Redeemed

by Maggie Blackbird

  “A connoisseur of ladies’ handbags?” He arched his mink brow.

  “Perhaps. I guess it’s true about our shoes and purse collections.” She wet her lips. “Earrings, too.”

  “Anything else to add?” Teasing lingered in Stephen’s smooth voice.

  “Lots.” She gripped the door handle. “I’d better go. I promised Kyle I’d be home at nine.”

  “You have a curfew?”

  “He’s a little bit bossy.”

  “You know...” He stared at the steering wheel. “I’m flying out Friday. I have much to do on the weekend before I return to work on Monday. I understand you have a lot of responsibilities...”

  He shook his head, tittering. His fingers grazed his temples. “I’m making a mess of this.”

  Bridget’s bones stiffened.

  “I’d like to see you again.” His gaze shifted to her, his weak smile gone and eyebrows drawn.

  “Stephen, I had—”

  “Please. Give me one minute. Okay?” Stephen moved in his seat so he faced her. “I’m five hours away. We’re both busy. I get it. But this is the technological age. There’re many options to communicate. My mother and aunt live here. I plan on visiting again. She even loaned me her car for tonight.

  “I promise I have no skeletons hiding in my closet.” He even drew back his jacket to show his inner pockets. “See? Nothing.”

  A giggle demanded release from Bridget’s chest.

  “It’s not often a man...” He licked his lips. “I think we both have certain expectations from people. I’m thirty-seven and not getting any younger.”

  “No, we’re not.” Her voice quieted along with her hammering chest.

  “Being a Christian man, I prefer to date women who share the same devotion to Christ as I do.”

  “I understand.”

  “Mother says you’re devoted to Saint Patrick’s.”

  “Yes. I’ve been a member of the CWA since I was sixteen. My aunt bought me my membership. I’m also devoted to Indigenous causes. I have a meeting tomorrow night regarding children in care.”

  “Awful business.” Stephen pressed his lips together. “I read about that young girl who was found in the river. Terrible.”

  “Children in care is one of the biggest roads to the murdered and missing Indigenous women in Canada. There’re more children in care than during the residential school era.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I sit on the board. We obtained a grant to hire a coordinator and volunteers to conduct a study for northwestern Ontario. It’s the catchment area for the Indigenous Women Alliance.”

  “You’re a foster mother. Do you mind if I asked what happened to Kyle’s parents?”

  Bridget rubbed the fringes on the purse. “It’s complicated. His mother died. And as I mentioned, his father was incarcerated.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about his mother. And I’m sorry his father chose crime over Kyle’s well-being.”

  Yes, Adam had, but why did hearing what he’d done rolling off of Stephen’s tongue prick the back of Bridget’s neck like a mosquito bite? “As I said, it’s complicated. Please understand colonization had a heavy impact on the native population. I’m referring to a cycle that goes back well over two centuries.”

  “Perhaps you could enlighten me over lunch tomorrow? You sound well-versed in the subject.”

  The subject? The Anishinaabe people were more than a subject. They were living, breathing human beings. But here was Bridget’s chance to educate another willing individual about the concerns of the Indigenous population. “I take lunch at noon.”

  “Then noon it is. I’ll let you pick the place.” Stephen didn’t smile. Genuine concern flecked his gaze. “I’d really like to hear more. I have a lot of aboriginal children in my school. I taught many in Winnipeg, too.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Bridget cracked open the door. “Goodnight. And thank you for dinner. I had a wonderful evening.”

  “I did, too.” Stephen didn’t lean in for a goodnight kiss but remained in his seat.

  Bridget slipped out of the car. She scurried to the main door, chest finally light after being squeezed shut tight for the past fifteen minutes.

  Chapter Sixteen: Out to Lunch

  Bridget reached for her purse. Lunchtime. She’d slept well last night, content Stephen hadn’t pushed for what she wasn’t willing to acknowledge yet.

  “Oh, boss lady. Someone’s out here waiting for you.” Tania’s voice singsonged over the intercom on Bridget’s office phone.

  Hah, as if she’d be lucky to have Tania assume Stephen was a colleague and nothing more. Bridget pressed the button. “I’ll be right out.”

  When she entered the reception area, Stephen sat at one of the tables where students liked to gather and study. She was proud of the center and its wood-paneled walls to create an atmosphere of an old library with brown leather armchairs, a matching sofa, and hardwood floors. A thick, multi-colored rug added a beautiful pop of yellow, red, teal blue, and orange sunniness to warm the room. The same for the paintings done by local Indigenous artists.

  Stephen stood. “I’m double parked. I guess we’d better get going.”

  “I’ll be back after my lunch hour.” Bridget made sure to flash Tania a don’t ask look. “Later.”

  “Oh, for sure. Have a great time.” Tania’s giggles followed them out the door and to the car.

  Once they got in, Bridget gave Stephen directions to the restaurant.

  “Your assistant’s a friendly woman.”

  “I suppose she asked a million questions before she buzzed me.”

  “She simply asked if I had an appointment. I told her I was present to take you to lunch. She... laughed.” Stephen also laughed.

  If not Tania, it was Maude or Chloe attempting to set up Bridget on dates. Staff. “They’re simply glad I’m getting out and doing something more sociable, instead of volunteering my life away.”

  “When did you begin sitting on the Indigenous Women’s Alliance board?”

  “Since my university days. I was elected to the board when I was twenty-nine.”

  “If you’re still on the board, this means you’re doing a wonderful job.”

  “I hope I am. The children in care mean a lot to me.”

  “Is this why you decided to foster a child?” Stephen stared straight ahead.

  “There are... many reasons. Anyway, we’re meeting tonight.”

  “You mentioned that to me last night.” Stephen turned into the parking lot of Canada’s Finest. “I hope it goes well.”

  “I do, too.” Bridget unbuckled the seat belt.

  With Stephen by her side, they entered the restaurant where a hostess led them to a booth in an area full of ample lighting and many customers.

  “It’s the lunch hour. It’ll be busy.” Bridget opened her menu.

  “Have you dined here before?”

  “Yes. Many times. Staff or colleagues from the university.”

  “It must be nice to get away for the lunch hour. Us? It’s the teachers’ lounge at the school.”

  “Jude says the same thing.” Bridget set aside her menu.

  Again, Stephen was dressed impeccably. Collared, short-sleeved dress shirt. Khakis. Gold watch. Golden waves slicked to the side. A fine stubble of facial hair. A few women had cast him lingering looks when they’d taken their seats.

  Bridget should count herself lucky, but her eyes probably hadn’t sparkled like the women’s had when Stephen had strolled through the restaurant to their booth.

  “You mentioned the problems go back almost two centuries.” Stephen folded his hands on the table and leaned in, close enough for Bridget to catch a whiff of his cologne, a fresh citrus aroma.

  The waitress came and took their orders and set down their drinks.

  Bridget picked up the iced tea and sipped. “It was more than the residential schools. The Indigenous population was always being displaced.”

  “Three men w
ho attended the residential schools spoke at our school. It was most enlightening.” Stephen continued to lean in. He set his chin on his knuckles, gazing at her. “Maybe even discomforting.”

  “Discomforting? Because of their experiences?”

  “Because of what... well, my own people did to them. My ancestors. Our government. Two of the survivors were devout Catholics. The other was traditional. Very nice men. They attended the residential schools at different times. One was in his early sixties. Another around eighty. The other mid-seventies.”

  “They weren’t present to make you feel bad. They were present to educate people about all of Canada’s history.” Bridget moved her hand on the table up a good foot into the air. “For a long time, nobody mentioned what the Indigenous people had endured. Or, nobody believed what our government was capable of doing to another race of human beings.”

  “You have an eloquent way of speaking. You’re capable of much compassion for everyone.”

  “I was one of the fortunate ones. I understand how blessed I am. I grew up in Thunder Bay. My parents shielded me from what Dad had faced as a child. My father led a hard life because of the residential school. I’m thankful he found Mom and was able to overcome what had previously haunted him.

  “Before those schools became operational, everyone knows the aboriginal people were rounded up and put on reserves. They were even displaced from their original reserves when natural resources were found in communities. Silver. Farmland. Timber. Anything that could benefit the growing population in Canada at the time. The government wanted to build a country. They sacrificed the Indigenous people to get what they wanted. A lot of reserves were flooded to build hydro-electric dams. They dumped waste into the rivers, contaminating—”

  “That...” Stephen cleared his throat. “That happened to one of the First Nations in our area. Mercury poisoning. It’s still having a devastating impact on the health of the people after all these years.”

  “So when you ask me about the children in care and why Kyle’s father wound up in prison, I can tell you although his dad never lived on a reserve or went to a residential school, he grew up in an environment that did. And Kyle’s grandparents suffered just as my dad did.”

  “Are they still alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do they acknowledge their son? Their grandson?”

  Bridget shook her head. Sad to admit. “They’re too deep in alcohol. I don’t judge them. I understand why they are the way they are. It’s why my brother, Emery, wanted to become a priest. He wanted to help people like Kyle’s father and grandparents.”

  “You said the father gets to visit Kyle. How are the visits going, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “They’re going well.” They were going too well. “In time, I imagine Kyle will be transitioned full-time into his father’s care.” And there’s not a damned thing I can do about it unless I fight dirty and go against my principles.

  “I’m sorry.” Stephen’s condolence was soft and remorseful.

  “Don’t be.” Bridget forced a smile. “Listen to me. Feeling sorry for myself. As I said, it’s what’s best for the child.”

  “I know, but it still hurts, doesn’t it? You devoted—is it four years?—to Kyle.”

  Yes, he’s been my life ever since I met Adam. “Before I leave... his life, I’ll remain a part of it. Visits. Until I eventually let him go for good.” Her stomach soured. “As I said, it’ll be a transitional process where my visits will become farther and farther in-between, so Kyle can begin a new life.”

  Part of the maddening weight that had sat on Bridget’s chest lifted. Finally, she’d told someone who stood on neutral ground. “Thank you.”

  “What are you thanking me for?” Stephen quirked an eyebrow.

  “For simply listening. I haven’t been able to speak to anyone about what I’m facing. I can’t talk to my family. They love Kyle as much as I do. They don’t want to lose him either. My parents consider him their grandchild. My brothers think of Kyle as their nephew. I’m not the only one who’s going to hurt when Kyle’s slowly transitioned out of our lives.”

  “I want to lend an ear.” Stephen’s hand snaked across the table.

  Bridget froze. When his fingers wrapped hers, she clutched the smooth, firm softness of his hand. Comforting. His finger-squeezing patched a couple of holes in her heart. He was a good friend.

  “You’re a great listener.” She returned his gentle embrace.

  His gaze burned hot. The noise in the restaurant vanished. Just Stephen was present, his fresh citrus scent, his caring eyes, the delicate touch of his hand.

  “Here you go.” The waitress set down their meals.

  They released their fingers.

  After such an intense moment, Bridget’s heart still refused to pound. Her breathing still refused to jump. Maybe the Lord had sent Stephen to help her work through the thoughts and questions spinning around.

  She poured dressing over the salad. The roast beef sandwich on whole wheat bread looked delicious. As for Stephen, he’d ordered the hot hamburger sandwich.

  “I’d like to meet your brother Emery. He sounds like an interesting man.”

  “Emery’s a very spiritual man. He’s an old soul in a young body.” Bridget lifted the fork and speared a pea pod. “I’ll see him when I fly up for Healing the Spirit next week.”

  “Jude mentioned the workshop. He was disappointed he couldn’t help.”

  “He helped at the previous one. Mom and Dad hosted the first one five years ago. It was a huge success. Two participants even converted to Catholicism.” Bridget munched on a tomato. “It sparked some controversy, especially when my parents proposed a financial donation from the reserve to run the workshop scheduled for next week.”

  “Oh?” Stephen’s groomed hands held his fork and knife—hands used to reassure, hands to comfort. Not big, strong hands sliding over a woman’s shoulders, coaxing her to give in to the touch such a potent presence generated.

  “Unfortunately, a group of traditionalists believe the workshop shouldn’t happen.”

  “Traditionalists are those who practice their culture, right?”

  “Yes. Funny.” Bridget cracked a grin. “Emery’s spouse was one of those against the workshop. If not for Darryl aiding a few people, whom I consider very passionate about their traditional beliefs, he and my brother might not have reconciled.”

  “Emery’s spouse was on the opposing side?” Stephen blinked more than a car’s hazard signals.

  “Yes. Darryl was adamant about the workshop not happening. He joined forces with a man who is very vocal about his stance on religion.”

  “This man is against religion? Or was?”

  “He still is. Although everyone in the community, traditionalists and Catholics, ironed out their differences, this man and his family won’t budge. I hope they’re not holding protest signs outside of the workshop next week.”

  “Can anyone attend?”

  “Yes.” Bridget nibbled at her inner cheek. “Kyle’s father, as far as I know, is going. At least when we last spoke, he told me he wanted to make arrangements to attend.”

  “It sounds like Kyle’s father is making great progress.”

  Adam’s progress was too good. Maybe too good to be true. Was this all an act? The little voice kept whispering no.

  * * * *

  What a way for Adam to spend his lunch hour once a week. Visiting his parole officer in an office that always smelled of food. Today, pastrami on rye.

  The bald man on the other side of the desk chewing on a bite of sandwich held a lot of power, determining whether Adam stayed on the outside or got tossed back on the inside.

  “Well, I gotta say, if you stick to what you’re doing, you might have a chance.” Harold tossed aside the pen and sat back in the chair that creaked and groaned whenever he shifted. He reached for his can of cream soda. “As for this Healing the Spirit stuff, I talked to your supervisor this morning. He said he’s
fine. Said you’re doing great and if this helps you, why not?”

  Adam exhaled a spell of relief. At least two people were for him, not against him.

  “He’s a little concerned over you losing five days’ wage. So am I.” Harold slurped a drink.

  “I’m not. If it means it’ll help me and my boy, I’m for losing five days’ pay. I don’t like it, but I don’t have any holiday time to use.”

  “It’ll set you back getting your own place. How do you feel about that?” Harold rubbed his furry brow. Even with the air conditioning cranked, his big face shone, and perspiration stains coated his armpits. If he wasn’t a parole officer, he’d fit right in on the range with his beady eyes, constant uneven stubble, big gut squeezed into a shirt a size too small, and hair sprouting from his nostrils and ears.

  “There’s a program that’ll assist you for your flight.” Harold sat forward. The chair groaned again. “Lemme see where I put that stuff.”

  He riffled through a few folders and papers, unsettling his sandwich in the process. “Son of a bitch. Where’d I put it?” He searched more papers and withdrew a mustard-stained sheet. “Here it is. Sign it. I’ll send it in for approval.”

  Adam’s chest brightened inside. He wouldn’t have to dig into his precious savings for his flight. “Sure.” He leaned in and signed the paper.

  Everything else but Bridget was working in his favor. After she’d smacked his face good, he continued to debate whether he had a future with her, or if even wanted to get in the ring and fight Bible Boy for her hand.

  * * * *

  Bridget sat in the passenger seat. Traffic hummed in the opposite direction. People meandered up and down the sidewalks. They were closing in on the university.

  Stephen stared straight ahead. “I had a great time.”

  “Me, too.” She fingered the purse’s leather strap.

  “I imagine you’ll be busy for a while”

  “Very busy. I’ll be leaving for Ottertail Lake, getting Kyle settled at Jude’s, and making sure he’s ready to start school.”