A former residential school student had brought forth allegations, but the court found there was not enough evidence to substantiate guilt. The old priest walks freely among men again, it would seem, and the souls he destroyed will never know justice. Auntie Dodi was one of them. Kohkum, too, added to the sorrow. Even though the courts did nothing to him, Father Hector had sentenced women—girls at the time—to a prison from which there would never be release. He robbed them of their spirit each time his filthy hands touched their flesh. They are the ones who are imprisoned: in their hearts, minds and down to their very souls.
Wren sets the rosary down next to the newspaper. Instead of drinking her coffee, she goes to the couch to lay down for a nap to recharge.
Leave Me Alone
A person is never supposed to go to sleep if there is something bad on one’s mind. The bad thing will follow them and cause bad dreams, Kohkum would often advise, one of those pieces of her logic that Wren always took to heart. It’s why Wren sets aside a few moments for quiet reflection each night before turning in, to offer thanks for the day and for all the blessings that have come her way. But it isn’t nighttime, and Wren didn’t think she’d fall asleep so quickly on the couch. She hasn’t said prayers and there are bad things on her mind. Kohkum was right. Those thoughts did follow Wren into her dreams.
The dream starts with Wren falling off her bike while trying to find clues about what happened to Raven. Her dream takes her back to that time, a time in which she has no real recollections but in its replaying, Wren has blood on her head, blood all over her hands. She’s panicked. Where is she? Why is she so thirsty? Then a scarecrow appears with a jug of water. Pure water, cold and clean. Wren drinks it eagerly even though there is a thread of something red running through it. Poison? Maybe, but a dying woman asks no questions, only accepts the help offered. She gulps it in.
Wren wakes from the dream momentarily, and then just as quickly closes her eyes again, exhausted. The dream continues. There is the scarecrow again, except this time it is not outdoors in the meadow; instead, it sits in the recliner next to the sofa where Wren is asleep. The scarecrow talks to her. It tells her that even though the old priest is retired, Father Hector still fondles young women. He goes to coffee row each morning at a local strip mall on the outskirts of the city. Scarecrow describes the restaurant and where it’s located. Her dream is like watching a movie, detailed and vivid.
Scarecrow tells her that one of the greeters in this small business is the niece of the family that owns the diner. Renée is in her twenties and has Down syndrome. Renée’s job is to greet everyone with a smile and tell them it will be just a minute before they are seated. In addition to tipping the waitress, patrons typically leave Renée a small token. Maybe a quarter, maybe a loonie.
Because Father Hector knows her routine, Scarecrow tells Wren that something evil is about to happen again. Scarecrow opens its mouth wide, showing her its jagged teeth. It continues to talk in a voice that is more rasp than coherent words, as if there is something stuck in its throat. It tells Wren that today that old pervert will follow Renée to the storage room when she goes to get more candy for the dish at the host station.
“Later today,” Scarecrow predicts, “Father Hector will follow that young girl and offer to help. Once he’s alone with her, he’ll bring out a trinket from his right pants pocket.”
Scarecrow pulls out a cheap piece of costume jewellery from the tattered apron covering its foul body. It tells Wren that the priest will give a fake pearl necklace to Renée. She will allow him to fasten the clasp around her neck. That’s when he’ll kiss the back of her neck, startling her. He’ll tell her she is his baby. His sweetheart. We have known each other for such a long time, he’ll say. You have always been special to me. Then he’ll fondle her breasts under the white cardigan she’s wearing. He’ll leave the restaurant before Renée returns to the front desk to meet customers, gently playing with the gift of pearls.
“He’s a predator who has gotten away with his crimes. Always has. Violating that girl is his way celebrating,” Scarecrow hisses.
Wren wakes covered in sweat. She glances at the empty chair where the scarecrow was sitting and talking. Its new upholstery, blue and white, reminds Wren of the wind. She puts her hands to her face and begins to cry, wondering if she was just visited by some bad spirit, or worse, if she is starting to hallucinate. The stress of late has been adding up and Wren has been spending too much time alone. It can sometimes be a dangerous thing to be alone with only one’s thoughts to entertain.
Wren misses her husband. Her greatest wish at this moment is that he be sitting right beside her, telling a corny joke and giving her one of his comforting hugs.
Inhale, Expel, To Hell
Wren spends the rest of the day staying busy. She washes the floors, even washes the walls and organizes the junk drawer, getting rid of whatever isn’t useful anymore: old batteries, small light bulbs, elastic bands. She tosses them out and says a prayer to her kohkum and other angels that surround asking to guide her and keep her safe from harm. She prays to Creator that she isn’t losing her mind and that she’s able to find calm and peace. She gives thanks, too, and asks that her day be filled with joy.
Wren finishes the kids’ pinch pots, readying them for delivery back to tiny hands. She’s expecting her husband to return home later this afternoon, so she’s already thawed a beef brisket that’ll go in the smoker outdoors. Its flavours will have succulently blended by the time Lord returns to the farmhouse. The neighbour boys arrive, as they always do any time there’s work that needs to be done. They remove the snow from the parking area and out to the long road leading to the main highway. It brings a smile to Wren’s face as she looks out the kitchen window to see a nice, cleared driveway.
Her feeling of warmth is short lived, however, as she notices there is still a big pile of snow blocking Raven’s car still parked in the yard. Wren thinks that keeping her sister’s vehicle is a signal of hope that someday Raven will return. She imagines every single day that Raven will come back and keeps the image of her sister’s smiling face close to her heart. Wren decides to smudge before leaving the house. Too much time alone in an empty house brings out ghosts.
She will deliver the kids’ pinch pots before heading out to do errands. She places some dried sage in a pottery bowl she constructed in her sister’s honour. Again, she asks for strength: “Please God, help me to carry my thoughts through this day in a good way. And my heart is still hurting. Help me to see goodness so that I may do good in this world.”
Wren’s usual routine is to head to town, grab a gas station coffee and say hello to whichever neighbours happen to be out and about at that time. Today, though, she’ll vary this. Wren can’t help but remember the dream she had when she laid down for a short nap. That ominous scarecrow sitting beside her in the living room. Is it true what it said about Father Hector? Is it real or just another nightmare? To Wren, it seemed as real as a regular conversation. The detailed descriptions, the foreshadowing of bad intent…
Wren wonders if she’s supposed to stop him. Now that she’s killed once, can she again? The little restaurant Scarecrow described is an actual place located on the outskirts of the city. Wren decides she can go there today to pick up her coffee. She wants to see if Renée exists to greet her as Wren enters the establishment. She wants to see if there really is a table of locals and regulars who meet every day to discuss the woes of the world and thoughts for the day. She wants to see if the priest is a part of that gathering crowd. There was a photo of him in the newspaper and an even more vivid picture of his face in her thoughts while she slept. She’s sure she’ll recognize him if he’s there.
Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire
It is surreal for Wren to pull open the heavy door to the coffee shop where the retired priest regularly holds court over a cup of coffee and a half-priced, day-old muffin. Before entering, she fumbles to put her ca
r keys in her jacket pocket and drops them on the sidewalk. It’s then that a kindly voice offers to help. “Here, let me get that for you.”
Wren finds herself face to face with the very man she’s travelled here to find. Uncanny, but maybe not a coincidence. As he offers to open the door to the restaurant for her, Wren excuses herself, explaining that she’s left something behind in her car. She is unnerved when Father Hector reaches out and holds her elbow. She doesn’t want him to touch her.
Wren doesn’t go in because she doesn’t want to know if Renée is there to greet her wearing a warm smile and a white cardigan. She decides it’ll be too much to gaze into that innocent face, knowing what Scarecrow told her. Wren wonders if the girl will be fondled by this old bastard and lets out a few tears and gasps for air. The very thought has taken her breath away.
The encounter with Father Hector has shaken her and she finds herself driving to the gas station located in the same strip mall as the restaurant. She needs a cup of coffee, so she heads in to the gas station to purchase one along with a pack of cigarettes, even though she doesn’t smoke. Because she doesn’t have a lighter in her purse, she asks the cashier for a pack of matches.
Traffic is still heavy, just at the tail end of the lunch rush, so Wren decides to sit in her vehicle in the parking lot for a while until it passes. After lighting up a cigarette, she immediately feels light-headed, a feeling that extends to her stomach, making her queasy. She thinks of the moment that old priest reached out to touch her, and once again her mind drifts to thoughts of her sister.
It may have been the nicotine pulsing through her system that causes Wren to turn to thoughts of revenge toward the man responsible for leaving such deep hurts in her family—or it could have been her glance at her rear-view mirror showing retired pastor carrying a paper cup and walking happily to his vehicle.
Wren watches Father Hector get into his car and drive away. Without thinking, she follows him.
Thou Shalt Not Covet
Wren stalks Father Hector for the next four days, making sure to keep her distance. She heads to the city immediately after Lord leaves home each morning. Mostly, she uses her days to fine-tune her plan. Has this man committed such atrocities that he deserves a reckoning? As much as Wren examines any feelings of guilt at the question, the answer always comes out in the affirmative. Next, she considers how she can approach him and how she can gain his trust enough to lure him to her home in the country.
Wren knows she must be strategic and plan Father Hector’s demise for a time when Lord is away again. Lord has told her he needs to make a trip to Manitoba tomorrow and will be gone for three or four days. This time he suggested that she come with him, but Wren declined the offer saying she has a new commission she needs to work on. She doesn’t tell him that her new project means burning bones.
Wren decides she will tell Father Hector that she’s going to have a baby. He knows nothing about her other than she is a young lady asking for help and spiritual guidance. She will ask him to come out and bless her house, particularly the baby’s room.
She tells herself that her true plans are a blessing to the world, to put an end to Father Hector’s tyranny. The courts didn’t stop him, the police didn’t gather convincing evidence and they chose not to accept testimony from women still living with the horrific memory of sexual abuse. It all happened too long ago, authorities said. There is no proof, no witnesses, they said. As if Father Hector’s freedom from the law weren’t bad enough, there was further victimization to those who brought the charges, with lawyers even going so far as to suggest that the advanced ages of the “alleged victims” meant their memories might be flawed.
Wren is disgusted by the very sight of the old priest. She’s been watching his routine and has learned that he is a creature of habit, driving the short distance from the seniors’ home where he lives to the coffee shop every morning except Sunday. He gets into his car at 9:50 a.m. and is seated, having ordered a coffee and muffin, by ten. He chooses from the day-old muffins, always putting in his first request for a banana-pecan muffin. If they don’t have banana-pecan, his second choice is always chocolate chip. His coffee order is one milk, one sugar. He drinks two cups because the refill is free.
Today, Wren is within earshot. She has hurriedly ordered a coffee to go and is finally able to meet young Renée. Wren is sad to see a fake pearl necklace around her small neck.
The courts declared there was no proof that Father Hector caused harm while he worked at the residential school, but Wren knows that her kohkum would never lie. Wren never did question her grandmother for details, it was too painful to do so, but she knows Father Hector is the one who crushed Auntie Dodi’s spirit and why her life fell apart. Father Hector killed a part of Dodi’s soul as he groped her and molested her. She was just a young girl. He left torturing memories lasting a lifetime, a descent into a hell Dodi couldn’t escape from, no matter how hard she tried with vodka and sleeping pills.
The courts let Father Hector walk free but Wren will not. And does she feel guilty? No. That’s not the right word. Does she feel vengeance? That’s not the right feeling. What goes through her mind in the moments before Wren approaches Father Hector is this: she wants to take the pain and anguish that he caused and turn it into something to help others.
Like the first time she followed him, watching through her rearview mirror from the parking lot, Wren waits for him again. She’s seen historical photos of how Indigenous children were forced to dress in residential schools: hair cut short, the girls in plain cotton dresses and leather shoes. It’s how Wren is dressed today, having visited the local Salvation Army thrift store. She’s pulled her long hair back from her face and up into a ponytail. The historical photos show no display of jewellery or adornment, but Wren decides to wear her kohkum’s pink, plastic rosary. Sometimes a wound needs to be reopened in order to heal.
The moment Wren has been waiting for presents itself. Wren sees Father Hector leave the coffee shop carrying a brown to-go bag. Likely another day-old muffin. Wren closes her eyes and sees Kohkum as a girl. Sees her Auntie Dodi as a girl. She takes a deep breath, opens the car door and steps out.
“Father Hector,” Wren says. She smiles and holds out her hand in greeting. “My name is Sarah.” She feels no guilt offering a false name. Names are sacred and he doesn’t need to know Wren’s. All this old perv cares about is the possibility of getting laid, she thinks to herself, and I will lay something on him, that’s for sure. As these wicked thoughts pass through Wren’s mind, only a smile remains on her face—urging, ever urging Father Hector closer to the flame.
Wren invites the retired pastor to her home. “I hope you don’t mind me asking a favour, but I wanted the blessing of someone like you. I found your name in a registry. Hector. That was the name of my own father,” she lies. “He is no longer with us, bless his soul, but I know he is watching from heaven and blessing the baby’s room would be important to him, as it is to me. I hoped you would do this for me and my husband. If you are not too busy now, of course,” she says. “I can drive you out to our home and bring you back to the city after. I would be so grateful to know that my baby’s room will have a proper blessing. Please say yes.”
Father Hector agrees, all the while staring at Wren’s breasts. He comments on the pink rosary she’s wearing. He tells her it’s lovely.
Into the Confessional
“My husband should be home soon,” says Wren as they leave the parking lot. Wren is starting to feel much more comfortable being dishonest. “The plan is to have the baby’s room painted by this afternoon.”
“And do you and your husband know whether you are expecting a girl or a boy?” Father Hector inquires.
“No,” Wren replies. “We decided to wait until our baby is born. Whether a girl or boy, we are blessed. Thank you so much for helping us out on such short notice. Neither my husband nor I go to church on a regular basis, but p
rayer has always been important to my family, especially to my grandmother.”
“Is your grandmother still with us?” Father Hector asks.
“No, Father. Sadly, she passed several years ago. She is precious in my memory. The baby’s room is sure to be extra special. It’s where my grandma used to keep all her craft supplies when I was a little girl. We spent a lot of time in that room making jewellery or sewing.”
A conversation of small talk doesn’t prepare Wren for Father Hector’s next request, as she signals toward the freeway.
“Well, I am happy to bestow a blessing,” he says, “and thanks for driving. I’d probably get lost driving in the country. Besides, now that I am up in years, my licence has been restricted. I’m not allowed to drive on the highway anymore,” he shares. “It’s good to be asked to keep prayer and faith. Now that I’m retired, I have the time in my day for a special request like this. I wonder,” he says slowly, “if we might stop by my place before we leave the city?”
As the priest takes a sip of coffee from his paper mug, Wren searches for a plausible reason to keep driving out of town and not go anywhere where the two might be seen together. She knows if she stops at the seniors’ home where Father Hector lives, some nosy neighbour will be gawking out the window, a neighbour who may remember her later during questioning.
“I’d like to pick up my prayer book and my rosary,” Father Hector explains.
Wren fidgets ever so slightly and nervously runs her fingers over the pink rosary that hangs from her neck. She tells him she’s hoping he can use Kohkum’s old rosary because it has such meaning to her and has been in the family for decades. She mentions that she has a Bible at her home and that she and her husband have already picked out certain passages that hold special significance to them both.
Bone Black Page 10