Samuel smiled, opened his door, and stepped out. He closed the door and looked back through the window. “I’ll think about that.”
“Just be careful out there, Sam.” Cabbie John grinned as he drove away.
Samuel entered the house only to hear his older cousin Harold berating the other boys in the living room. Samuel stepped in quickly to support his brother and cousin.
“How did this happen?” Harold demanded. Atim’s mouth fell open but no answer came out. Harold had Otter lying down on the couch and was pressing his fingers against Otter’s abdomen. Harold’s face was filled with concern. “Does this hurt?”
“It just aches. But there’s no pain from you just pushing.” Otter shook his head while he covered his eyes with a hand.
“It’s probably just bruised. You’re lucky I came home before class. How did this happen?” Harold asked again. With his angry cousin’s attention on Sam, Atim moved and stood farther away.
“Some boys jumped us for our money. They saw we had cash, and then…when we were outside the mall, they grabbed me and Otter, and took our money, mostly Otter’s.” Samuel didn’t know why he summed up the situation without mentioning Brett.
“Well you’re lucky to be alive.” Harold took one last look at Otter’s bruises and then pulled down his shirt. “You guys can’t go to the mall downtown anymore. It’s too dangerous.” He shook his head. Otter sat up and swung his feet to the floor. Harold sat beside him and rubbed his back.
Samuel was going to argue, but then he just shrugged. “We’re broke now anyway.”
“Where’s Chickadee?” Harold looked worried.
“She wasn’t downstairs when we woke up,” Atim blurted out.
“She left with me, but she should have been home by now!” Harold suddenly stood up. “Where the heck is she? It’s starting to rain. I’m calling the police!” Harold was upset. He grabbed a phone and started dialing.
The boys didn’t know what to do.
Just then the back door burst open. Everyone ran to see who was there.
A disgruntled Chickadee stared back at them from under her dripping, black hoodie. Her long, raven hair hung in tangled strands. Her blue jeans were rain-soaked. Chickadee’s eyes were red and she tried to blink away tears. She had no desire to let the boys see her cry, so she stomped her way downstairs, took off her wet clothes, and went to bed.
Chapter 13
Crush Hour
When Chickadee arrived at the building, she was shocked by its difference from the stone wonder of the main archives. These post-adoption archive offices were functionally bland and made of gray brick, black glass, and brown plastic. The nice old guard at the door gave her the proper floor and office number.
An open door led to a small counter and a two-chair waiting area. Chickadee walked up and rang the bell. In a few moments, a young woman smiled down at her. “Thank you for coming to the registry. My name is Janice. Can I help you?”
Chickadee explained her quest to the young woman. After giving Chickadee a form to fill out, the woman called her supervisor.
“I’m Mrs. Yenna. Can we help you?” The older woman peered over the rim of her glasses. Somehow, Chickadee knew Mrs. Yenna didn’t appreciate children. She told her story for the third time that day, but she wasn’t expecting much from Mrs. Yenna.
The older woman punched Auntie Charlotte’s full name into the computer. Something came up on the screen, which she read for a long time. Chickadee waited patiently, but eventually asked, “Find anything?”
“Nothing I can share. Without a date of birth, her name will only get us so far. I’ll get Janice working on this, but we’ll need that date of birth before we can do anything. Sorry.” Mrs. Yenna walked back to her desk in the area behind the counter.
Janice returned and helped Chickadee fill out the form as much as possible with the information they had. Janice assured Chickadee she would do what she could.
Chickadee left the building, got her bearings, and walked back to the bus stop. She was disappointed. The supervisor obviously knew more than she would say. As she waited, she paced, thinking about her frustrating afternoon. Lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t realize how many people had come to wait at the stop. It wasn’t until a bus pulled up that she realized a small crowd had formed. She looked up at the bus and saw that it was the route she wanted and got in line with all the others. Her change tinkled into the cache.
This wasn’t like the few other times she had ridden the bus. A host of faces stared at her as she walked down the aisle, and she thought of what Brett had said about her clothes. All these city people probably knew that Chickadee was from a reserve. People looked away as she walked by them. She wanted a seat, but she was almost at the back, and there was no place to sit down. Several people were already standing. Chickadee turned around, but another bunch of people now blocked her view of the front. The bus started with a lurch. Chickadee stumbled, took a step, grabbed the passenger bar, and hung on.
The bus soon stopped again. More people came aboard. The group between her and the door moved back. A middle-aged man, in a dirty yellow vest and a hard hat, walked down the aisle toward her. Chickadee squeezed her way toward the people behind her. A young woman, with a backpack over her shoulders and a large purse swung over an arm, texted on her phone with her thumb. Chickadee got as close as she dared, then stopped. She turned around; the large construction worker was right there. She could smell his work sweat. Chickadee looked over her shoulder and stepped back toward the girl. The girl scowled. The bus lunged forward. Chickadee half-stumbled but did a better job of catching herself.
In a blink, the bus stopped again. She couldn’t believe more people were allowed on. Everyone pushed back. The little space Chickadee had shrunk even more. She had never been this close to strangers before. There were so many people too close to her. Chickadee looked down. A seated couple looked back. She tried to see out the windows, but a sputtering rainfall had started. It had mixed with the road dust and smudged the windows. The bus was now a beige box.
Chickadee turned. The young woman glared. She looked forward. The construction worker’s arm held onto the overhead bar, his hairy armpit emitting odor. Chickadee couldn’t breathe. She closed her eyes. She could feel the people around her as they reacted to the motion of the bus. A prickly heat raced up her neck and face. Chickadee felt like an unbreakable shell was growing around her. It was too tight for her chest to expand. She had to get off! Chickadee urged her feet to stay still. But unstoppable fear rose inside her. Her feet began to push her forward. The construction worker swore as she shoved past him.
“Sorry, sorry. Oh, I need to get out! Sorry.” Chickadee held back tears, pushing her way through. She tried to gently slip by an old woman holding on tightly as the bus wriggled through traffic. Through the crush of people, Chickadee could make out the doors. She struggled toward them, but the other riders were oblivious to her concern. With an irrational terror pushing her forward, Chickadee forced her way through. The bus slowed. Chickadee pushed on the door handles. They refused to open. She pushed as hard as she could. A green light flashed above. The doors gave way quickly, and Chickadee tumbled out into the mud on the street.
The people she had just pushed past began to step off the bus.
A young man with a skateboard looked down at her from the bus steps. “Stupid Indian. Go back to the rez.” He stepped over Chickadee and onto the sidewalk.
Chickadee got up quickly and stepped up onto the curb, brushing the dirt off her clothes. The busload of people pulled away from the scene of her embarrassment. Chickadee looked around. The neighborhood was kind of old. A colorful Italian restaurant stood across the street. On her side, the bus had just passed a gas station before it had stopped. Other shops and restaurants stretched off into the soggy distance. No matter where she looked, nothing was familiar. This was just another faceless corner in a huge ci
ty. And she had spent the last of her bus fare.
Chapter 14
Heading in One Direction
“So were you freaked out when you had to figure out how to get home?” Sam shoved a spoonful of sugary cereal in his mouth and eagerly leaned toward Chickadee at the breakfast table. The Muskrats were alone in the house with their auntie at work and the little kids at day care.
Chickadee poured her cereal and waited for Atim to finish with the milk. She had a new attitude today. Yes, she got kind of lost and walked over an hour in the rain, but she had figured out how to get home, and she had pushed their case forward. Last night, she was still mad at the boys for not taking their missing auntie more seriously. She went to bed as soon as she got home without saying a word to any of them. This morning, she decided she was going to find Auntie Charlotte, whether the boys helped her or not.
“I followed the bus stops and walked home. No biggie.” Chickadee shrugged.
“You looked pretty wet when you came in last night,” Atim remarked. “Maybe even like you had been crying.”
Chickadee rolled her eyes at her cousin. “I was mad at myself for getting off the bus in the wrong place. That was all.”
“That was it?” Otter arched his eyebrow.
“Well, I actually fell off the bus.” Chickadee giggled picturing herself in her panic. “But then, there was some guy who called me a ‘stupid Indian’ and told me to go back to the rez.”
Little drops of milk shot-gunned across the table as Atim coughed out some of his cereal.
“You’re kidding me!” He was angry.
Chickadee shrugged. “No. I tripped coming off the bus, so I was lying there in the mud. And then he shaded me as he got off.” Chickadee quietly wondered if she’d be able to handle it the next time she was close to so many strangers. She knew she wouldn’t even have to face that again if she stayed in Windy Lake.
“If I was there, I would have hit the guy.” Atim shook his head angrily and then slammed his fist into his palm.
“Settle down, big guy. No reason to get upset about what some idiot racist says.” Sam lightly slapped his brother on the shoulder.
Chickadee was thoughtful as she spoke. “It was different from when someone calls me an Indian at home. I didn’t know the guy, not even a little, but he hated me just for who my family was. It was…sharper for some reason. Made me angry…”
“I think that’s natural.” Otter gave Chickadee a half-hug. “Sorry you had to go through that, Chickie.”
“I’m mad just thinking about it!” Atim spoke through gritted teeth.
“Well, you shouldn’t get more upset about it than Chickadee, it didn’t happen to you.” Sam shook his head at his brother.
Atim was about to retort when Otter spoke.
“Chickadee wasn’t the only one who had a bad day yesterday.” Otter gave the biggest Muskrat a little nudge. Atim looked at the ceiling, then rubbed his eyes.
Sam told Chickadee about the mugging and their escape.
“Are you serious!?” Chickadee was the next one to cough and spit cereal across the table.
“If it hadn’t been for the old, scraggly cab driver…” Sam shook his head.
“Cabbie John saved us!” Otter declared.
“Can’t judge a book by its cover, that’s for sure.” Atim pursed his lips.
“So…is there any money left?” Chickadee asked the group.
Atim pulled out his pockets. Samuel shook his head. Otter shrugged.
“Brett and his buddies took it all,” Atim admitted sadly as he swiped the hair away from his eyes.
Chickadee’s heart fell when she heard it. “Brett?”
“Yeah, Brett.” Samuel nodded slowly.
“But…” Chickadee was speechless. She couldn’t figure how this was possible.
“He scammed us!” Atim threw up his hands. “His buddy punched Otter.” He threw a hand out in his cousin’s direction. “And Brett took them there.”
“The big bully from the pool game said that was a scam too. I thought Brett hooking himself seemed kind of strange. I guess, for me, that’s when the doubts started,” Samuel recollected.
Chickadee’s mind went over the past few days and all the little things that told her Brett had changed. He wasn’t the Brett she liked in Windy Lake. She decided to put it behind her. Like the walk in the rain yesterday, she wasn’t going to let it bother her today.
“So, what are we going to do then?” Chickadee raised an eyebrow at her cousins. The boys squinted hard but couldn’t seem to squeeze out any new ideas.
“Okay,” she said. “I propose we focus on Auntie Charlotte. I spent yesterday looking for Grandpa’s sister. I’ve hit a dead-end, but I’ve got a lead on another place where we may be able to find info.”
“It would be pretty cool to find Grandpa’s sister after all this time. Why the dead-end?” Samuel was pinching his lower lip.
“We need her exact date of birth or else we can’t go any farther.” Chickadee slurped the last of the milk out of her cereal bowl. “I’m pretty sure the lady at the adoption registry knew more than she was saying, but she’s using the date of birth as the key for unlocking the information.”
“Is that what they call red tape?” Sam’s brow furrowed.
“I don’t know, but her assistant was helpful. She told me to go to the National Centre for Truth and Reconciliation, the N-C-T-R, she called it. That’s where they keep a lot of the information on residential schools.” Chickadee looked around at her cousins who nodded.
“I want to go down there and find out as much as we can. If we can find out more, it might unlock the archives info, and we may actually get somewhere.” She stood and gathered all their dirty dishes and put them on the counter near the dishwasher.
After using the computer to find the NCTR’s address, the Mighty Muskrats headed out. The bus dropped them off in the middle of a large university campus.
“Who knew the NCTR was in the same location where Harold is going to school?” Atim looked around at the maze of different buildings.
“We’re the new ones figuring things out.” Sam chuckled at his brother. “Probably everybody else knew it was here.”
“Could be.” Atim nodded sagely.
Samuel looked at the map they had printed off at Auntie Sadie’s. “I think, if we head…that way,” he pointed down a path that led behind a cluster of buildings, “we’ll find the place we’re looking for.”
The Muskrats walked between the buildings. When they got past them, they saw a large brick house tucked quietly away at the back of the university. It had once been a home, but it had long been converted to offices. The building had obviously been on the university grounds for many, many years. Its three stories looked tiny beside the huge buildings full of classrooms, libraries, and labs. The comfortable bundle of bricks now stored all the research brought together by the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada as it delved into the history of residential schools.
Chapter 15
A Centre for Truth
and Reconciliation
The Mighty Muskrats entered quietly. The inside of the building was cozy, with softwood windowsills and banisters and hardwood floors. The walls were filled with a mixture of art and interesting research in the form of letters, official documents, and ancient photos squeezed in between a phalanx of bookshelves. Well-used desks, printers, and office tables held down the open spaces.
A thirty-something lady was working at a desk nearby. Her smile was bright as she spoke. “Hello. Can I help you?”
Chickadee stepped forward with her cousins in tow. “Hello, Ma’am. We’re looking for information on our great-aunt Charlotte. We know she went to the Chokecherry Pass Residential School.”
The woman stood and walked over to the Muskrats. It was obvious the Centre had once been an old house. The la
dy’s office was squeezed in what would have been the hallway and greeting area, the museum and research portions were spread over the former dining room and living room.
“My name is Meher.” She shook each of their hands. “Have you been here before?”
“No. We’re from up north. I’m Atim,” Atim—obviously stricken by Meher’s beauty—said with a goofy smile.
The other Muskrats rolled their eyes and then gave her their names in turn.
“Well, you came to the right place when it comes to looking for information on your great-aunt. We have a computer catalogue of information and enrollment lists of all the residential schools. Come with me.”
As they followed Meher into the former dining room to a row of three computers, she gave them a spiel that she had no doubt delivered numerous times before.
“At the National Centre for Truth and Reconciliation, we maintain a lot of the records and files that have been collected from residential schools as well as a large library of documents written about those schools. For over a century and a half, residential schools operated in Canada. Over 150,000 children attended them. Often underfunded and overcrowded, the schools were used as a tool of assimilation by the Canadian state and churches. Thousands of students suffered abuse. All suffered from loneliness and a longing to be home with their families. The damages inflicted by residential schools continue to this day.”
She took them to a long table with a few computers on it.
“You can access our database here.” Meher leaned over, took the mouse, and began to click options on the screen.
“Where did you say she went?” Meher smiled at Chickadee.
“Chokecherry Pass, it’s up north.” Chickadee studied the home page of www.nctr.ca on a nearby computer screen. “What kind of work do you do here? I know you keep stuff…but what do you do?”
“Well, do you know there was the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, which studied residential schools and the experiences of the students?” Meher looked at each of the Muskrats. They all nodded. They had heard stories of the residential schools from their Elders, uncles, and aunties. They had been told about the apology and the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in school.
The Case of the Missing Auntie Page 6