. Lookit Logan. I never would’ve gotten to know him if it wasn’t for you. The sad part is, to the rest of the world, he’s another drug addict who overdosed. Through you, I met the man behind the needle. And he was a good kid who had too much stacked against him.”
“Yeah.” Adam’s chest still tightened at losing Logan. They should have gotten their own crib as planned. “They’re a lot more Logans out there.”
“Mmm-hmm. Mrs. Dale’s right in some ways. I’ll give her that. Not all can be saved. But we can help as many as we can. It’s too bad we can’t foster other children.”
“We can’t?”
“Not with your record.” She brushed her hand through his hair.
Again, he’d let her down. “I’m sorry, kwe.”
“Don’t be. You help other alcoholics in the program. You helped Logan.”
“Yep. Helped him as best as I could.” He stroked her cheekbone. “What about you? You think too much about others. What do you want?”
“I want Kyle. And I want you.”
“That’s it?”
“What else could I ask for? The two of you complete me. I’ve never been happier.”
“If we can’t foster other kids, what about one of our own?”
“We do have one of our own.” She grinned.
“Then I guess we’d better let you adopt him, hey?”
“I’d love that.”
“We should think about another one. I’m turning thirty-nine in April. I ain’t getting any younger.”
“Okay. We can. But we’d better wait a few months. I don’t want to be sticking out to here when Jude walks me down the aisle.” Her hand cupped the air in front of her flat stomach.
“A few months. I guess we’d better keep practicing, then.”
“Practice sounds very tempting. But you have a meeting to go to tonight, and our son doesn’t go to sleep until after you leave. How about Saturday? He’s sleeping over at Jude’s. Hmm?” Her black eyes twinkled.
“It’s a date.”
They rubbed the tips of their noses together. Adam slid his lips over Bridget’s warm mouth.
Footsteps padded across the carpet. “I put everything away. What’re we gonna do now, Dad?”
Bridget broke the kiss just as Kyle barreled to Adam.
“Easy. Easy. I got enough room for two.” Adam patted his thigh.
Bridget wiggled over.
Kyle slid onto Adam’s other thigh. “No kissing. That’s gross.”
“Gross?” Bridget burst into a fit of giggles.
The booming chuckle gathered in Adam’s chest, and he threw his head back, unable to contain the mighty roar of laughter.
His faith had paid off. He’d redeemed himself for the two people sitting on his lap. A man couldn’t ask for anything more than being a husband to the woman he loved and a father to the son he’d give his life for.
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Blessed
Maggie Blackbird
Excerpt
A meeting package bound in black spiral coils landed on the keyboard of Darryl’s laptop. Only one person possessed the audacity to toss stuff at him. He looked up.
Clayton stood in front of the desk, irritation hardening his dark eyes and a scowl twisting his thin lips into a grimace. He rapped the meeting package. “Did you read this?”
Darryl flung aside his pen. So much for getting work done. “I only got mine an hour ago. It’s ten o’clock. I have a list of stuff to do before I clock out for the weekend.”
“Read it now. It’s not good.”
Did this man live to order people about? “I have one already. Here. Take yours.” Darryl seized his copy off the to-do tray. He shucked Clayton’s package back at him. “Gimme a second. Why don’t you get a coffee or something from the staff room?”
Clayton strutted to the door. “Are there any muffins left?”
“Yeah. Fresh, too. So you’d better hurry before they’re all gone.” If Darryl didn’t do something to push this guy along, he’d have to endure another long-winded speech about the old ways and how they must preserve their culture.
Damn straight protecting the Anishinaabe traditions was important, but listening to Clayton drone on in his know-it-all tone gave Darryl ten headaches. He sank in the chair and flipped through the pages.
When the letter appeared, he sat up.
Dear Chief and Band Council,
Four years ago, Christ the King Parish hosted Healing the Spirit, a workshop developed by the diocese to reconcile First Nations and Christian communities by initiating recovery for the generations traumatized by the Indian Residential Schools the Canadian Government imposed on the Indigenous people throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.
Thirty people from Ottertail Lake attended. Based on the participants’ evaluations of the curriculum and facilitators, they deemed the workshop a success and comm
enced their spiritual healing journey.
Last year, additional members of Ottertail Lake approached the parish and requested another workshop. At the pastoral council meeting held in January, we passed a motion to host a second Healing the Spirit for this forthcoming September.
Although Christ the King Parish and the diocese can cover various expenses, we are seeking a financial contribution to offset costs, since special facilitators trained to deliver the workshop will require airplane fare to travel to our isolated First Nations community.
If Chief and Band Council could assist with a $500.00 gift, we would be most delighted.
Attached is information on the workshop. If you require a presentation, I am more than willing to meet with Ottertail Lake’s most esteemed leadership.
Yours in Christ,
Deacon Norman Matawapit, Christ the King Parish
M.Ed., M.T.S.
Darryl’s muscles constricted and then quivered. He dropped the meeting package on his desk. The request for money shouldn’t shock him. Deacon Matawapit and his precious church did nothing but take from the reserve.
Clayton leaned against the doorway. He held a mug and muffin and wore his usual smug smile. “Say it. I was right, wasn’t I? What are we going to do? It’s Friday. The meeting’s on Monday.”
Through gritted teeth, Darryl choked out, “Give me time to review this. We can meet at the diner this evening.”
“See ya then.” Clayton disappeared from the entryway. The heels of his boots clicked against the floor.
Darryl huffed across the room and kicked the door shut. The noise in the hallway vanished.
Healing the Spirit. He shook his head. This time he wasn’t running to Winnipeg to lick his wounds. He’d face the Matawapits head-on after what they’d done to him.
“Gimme one sec.” A tray of drinks rested against Raven’s flat stomach. She trudged to a back table where a group of teenaged girls huddled. They giggled and pointed at one another’s cell phone screens.
Redeemed Page 34
