Redeemed

by Maggie Blackbird

  “Yes. And Adam. He volunteered.”

  Mom folded her arms. She then unfolded them. Then she refolded them.

  “Spit it out.” Bridget zipped the empty toiletry case.

  “We’re supposed to leave everything in the Lord’s hands, but I wonder sometimes. I wonder if he’s trying to get close to you... to... reconcile.”

  “I think it’s up to me to say no.”

  “Have you?” Mom’s slim throat moved as if she’d swallowed. “It’s not my business. I know.” She dropped her head of golden curls flecked with gray.

  “Did Dad ask you to talk to me?” Mom wasn’t this nosey or pushy. Doggedness was Dad’s department.

  “You know how your father is. He’s concerned. He’ll always show concern for his children, no matter how old you are.”

  Dad had shown more than concern when Emery and Darryl had reconnected. Her father had put poor Emery through hell. Dad would never meddle in Bridget’s life after they’d butted heads too many times. He was a shrewd one because he always sent Mom to do his dirty work.

  “Tell Dad I’m fine. I didn’t bring Adam here. He brought himself.”

  “That’s what concerns your father. He’s worried about Kyle and if Adam can sincerely care for him.”

  “His visits are still supervised. I imagine they’ll be supervised for a long time. And it’s not Kyle he’s concerned about. It’s me. Admit it.”

  “Honey...” Mom wrung her hands. “We’re both concerned. It happened so fast last time.”

  “Nothing’s happening this time. I told Adam no.”

  “He asked?” Mom’s intense green eyes only Emery had inherited bulged.

  “Yes. I said no.” Bridget faced the mirror.

  Mom’s reflection, full of concern, stared back. “What about Stephen. How’d your date go?”

  “Great. Stephen’s a nice man. Easy to talk to.”

  “Will you see him again?”

  “Not until Thanksgiving weekend. He’s flying in to see his mom. We’re going to go out Saturday night.”

  “You won’t see him at all during September?” Disappointment lurked in Mom’s question.

  “I told him how busy I am. He said he’d text me to see if I have time to get together around the middle of the month. We’ll see.” Bridget pushed her hair over her shoulder. “I’ll be a week up here. The first fall meeting for the CWA is the following Thursday after I get back. I have a couple of work meetings scheduled. My priority’s Kyle. I don’t like leaving him too often.”

  “I understand. Motherhood’s a great responsibility, and you’re doing a fine job. Try to remember you also need a personal life.”

  “I do. It’s why I went out for dinner. But I don’t want to get involved again. Not right now. If this ends up being my last year...” Bridget’s throat burned. “If it’s Kyle’s last year, our last year together, I want to spend it with him.”

  Mom’s mouth sank. “Have you spoken to a lawyer?”

  “Is it right?” Bridget swiveled on her heel. “Is it right to fight Adam for custody? He’s Kyle’s father.”

  “Why the change of heart? When we last spoke, you were adamant about keeping Kyle.”

  “Maybe the Lord’s getting under my skin. Maybe He’s telling me I have to do the right thing... for Kyle. He loves Adam. They’re getting along great. Adam’s going to ask Mrs. Dale if he can video chat this week since he won’t see Kyle on Wednesday.”

  “And what if Adam returns to his former ways? Honey, we’re talking about a man who led a hard life. Crime and alcohol are all he knows. I understand he tried to change at one time, but he couldn’t. He served time in a federal prison. It doesn’t get any worse than that.”

  “He also spent six months on day parole and worked. He’s on full parole and still working.”

  “He did all that before.” Mom stood. She closed the gap between them. Their fingers brushed. “I worry about Kyle. Adam’s indecision could hurt him, hurt him enough he might not recover this time.”

  A blade raked Bridget’s chest. Mom was right. Adam had crushed Kyle under his boot heel when he’d chosen to attend the workshop. The boy’s heart was fragile. If Adam screwed up again, Kyle’s heart might remain broken forever.

  * * * *

  Adam hadn’t experienced a gravel runway before. Hell, he’d never been on a plane before. The flight had provided a peaceful view of the endless sea of forest, rock cuts, and lakes while he was being jostled and bounced about during his four hundred and eighty kilometer jaunt from Thunder Bay.

  They were close to the Manitoba border, central standard time, according to the pilot, the time zone Adam had been accustomed to until he’d moved to Thunder Bay.

  He squinted through the cloud of sand, maybe having spied a small building known as Ottertail Lake’s airport. The pilot had mentioned the reserve was one of five that had invested in their own air service to provide passage and delivery to over twenty-five First Nations communities up this way.

  There were only two accessible routes to get here—fly or drive an ice road during the winter.

  The plane started a slow turn. Adam continued to peer out the window. The pilot had mentioned he’d flown the workshop trainers to the reserve this morning. Adam guessed he was the only out-of-town participant.

  Ten minutes later, the small plane parked in front of the airport, and the disembark door opened. Adam rose, crouching so his head wouldn’t hit the ceiling as he moved to the back to get off the plane. A man about six-feet, or maybe taller, stood at the airport window, watching. This must be Emery, Bridget’s brother.

  While heading to the entrance, Adam slipped on his cowboy hat he hadn’t worn during the flight because he was too damned tall. He waved away the dust and opened the door.

  The man came forward, hand outstretched. Warmth flooded his bright-green eyes. “Adam, it’s great to finally meet you. I’m Emery.”

  “Good meeting you.” Adam loathed shaking hands, too damn proper, but he responded to Emery’s polite gesture.

  “Let me get your luggage. Darryl can’t be here. He had to go into the office, but he’ll be at the house later. I hope you don’t mind that I brought company. Our dog always has to be with one of us.”

  “Not a problem. I like dogs.”

  Another man of Anishinaabe heritage plunked down Adam’s duffel bag.

  “This isn’t like most airports.” Emery’s soft chuckle matched his voice, the kind of tone capable of lulling a guy to sleep during a bout of insomnia. “No waiting for your luggage to appear on the baggage carousel.”

  “It’s my first flight. Wouldn’t know about that stuff.” Adam slung the duffel bag strap over his shoulder. “Don’t need much, either.”

  “You should see what my sister packs.” Emery’s face twisted to horror. “Oh geez. Please excuse me. I didn’t mean—”

  “No problem. I was engaged to her. Know all about her. She’s got shoes and purses to match every outfit.”

  “Don’t forget her earrings and barrettes.” The horror on Emery’s face faded to a comforting smile. He strode to the exit door.

  “Yeah, she’s got a lot of those, too.” Her girly femininity was a nice touch to her extreme independence. Adam followed along outside to more gravel and a big truck as flashy as Bridget’s Annihilator. “Nice ride.”

  A black-and-white dog poked its head out the window.

  “Darryl bought this when he lived in Winnipeg.” Emery got in. He slipped on black sunglasses. “That’s Bandit. She rules the house and the truck.”

  Adam opened the back door and patted the dog, who yipped. He set his duffel bag on the floor. Bandit demanded another pat, so Adam obliged. Her fur was soft and clean. Warm. At one point he’d considered getting Kyle a dog or even a cat if they’d found a new place that had allowed pets, because he’d wanted normalcy for his son, a normal most children experienced. Pets. Sports. Good grades.

  “One thing I’m learning about this area. People like their trucks.
” Adam got in the front.

  “You have to have them, living up this way.” The engine hummed to life. Emery guided them away from the airport.

  “In the ‘Peg, it’s SUVs. You see trucks, but not too many. It’s the parking. Spaces are tight. Guess it’s easier for people to find a spot.”

  “It’s the same in Southern Ontario. I had an all-wheel drive car.” Emery took them down a road full of box-shaped houses and overgrown ditches. Some of the lawns needed a good mowing.

  Maybe Adam’s own home reserve looked this way.

  Bandit continued to stick her head out the window, barking.

  “You like it up here?” Children played on the side of the road. A few old people sat outside on their front steps.

  “Love it. My parents moved back when I was eight. It’s my strongest memory. I can recall when we lived in Thunder Bay, but this place sticks to my brain. It’s always been and always will be home.” Emery stared straight ahead.

  Adam had never called a place home before. He’d never felt at home anywhere until he’d met Bridget. After Kyle had been born, Adam had meandered from rented room to rented room, trying to find a safe place for his son to grow up. Thunder Bay had been his answer. Sure, he’d managed a small bachelor apartment for Kyle downtown within their welfare allotment. It hadn’t been easy raising a baby and attending recovery meetings.

  Work? Not a chance. Adam hadn’t known any babysitters, let alone any he could trust. That’d all changed after Bridget had whirled into his life. She’d recommended Jude’s sitter, who’d gladly taken Kyle in while also watching Noah and Rebekah.

  How could Adam have blown such a big chance at a new life? Stupid. Fucking stupid. He rubbed his temple. They looked to be in the main part of the reserve. A big office building. A restaurant. Some other buildings.

  “We have our own radio station.” Emery pointed at a small blue shack.

  “Pretty cool. Didn’t think reserves had much of anything.”

  “Some communities are more progressive than others. We have lots of businesses up this way. A motel. A tourist camp. Different services like health care, education, a recreation center. Even a golf course. Now, it’s hardly a masterpiece...” Emery chuckled. “But it’s playable.”

  “You golf?”

  “Yes. I’m teaching my husband. He’s learning but has a way to go. His golf swing is more like a baseball swing. A big hook that never sees the fairway.”

  Adam had no idea about golf. He’d always likened the sport to rich people and fancy country clubs.

  They left behind the main part and took another dirt road where the area was hillier with rock cuts and lots of trees. “This is nice.”

  “It’s more bush this way. We’re going to Long River. It’s where we live.”

  “You work?”

  Emery shook his head. “The only job opening was for a new teacher. I couldn’t apply. I don’t have the qualifications.”

  “I thought you had a degree.”

  “Bachelor of Social Work. Wrong field.”

  “So what you do then?”

  “Lots of volunteering. I work with the youth of the community. I help at the church. Once I start my master’s in January, my schedule will be swamped.”

  “Master’s?”

  “Yes. My MSW.”

  What the heck was an MSW? Adam wouldn’t ask.

  The winding road was a long stretch of about ten clicks.

  Emery turned the truck onto another gravel road. “Almost there. I’m sure you want to unpack and rest. I’m making fish for supper.”

  “Sounds good. Been awhile when I last had fish. Walleye?”

  “Yes. I caught lots over the summer that I keep in the freezer.”

  What was it about Bridget’s brother that brought out the conversation in Adam? He wasn’t much for strangers. Maybe it was Emery’s voice. Or his sincerity. He seemed to want to know Adam. “Sounds good. I don’t eat fish often. Hell. Maybe twice.”

  Emery guided them down a road full of small log homes. “This is the older part of the community. The first homes were built this way.”

  “Nice.”

  “Sturdy, too. Our house dates back to Darryl’s great-grandparents. It used to have a dirt floor. I think his grandparents added the wood floor. Real hardwood. Darryl redid them last year.”

  “Peaceful.” Towering spruce trees stood sentry behind the row of houses. The smell of the river sure wasn’t like the one bordering his old range in the ‘Peg. Fresh. Clean. Not full of waste and other crap.

  Adam chuckled under his breath at the range word. Funny, he still had prison thinking going through his brain now and then.

  “What is it?”

  “Not much. Thinking of my old nabe as a range.”

  Emery entered the driveway of a small log home facing the river. “Range. Ah. What you refer to as cell blocks.”

  “You know?” Adam hadn’t expected a man who’d contemplated the priesthood to recognize iron house slang.

  “Yes. We were educated in the jargon used by inmates as part of our teachings at seminary. For my fieldwork, I accompanied the chaplain on his visits.”

  “You really wanted to work with the down and out, huh?” Adam cracked open the passenger door.

  Bandit hopped out from the window.

  “I don’t see anyone as down and out. I see people as people, some needing more help than others.” Emery also vacated the truck.

  “Is that why you wanna get more education?” Adam slung the duffel bag strap over his shoulder.

  “I always wanted to complete my master’s in social work.” Emery strode to the house.

  Grass encroached on the gravel path. Nothing could stop nature. It was nice to have a break from pavement and tiny pebbles beneath Adam’s running shoes.

  He’d made the right decision. Staying with Emery and Darryl could be a life-changing week for Adam.

  Chapter Twenty: Marching off to War

  Adam gazed around at the Treaty Grounds. So this was what they looked like. Grass everywhere, cut and kept neat. A big arbor for powwows with grandstands for spectators to watch. On the north side, there was a raised booth where the MC spoke to the participants. A couple of other buildings were probably washrooms and changing rooms for people to change into their traditional regalia. Even the smell of spruce was abundant here.

  Bandit barked and trotted along the grass, sniffing here and there.

  “They built this place a few years ago to celebrate the centennial of the Treaty the reserve signed with the government.” Darryl meandered to the grandstands, hands stuffed in his pockets.

  The breeze rustled the leaves on the birch trees that circled the area all the way to the lake. A few birds flew overhead. The water lapping against the rocks carried to where Adam stood. “Now I know why you like to visit the rez’s new digs. It’s nice out here. Right next to the lake.”

  “I find nature’s the best place to speak to Gitche Manidoo,” Darryl replied in a silvery voice. He folded his arms across the light paunch of his stomach. His long black hair was tied off his round face. “I’ll be coming out here lots during the workshop. Reflect. Pray.”

  “Cool. It’d hit the spot if I could find one of my own.” Somewhere to sit and hash out in his head what he had learned at the workshop each day.

  “Hey, I know the perfect spot for you. C’mon.” Darryl stocked to the truck. “You’re gonna love it. It’s right where the church is.”

  “The church?” Adam followed.

  * * * *

  Bridget removed the big pot from the stove top. Thank goodness the parish basement was cool. Members of the Catholic Women’s Association filled the kitchen, the ladies preparing food for tomorrow’s commencement of Healing the Spirit.

  Having already cut everything that would go into the potato salad, all Bridget had to do was drain the pot and then add the contents to the big bowl beside her on the counter.

  Mom fanned herself while stirring another big pot, this
one full of beans. “Once I drain these, we’re done. I’ll bake them tomorrow so they’re fresh.”

  “Not how you imagined you’d spend your vacation, hmm?” Jenny, a good friend of Mom’s, poked Bridget’s side.

  “I don’t mind using my vacation time to help.” Steam whooshed up from the sink where Bridget had emptied half the potatoes into a big colander.

  Video chatting with Kyle before coming to the church had been smart idea. When Bridget got home, her aching body would seek a relaxing, comforting bed. Then she’d be up at six to begin making pancakes and sausages for the workshop participants.

  “Let me get that, sweetheart. You haven’t stopped since we got here.” The offer came from Rosanne, a nice older lady and one of the eucharistic ministers for the church.

  “Thanks. I could use a small break.” Bridget poured two iced teas. She wandered from the kitchen to the main part of the church hall where the men set up tables, assembled a small stage for the trainers to speak from, and readied other necessities for the workshop.

  Dad stood in the middle of everything, speaking to the two trainers.

  A laptop and LCD projector claimed Emery’s attention. He double-checked the equipment.

  “Here.” Bridget held out an iced tea. Although the basement was cool, the off-beige colors and numerous pictures of past parishioners and priests lining one wall offered a blanket of comfort she forever experienced whenever here.

  “Thanks.” Emery took the cup and sat. He motioned at the other chair.

  “Is that your laptop?” Bridget also sat.

  “No. It belongs to the trainers.” Emery glanced around. “They’re here... somewhere.”

  “Talking to Dad.” Bridget motioned. “Where’s Bandit?”

  “At home. Dad picked me up in case Darryl wanted to take Adam for a tour of the reserve in the truck.”

  Bridget wouldn’t rub her cup, or shift in her chair, or pick at her clothes. She and Adam were here by chance. He wanted to help himself. She wanted to help the participants.

  “You didn’t hear me, did you?” Emery’s question sounded more like a statement.