In the midst of a battle for leadership at their Ojibway community, two enemies of opposing families fall in love...
After suffering a humiliating divorce, infuriated Catholic Jude Matawapit bolts to his family’s Ojibway community to begin a new job—but finds himself thrown into a battle for chief as his brother-in-law’s campaign manager. The radical Kabatay clan, with their extreme ideas about traditional Ojibway life, will stop at nothing to claim the leadership position and rid the reserve of Western culture and its religion once and for all, which threatens not only the non-traditional people of the community, but Jude’s chance at a brand-new life he’s creating for his children.
Recovering addict Raven Kabatay will do anything to win the respect and trust of her older siblings and mother after falling deep into drug addiction that brought shame and anger to her family. Not only does she have the opportunity to redeem herself by becoming her brother’s campaign manager for chief—if he wins, she’ll have the reserve’s backing to purchase the gold-mine diner where she works, finally making something of herself. But falling in love with the family’s sworn enemy—the deacon’s eldest son, Jude—will not just betray the Kabatay clan. It could destroy everything Raven believes in and has worked so hard for.
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Sanctified
Copyright © 2019 Maggie Blackbird
ISBN: 978-1-4874-2663-7
Cover art by Martine Jardin
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Sanctified
Matawapit Family Book 3
By
Maggie Blackbird
Dedication
For my brother and sisters: Curtis, Connie, Christine, and Allison
Thank you to my husband and the Mals for your never-ending support and love.
A big thank you to my editor Emmy, my proofer Bri, my cover artist Martine, EIC Jay, and Art Director Angela.
Chapter One: Breakdown in Paradise
Jude signed away the last of his marriage, signed away the last of the life he’d built since his first year at university. Finished by a simple signature on a piece of paper.
He tossed aside the pen. It rolled across the polished surface of the boardroom table and bumped into another one, the same as his ex-wife had bumped into another man. A man who was supposed to be Jude’s friend and colleague, the very man Jude had introduced to Charlene and their two children, a man who’d eaten dinner at his house.
Stephen Baker wasn’t even here to witness the destruction he’d caused. He was living his brand-spanking-new life in Kenora with Charlene.
The secretary poked her head in the room. “Mr. Matawapit, would you like another cup of coffee?”
“This past year, I’ve consumed enough to cause a bean shortage in Brazil.” Jude shoved back the chair in the same way he’d shoved away the anger, bitterness, and disgust when Charlene had broken down and admitted to the affair.
“Save the cup for the next guy who has to come in here and sign away his life.” He handed the secretary the mug she’d given him earlier, after leading him to the boardroom to address his divorce papers in private. She’d led many a man or woman to this room of wood wainscoting, leather chairs, polished hardwood floors, and coffered ceiling.
The lawyers should be able to afford fancy furnishings, at the rate they’d charged Jude for an uncontested divorce. A great pity to the poor suckers who couldn’t mediate their split and had to march into court to fight over the kids, money, possessions, and the house.
When Jude stepped outside, big fat snowflakes fell from the overcast sky. He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets.
There she stood in the parking lot, beside her fancy sports truck—little sister Bridget in a knitted cabled toque to match her fluffy high-collared black swing coat with the big buttons. Even five months pregnant she was classy as always, just like Charlene had dressed.
“You’re not at work.” Jude strolled over.
“I got you a Coffee Coffee.” Bridget held out the paper travel cup.
“Coffee Coffee? Seriously?” Even though he’d become officially divorced moments ago, Jude couldn’t help the smirk tugging at his lips. “C’mon, you’re not supposed to show the enemy any pity. Get me your famous tar you’re loyal to.”
He took the cup, which immediately warmed his cold hand, since he’d yet to don his leather gloves.
“I thought the enemy deserved what he truly wants instead of Reggie’s Donuts after what he’s been through.” She looped her arm through his. “How you doing?”
“Considering I signed away my marriage a few minutes ago, not too shabby.” Jude sipped the bitter caffeine he used to savor that was as pungent as the sour pit in his stomach.
Bridget halted. She wrenched her arm free. Her boot heels squeaked along the snow. She faced him. “Will you please stop it?”
“Stop what?” Jude sipped more battery acid.
“The big brother mode. Say it for once. Please.” Her pitch-black eyes flashed.
“What would you like me to say?”
Bridget might be a year younger, but no older brother cried on his little sister’s shoulder. Big brothers remained strong for the family, never showing a hint of weakness, like Dad always did.
“Something. Anything.”
“Maybe this is the best way to start a new year. Newly divorced.”
The sound of a radar going off came from Bridget’s purse. “Oh geez. Now what?” She withdrew her cell phone.
This was a perfect opportunity to escape. “Look, I’ll talk to you later. Work beckons after a two-week Christmas break.”
“Never mind work.” Bridget read her text message. “The center is functioning fine without me. The school won’t fall down if you’re not there.” She slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God.”
“What?” Adrenaline pumping, Jude leaned in. Something bad better not have happened back home.
“Chief Willie died last night.” Bridget gasped. “And... the principal quit at the high school.”
“Died? Quit?” Mom, Dad, and Emery must be birthing sixteen dogs after getting slammed not once, but twice, back at the reserve. And why hadn’t Dad texted? The parents always contacted Jude first.
“Mom says Dad’s going to fill in until a new principal’s hired. As for Willie...” Bridget’s eyes sagged at the corners.
Jude yanked his cell phone from his jacket pocket. He furiously typed in...
Dad, what happened to Willie? And what’s this about the principal quitting? Call me at once.
He sent the message. Something resembling a disgusted frown forced his lips into a scowl. He didn’t need not to be bothered—if D
ad thought to spare Jude’s so-called full plate after signing his divorce papers. Everyone knew he put others first and himself second.
The text popped up.
I planned on calling you tonight. You signed your divorce papers this morning. I didn’t wish to bother you right now...
Jude clenched his teeth or the growl threatening to climb up his throat would escape.
Bridget slid her arm back through his. “C’mon. Let’s get a coffee.”
“I already have a coffee.” He held out the paper travel cup.
“We’ll get one where we can sit and talk.” Bridget trudged to her truck. “No excuses.”
He gripped the phone. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. For once, let someone inside your head. You’re worse than Dad.” She threw open the truck door. “The Coffee Coffee on Waterloo.”
* * * *
“Do you think he’ll have a traditional or a Catholic funeral? He practiced both faiths.” Raven poured a refill into her brother’s mug.
Clayton grabbed the sugar packets from the small bowl on the counter. “We’ll talk later.”
“Order up.” Cookie banged the bell.
“Okay.” Raven set the coffee pot on the back counter’s burner.
In respect to Willie, the diner’s tables and the main counter were full. Whoever couldn’t get a seat stood, holding their coffee-filled mugs. Everything stopped after a community member died, except for Kiss the Cook, where the people of the reserve liked to gather if the home of the grieving family was too packed.
The diner door swung open.
Raven turned to Darryl Keejik and his husband, Emery Matawapit, entering. With the next election coming up in April, and Willie going unchallenged for fourteen years, Darryl was probably campaigning to fill the spot as the new leader of Ottertail Lake—especially after becoming a full-on Matawapit by marrying two summers ago into a traitorous Catholic family who shunned their own culture.
Balancing four plates, Raven wove her way through the crowd to the back table where four old women sat. She set down their breakfasts. “Here you go. Do you need more coffee?”
“Yah. Meegwetch.” The one woman patted Raven’s arm. “Very sad about Willie, huh?”
“Very sad.” Raven wiped her hands on the apron wrapping her waist. “I should get—”
“But it’s how the circle goes,” the old woman rambled on in her smoker’s voice. “Creator has plans.”
“Yes, Creator does.” Raven inched away. Impolite, but she had other people to serve.
She turned and banged into Darryl, who steadied Raven’s wobbling balance. Emery stood behind him.
“The tables are full. Help yourself to some coffee.” Raven used a nice voice. To give them the usual stink-eye after the chief’s death was disrespectful. Even enemies set aside their feuds burning hot on the campfire.
“You need help?” Emery asked in his perennial soft-spoken tone. “I can go around refilling everyone’s mugs.”
Leave it to Mr. Outstanding Catholic to volunteer assistance, since he volunteered everywhere else. His wavy black hair, flashing white teeth, green eyes brighter than summer grass, and pale skin a shining rosy hue from being out in the cold coughed up a gag in Raven’s throat. How could someone be so perfect, even perfect-looking? But she wasn’t dumb enough to pass up an offer for an extra arm in this mob.
“Sure. Thanks a bunchies.” She flashed Emery her pearly whites. On the fake side, but she’d give herself an A for effort, since she was getting mostly A’s at her adult education classes at the school.
She grabbed three more orders to take to another table while Cookie kept manning the full grill of frying food.
“Over here,” another regular called out.
“This isn’t for you.” Raven sidled around his chair and cooed into his ear, “It’s for over there. Wait your turn, handsome.”
“Handsome, that I am,” he replied, although he sure wasn’t, at seventy-eight years old with a big pot belly.
Raven giggled and dashed to the table the food belonged to. “Okay, here we go. Four Hunter’s Breakfasts. Eat up.”
“What you think’s gonna happen?” the one man asked. “Bi-election? Can’t see it. Not with elections happening in April.”
“Don’t know.” Raven set down the other plates. “Ask my brother. He’s on band council.”
“Where’s ol’ Clayton, anyway?” The man looked around.
“At the counter.” Raven stepped back. “Emery has the coffee pot. If you need a refill, give him a shout.”
“Gotcha.” The other man dug into his breakfast of eggs, steak, pan fries, and pancakes.
Raven snaked her way through the crowd.
Laughter erupted at another table. She spared a glance at the three women a couple of years older than her huddled together. Her heart tugged at their kinship. It’d been a long time since she’d last experienced womanly friendship from females who weren’t her relations.
The women glanced up, shooting Raven dirty looks. She shot one straight back.
“Slut.” The hushed insult was loud enough to reach Raven.
An angry knot of tension erupted across Raven’s shoulders. Under any other circumstance she would have stormed over and called out the bitches, but now wasn’t the time. Not during the chief’s mourning period. If those ugly witches wanted to behave in a disrespectful manner, they could go on right ahead. It wasn’t Raven’s fault men liked her.
She huffed into the kitchen.
Cookie stood at the other counter, while Raven’s step-nephew had taken over the grill. Only fourteen, and in grade nine, Tyrell was present because there’d be no school in respect to Chief Willie.
“Hey, hey, hey, I’ll need someone to take this over to the chief’s place.” Cookie set the last of the muffins into a cardboard box.
“I’ll ask Darryl. He’s hanging around while Emery’s serving coffee.” If Raven sent Darryl off on his way, he wouldn’t have time to start promoting what a great leader he’d make.
“Perfect, perfect, perfect.” Cookie patted the box. He squinted at Raven. “Too bad about Willie. What’cha think’s gonna happen?”
“Ask Darryl when he comes back here to get the food. I’ll get him.” This was a perfect opportunity for Raven to unearth what the traitor was up to.
She darted back into the main area of the diner. After worming her way through the pile of customers, she found Darryl standing at the back window, surrounded by a few people from the Traditionalists Society.
Just as Raven had suspected. Darryl was promoting himself to those fierce in protecting their culture.
“I hate to interrupt, but Cookie needs help.”
“Oh? What does he need?” Darryl held a mug of coffee.
“Someone to take the care package over to Willie’s place.” Raven motioned at Darryl to follow.
She wound her way back to the kitchen while being asked by a few customers about their orders. They could wait. They wouldn’t die of starvation if they had to sit another five minutes.
“Here he is.” Raven scooted into the kitchen.
“Good, good, good.” Cookie smacked his hands together. “I need someone to take this food over to the chief’s house.”
“No problem. Lemme get my jacket. Emery can gimme a hand.” Darryl started for the boxes.
“I’ll go.” Tyrell whipped around from the grill.
“Stay put.” Raven used her lips to point at Darryl. “He’s going. We need you on the grill. So...” She folded her arms, sending Cookie a stomach-poking look.
“Oh yah. Yah.” Cookie popped four slices of bread into the toaster. “What’s gonna happen now? Bi-election?”
Darryl’s small, dark eyes widened. He hefted up a package. “Uh, I’m not sure. We probably won’t consider meeting until a couple of weeks. Joe’s deputy chief.”
“Yah, I know, but deputies only fill in when Willie’s away.”
Cookie reached for the butter.
“We’ll have to wait and see.” Holding the cardboard box, Darryl edged toward the swinging doors. “Until then, everyone knows Joe acts in Willie’s place.”
“But he’s a band councilor.” Cookie scooped up a knife.
“Yeah, he is. That’s why we appointed him deputy chief. For emergencies like this. We’ll wait until the funeral’s done. The coroner still has to fly up. Then Lucy has to plan his funeral.” Darryl vanished from the kitchen.
“He never gives me a second to talk to him.” Cookie threw up his hands. “Tyrell, take the orders out. I need to speak to Raven.”
Raven retrieved the plates sitting on the warming tray and handed them to Tyrell, who took the orders and dashed out to the eating area.
“Soo... y’know how old I’m getting.”
“Seventy-two is hardly old.” Raven washed her hands at the sink just as the toast popped from the toaster. “I’ll get those. You watch the grill.”
“See what I mean, eh?” Cookie flipped a couple of eggs over easy. “You always tell me what to do.”
“I’m only trying to help.” Raven buttered the toast.
“You run this kitchen like I do. That’s what I’m looking for. Someone who’s gonna care about this place as much as me.”
The sizzling grill, constant chatter, and even roars of laughter from the dining area filled the kitchen. Raven checked the order lading. These were individual side dishes. She set the two plates of toast on the higher counter facing the main area and rang the bell for Tyrell.
“Of course I care. I love working for you.” She set two more orders of toast into the toaster. “You...” He’d given her a chance when nobody else had. “I’m always here whenever you need me.”
“Yah, that’s it.” Cookie eased the eggs onto three plates. He added the bacon and ham. Then he dished up the pan fries. “You’re always helping out. Always willing to come in whenever someone’s sick or something. Keep this place clean without me having to tell you to. Always busy doing this or that.”
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