An elderly couple eyed them over the brims of their coffee cups. Bernadette stared them down then looked away. She was used to the looks. She had reddish hair, was tall with light brown skin and green eyes. Her Cree Heritage was always fighting with her Irish mix. In the summer it was worse. The sun made her hair turn a tell-tale bright red, and freckles appeared on her face and arms of their own accord.
On the reservation she stood out. A baked potato they called her, brown on the outside and white on the inside—the least hurtful insult they threw at her.
Bernadette stamped her feet to relieve the tension she felt at being sent away. She was going to Aunt Mary’s in Edmonton, the largest city in the north, over 600 kilometres to the south. There had been a bad argument between her mother and Aunt Mary many years ago. She had no idea what it was, but when Grandma Moses told Mary she was taking Bernadette in, there was no argument.
The bus arrived. She hugged her grandma fiercely and then grabbed her pack to get ready to get on the bus.
Her grandma held onto her arm. “I had a dream about you last night.”
“What kind of dream?” Bernadette asked.
“I saw you standing tall. There was a big leaf behind you—it was red, and you were wearing red,” Grandma Moses said.
“What do you think it meant?” Bernadette said.
“I’m not sure,” Grandma Moses said, “but I want you to promise me you’ll finish high school. It’s what your mother asked me to do for you before she died.”
“I promise,” Bernadette said. She didn’t want to say it. She was hoping to bolt from Aunt Mary’s soon after she arrived there. Now a promise was made. She couldn’t break it, not to her grandma, not to her dead mother.
Bernadette climbed on the bus, choosing a seat by the window, dropping her backpack on the aisle seat beside her. She wanted no company on the ten-hour trip south. Anyone attempting to take the seat would get a fierce gaze.
The bus’s big engine whined, the pneumatic brakes blew, and it pulled onto the highway gaining speed. Bernadette watched the trees go by faster and faster until they were a blur. She slouched down in her seat, pulling her Sony Walkman from her pack and putting on her headphones. She was debating whether to start with something from Stone Temple Pilots or Alanis Morissette and her recent song, “Ironic.”
She chose “Ironic.” Looking out the window, she saw Tommy, Stephen, and Peter. They stood beside the road. Bandages covered their heads like white turbans.
She wanted to laugh at them. They raised a fist and pointed at the bus. She knew it wasn’t over between them. It would never be over.
4
The bus took its own sweet time on its journey south. There were stops to pick up and drop off passengers in High Level, Paddle Prairie, Manning, and Peace River before they stopped for lunch. Then, as if the bus protested, they lumbered off to continue farther south to Valleyview, Fox Creek, and White Court.
Somewhere around Mayerthorpe, another small town with nasty restrooms and tepid tea, she thought about her past. Her life had been Gypsy-like. Her five brothers were a vague memory. They hardly kept in touch. They’d been born and scattered like seeds in the wind to other relatives.
Bernadette had been the one to travel from town to town with her mom and dad, living in motels, a camper van and sometimes a parked car, pursuing their country western music stardom. A wonderful dream that had caught Bernadette in its spell, until, one day it crashed to the ground. The music stopped.
Her sixteen years of travel had given her a tough shell and an unwillingness to let people into her confidence. Soon, they’d all fade away, as fast as a music gig or last call for alcohol was announced over the tavern sound system her parents were playing in.
She’d become used to getting by and standing up for what she wanted. This trip to Edmonton was just another detour in her life’s journey. One day soon, she’d be on her own and making her own decisions. The day couldn’t come fast enough.
The bus pulled into an industrial area of west Edmonton. The driver announced the stop. Passengers rose slowly, pulling luggage from the overheads and shuffling from the bus. Bernadette lingered then followed.
Aunt Mary’s scowl on meeting Bernadette was colder than the evening air. Bernadette was being forced on her by Grandma Moses—her body language said it all.
Aunt Mary wasn’t as good looking as Bernadette’s mother had been, but she had a pleasant, round face with big eyes and full lips. She was as tall as Bernadette with long, flowing, black hair falling to her shoulders. Her grandma once said she could have been somebody, but some trouble got in the way. She never explained what it was, just left it to hang there like a question mark. Perhaps it was something unspeakable.
They got into a taxi. The light was fading in the September sky. The trees still had leaves, not like the ones in the Bernadette’s far north village, which had shriveled to brown and flown away. The taxi drove from the industrial part of town into a more residential side with row upon row of low-rise apartment buildings.
Bernadette watched out the window with interest at the neat two- and three-story apartments they passed and wondered what place her aunt lived in. She hoped it might be an upscale and fancy one. The one they pulled up to was anything but.
Her aunt’s apartment was old and run down. The carpets in the hallway were threadbare and filthy. The light fixtures overhead was dimmed down to a faint glow from the dirt, and dead bugs piled inside the lenses.
Bernadette was glad the lights were so dim; she could only imagine how bad the walls looked in the light of day. They entered Aunt Mary’s apartment and her two little cousins, Abigail and Amber, greeted her in the doorway.
She dropped to her knees and hugged them both. “My god, I haven’t seen you in years.”
“Do you remember us?” Abigail asked. She was the prettier one, almost seven with intense brown eyes and dark hair sweeping over her round face.
“Of course I do,” Bernadette said. “You came to visit Granma Moses and me three years ago.”
“We did?” Amber asked. “I don’t remember.” She peered at Bernadette sideways, as if not quite sure what to make of this tall teenager at the door.
“You were three at the time,” Bernadette said. She looked up at her Aunt Mary. It was a tough visit, the year her mother passed away. Her aunt looked away.
“You hungry?” Aunt Mary asked.
Bernadette hadn’t thought much about food but realized she’d eaten little on the bus trip. The food her grandma had given her was moose meat jerky and bannock bread. Moose jerky was tasty but it stunk to high heaven in close quarters. She hadn’t felt like pissing off the other passengers. She nodded at her aunt.
Her aunt made her some mac and cheese and poured her a glass of milk then put the kids to bed. She sat across from Bernadette, pouring herself a coke.
“We got to get some things straight, kid,” Aunt Mary said.
Bernadette swallowed hard, “Okay…what do we need to talk about?”
“I agreed to take you in because you can help with the kids at night.” She took a big swig of her coke and looked at Bernadette to see if she was following, “You see…I work the morning shift serving breakfast at the tavern down the road. It’s not much of a tavern, a real shit hole, but the real money is made at night.”
“You want me to look after Abigail and Amber after school?” Bernadette asked.
“You got it. You’re a smart kid,” Aunt Mary said. “There’s a list of swimming pools and soccer fields they go to after school. I expect you to take them.”
Bernadette shrugged. She didn’t mind being with the children in the evenings. Her grade twelve studies were on her mind. She’d promised her dying mother and her grandma she’d finish high school.
“Good,” Aunt Mary said. “Look, we may have gotten off to a bad start…well, maybe I did. I didn’t give you much of a welcome when you arrived. As you can see, my place isn’t much to look at…” She waved her hand around the sm
all apartment to make her point.
Bernadette shrugged again. It seemed like an okay response to make.
“And as for sleeping arrangements, I’m going to have to put you on the couch. I’ll need the bedroom with the girls to sleep when I get home at one in the morning.”
“Sure,” Bernadette said. She assumed when she saw the place, there was just one bedroom, someone would get the couch; she figured it would be her.
“Great,” Aunt Mary said. She let a small smile grace her lips. She’d expected a blow up with Bernadette. “Here’s your school’s address. It’s seven blocks away. You’ll drop the girls off at their elementary school on your way. I start my evening shifts at the tavern tomorrow.”
“I got it, Aunt Mary, I’ll leave for school early and take the kids to school,” Bernadette said. She had made up her mind she would do whatever her Aunt Mary asked. This was not a good situation. She’d put herself into this—she had to deal with it.
“Good,” Aunt Mary said. “Now, when you get to your school tomorrow, you need to know it has a reputation for being tough. I want you to watch yourself; you have to promise me you won’t get into any trouble. You hear me?”
Bernadette shrugged then nodded. Trouble always had a way of finding her. She’d deal with it when it arrived.
She didn’t sleep well during the night. The couch was okay, the pillow was nice, but it was the noise. She could hear the people in the next apartment. The walls seemed paper thin, toilets flushed, televisions droned, and cars swished by on the street in the rain.
Going to a new school didn’t bother her. In her travels with her mom and dad, she’d either been home schooled or attended some school for a year or two, then they’d move on.
Her mother’s death had deposited her at the Lone Pine Native reservation school. She’d been to schools on Vancouver Island, the interior of British Columbia, and a few towns in Alberta.
Her mom and dad were wannabe musicians. Her mother’s amazing voice reminded the audience of Shania Twain when she sang. Her father’s voice had a lilting Irish quality. They were the Travelling Callahans, and Bernadette had loved every minute of their life on the road together.
Her father’s descent into alcohol had torn the band apart. Bernadette had been there to see her mother’s descent into depression and death from a broken heart.
Bernadette sighed as all these thoughts came to her. A loud siren from a police car or ambulance broke her train of thought. She fell into a troubled sleep and hoped she could stay away from trouble to complete her schooling and her grandma and mother’s wishes.
5
Bernadette woke from a deep sleep to see two pairs of brown eyes peering at her. Abigail and Amber stood over her smiling. “Mom said you’d get us breakfast,” they said in unison.
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, made her way to the bathroom and then to the kitchen. After much discussion they settled on Eggo waffles and fruit.
Bernadette found herself some bread for toast and made tea. She surveyed the small apartment, shaking her head at how grim it looked. There were few pictures on the wall, the furniture was old and looked like it had been recovered from garbage bins. She wondered just how bad off her aunt was.
She made sandwiches for the girls for lunch and one for herself, then threw her stuff into a small backpack and got ready for school. She dressed in black jeans, a black t-shirt, and pulled on her big boots with the heavy toecaps. At the last minute she threw on a denim jean jacket.
“You look tough,” Abigail said.
Bernadette smiled. “Yeah, you never want to look like the weakest wolf in the pack on your first day.”
“What does it mean?” Amber asked.
“It’s just something your Grandma Moses says,” Bernadette said.
They marched to the girl’s school.
Bernadette dropped the girls off, making sure to introduce herself to the teachers so they knew she’d be picking them up after. A concerned look from the teacher had Bernadette giving them her aunt’s name and work phone number in case they wanted to check on her.
Fifteen blocks later Western High appeared. Her aunt had been way off about the distance. It was big, much bigger than Bernadette had ever attended. A large track and field bracketed the three-story brick structure surrounded by high fences. Bernadette had seen some better-looking prisons.
Cars and trucks stopped in front, jettisoning high school kids in various states of dress and attitude. Bernadette walked up the front steps, found her way to the administration office, and announced herself.
An officious looking lady with large glasses and a home dye job turned a strange green shade listened to Bernadette’s story before saying, “You’re transferring from where?”
“Lone Pine First Nations High,” Bernadette said in a confident tone. She didn’t expect anyone had ever heard of it or the little town of Fort Vermillion some twenty minutes’ drive from it.
The officious looking lady’s name was Ms. Shibanov, and she scowled at Bernadette. “Just a minute, let me get the school counselor.”
She was ushered into a small office with a trim-looking lady, approaching late thirties in a polyester pantsuit and a blonde ponytail stretched back so tight it looked painful. Trendy, wire-rim glasses with square lenses and a mild tint shaded her eyes, no ring adorned her finger; she tapped a pencil in her left hand. Bernadette had her pegged as a hopeless unmarried type with three cats at home.
Her desk plate read Ms. Blacksburg. “Do you have transcripts from your last school?” she asked.
“Ah…no…” Bernadette answered, “my transfer was kind of sudden…”
“You in some kind of trouble?” Blacksburg asked.
“No, you can check with Sergeant McNeil of the Fort Vermillion RCMP, I have no record, and I’ve never been charged with anything,” Bernadette said. She recited it almost as if she was a lawyer for a defendant.
Ms. Blacksburg jotted down the names of the school and Sergeant McNeil. “Please wait outside, Bernadette, I want to make some calls.”
Bernadette sat in the outer room. She sat as close to the door as she could to try to hear the telephone conversation. A faint murmur of conversation came through door, but she couldn’t make anything out.
Numerous scenarios rocketed through her brain. Had the Cardinal boys convinced the RCMP to file charges? Did they find some kids from town to go along with their stupid story? Should she run? Head for the bus station? Where would she run to, who would hide her?
The counselor opened the door. She had a smile on her face. “Come on in, Bernadette, everything’s fine.”
Bernadette came in and sat down across from the counselor. Relief washed over her. It almost made her fell dizzy.
“RCMP officer McNeil explained the situation,” Blacksburg said and then paused. “You do seem to have a penchant for trouble, young lady—you think you’ll continue it here?” Her eyebrows knitted into an accusing frown with the words.
“Ah, no I don’t think so, there was some problems there…some of the people there…”
“—Didn’t like you because you weren’t a true first nations status Cree?”
“Yes, I’m Métis, my mother was Cree and my father Irish. Some people on the reservation didn’t like my mix,” Bernadette said.
“And both your parents have passed away?” Ms. Blacksburg said. The way she said it, Bernadette knew she’d gotten the complete low down from her old school.
“Yes, my grandma took care of me on the reservation after my parents’…ah...death, and I’m living with my aunt Mary now, her last name is Landry,” Bernadette said.
Ms. Blacksburg made notes, having already produced a file folder for Bernadette with a student number. She looked up at Bernadette, her eyes going into her already-familiar frown. “You realize how difficult it will be transferring from a first nations school to a Canadian public school, don’t you?”
Bernadette smiled weakly. “I’ve been transferring to and from first na
tions to public schools since grade four. I realize there’s a big difference, and I’ve been able to keep up. I was in public school just last year taking my grade ten. Here are my marks from the school.”
She took her marks from her backpack and handed them to Ms. Blacksburg, who perused before finally saying, “You did very well there. An A student; it’s too bad you moved around so much.”
She didn’t want to explain how many times she’d moved from town to town with her parents. Sometimes they’d settle in a town, and then her father would drop her off at grandma’s house for a year or so while he “sorted things out,” which meant he went on a massive drunk.
“Here’s the courses you’ll be taking,” Ms. Blacksburg said. “You shouldn’t have a problem with these; however, math will be tougher this year. Decide on your electives, and we’ll get you started tomorrow.”
Bernadette studied the list. There was Math, English, Social Studies, Chemistry, and French. She’d have to fill in some Physical Education and an arts course to round it out, but it was doable.
“Did your aunt or grandma give you money for books?” Ms. Blacksburg asked.
“Not as yet…I’ll have to get it,” Bernadette said. She didn’t want to meet her gaze. Her grandma had the money for her bus fare. Aunt Mary was barely keeping the squalid apartment over their heads.
“Well, here’s a list of the books. The bookstore down the hall has some used editions on at a reasonable price. If you need assistance you come back and see me. We do have a student aide program.”
“Thanks, I won’t be needing the aide.” Bernadette said. She’d already seen her source of income on the way into school.
“Fine, here is your temporary student card. You’ll need to get your picture taken for your permanent one, your home room is with Ms. Prefontaine in 3011, and you’ll start tomorrow morning. Any questions?” Ms. Blacksburg said.
Black Wolf Rising (Prequel to the Bernadette Callahan Mystery Series) Page 2
