Sanctified

by Maggie Blackbird

  This reaffirmed to Raven they’d move at the kids’ pace. The last thing she wanted to do was make Noah and Rebekah uncomfortable or even upset them. Just as they needed time to get to know her, she needed time to get to know the two most important people in Jude’s life.

  Mrs. Matawapit guided the truck into Jude’s driveway. She shifted the gear into park. “Here you go.”

  Raven gulped. This was it. Her first official dinner with Jude and the kids. But she’d made sure to slide on her big girl panties before leaving the house. She didn’t need the deacon or his wife to hold her hand as they’d done all week.

  “You’ll do fine. Simply be yourself. I very much like the Raven I see at our house. So does my son. And so do his children.” Mrs. Matawapit again patted Raven’s hand.

  The heartfelt words fired a shot of courage into Raven’s veins. “Thanks for the vote of confidence and the lift.”

  “Just call when you need a ride,” Mrs. Matawapit said in a voice as delicate as her willowy build.

  “I will.” Raven cracked open the door. “I’d better go. Can’t be late. Jude’s making prime rib.”

  “Oh? He is? The kids love prime rib.”

  “Yeah. And expensive.” To get such a succulent slab of meat up this way must have cost Jude a pretty penny.

  “Don’t worry about the expense.”

  The back door opened. Noah stuck his head out. “Dad wants to know if you’re okay.”

  “I’d better go.” This was promising. The family was eager to see her. Raven slipped from the truck and shut the door. She hurried up the steps. “Sorry. I was talking to your kokum.”

  “My kokum?” Noah squinted.

  “Yes. I used to always call my grandma Kokum. All Anishinaabe grandchildren use this name.”

  “Really? So Grandma is Kokum instead of Grandma?” Noah moved aside to let Raven inside the house.

  “You can call your grandmother whatever you wish.” Raven removed her boots. The scent of prime rib turning in the rotisserie wafted under her nose.

  “C’mon.” Noah used his finger to beckon and took the three short strides into the kitchen. “Dad, Miss Kabatay’s here.”

  This Miss Kabatay business was nonsense. She’d talk to Jude and ask if he’d relent and let the children call her Raven. Maybe not. Jude knew his kids best, and he’d tell her when they were comfortable enough using her first name. Then again, children had addressed Jude as Mr. Matawapit since he’d become a teacher. Maybe she’d always be Miss Kabatay.

  “Hi, Miss Kabatay.” Rebekah closed her bedroom door. She twirled, showing off a ruffled teal dress. “I only wear this for church or special places, but Dad said I can wear it tonight.”

  “It’s gorgeous. I’m so glad you did.” Thankfully, Raven had slipped on wide-legged black pants that cinched tightly at her waist and a sheer blouse with a camisole underneath.

  “Let me take your coat. Geez, it’s really nice. I wonder where you got that.” Jude winked. He’d also dressed for the occasion in his metrosexual dress pants, a deep-blue shirt that hugged his strong upper build, and hair slicked back.

  “Someone was kind enough to gift it to me.” Raven giggled and shrugged off the long, black leather jacket.

  “Santa?” Noah exclaimed.

  “Yes. Santa.” Raven grinned at Jude.

  Noah, also done up as if he was ready for church, leaned in, whispering, “I don’t believe in Santa, but Becky does. I’m too old for that stuff.”

  “He’s real, Noah. He is.” Rebekah set her hands on her hips.

  “I agree. Santa’s very real.” Kids. They were too adorable. “I make him cookies and set out a glass of milk at the woodstove before I go to sleep.”

  “Do you really?” Noah’s eyes widened. He glanced at Jude and then back to Raven, brows knitted and a finger on his lip.

  Maybe someone was reconsidering their stance on Santa.

  “See. I was right. He’s real. C’mon,” Rebekah urged in her little girl voice. “I set up your spot, Miss Kabatay.”

  Raven took Rebekah’s hand and was led to the table, which was only a step away.

  “Here.” Rebekah pointed at the seat at the end of the table.

  “I get the foot? I’m honored.” Raven sat.

  “Yes. Mom and Grandma always sit there. But you can sit there tonight.” Rebekah pulled out a chair.

  “I just have to finish carving.” Jude ambled to the cluttered counter full of a platter of meat and every other small appliance known to man. The table was weighed down with salad, baked potatoes wrapped in tin foil, some kind of strange cakes, and something else Raven wasn’t sure about.

  “We really need a bigger house.” Jude reached for the knife.

  “Dad says he’s going to build us one,” Noah announced proudly. He took the chair opposite of Rebekah. “This one is really small.”

  “I’m sure your last house was beautiful.”

  Glumness flickered in Noah’s black eyes for a moment. “It was. I had a really cool room. It was big. But I like living with Grandma and Grandpa, and Uncle Emery and Uncle Darryl. I miss Auntie Bridget and Kyle, and my new uncle. They were always doing stuff with us when we lived in Thunder Bay.”

  “I bet they miss you, too.” There wasn’t a better time for Raven to present her gifts to coax the children from homesickness. “Look what I have.” She held up the two gift bags.

  “For me?” Noah exclaimed.

  “Me?” Rebekah pointed at her chest. Goodness, she was as sweet as maple syrup.

  Speaking of maple syrup. “It’s almost time to tap the maple trees.”

  “Tap the what?” Noah squinted.

  “I—I learned what maple trees are in class.” Rebekah raised her hand as if she was in school.

  “Yes, they’re special. My family still taps them for syrup.”

  “Can we go?” Noah asked, eyes glimmering.

  “I think we might be able to. You must have tapped maple syrup with your kokum.”

  “No.” Noah shook his head. “But we pick blueberries. And Uncle Darryl picks wild rice.”

  Just as traplines were inherited, so were stands of maple trees and stands of rice.

  “Then we’ll go with Uncle Darryl. It’s fun bending the plants and knocking them into the canoe.” Raven refrained from mentioning the spiders and other creepy crawlers that snuck into the canoe during the process.

  Jude set the platter of meat on the table. “It sounds like your schedule’s growing, hmm?” He peered at his kids.

  “We’re going to pick wild rice.” Rebekah’s sweet upturned nose made her grin on the impish side.

  A person picked blueberries but knocked wild rice. Raven wouldn’t correct Rebekah until they were in a canoe and she showed her how harvesting from the sacred plant was done.

  “I think your uncle won’t mind. You’re old enough to sit in the canoe for a whole afternoon.” Jude pulled out the chair and sat.

  “Yeah, I’m going, too.” Noah drummed on the table. He rapped the salad bowl as if bashing a pretend symbol.

  “Maybe you can wear these while we’re harvesting the rice.” They’d have to accompany Darryl, since Raven had been ousted from her family and would be unable to join them at their stand.

  “Wear what?” Rebekah tilted her head, placing her finger on her cheek.

  “These.” Raven held up the gift bags.

  “Cool. Presents!” Noah reached over to snatch his.

  “Hey. Hey. What do you say and do?”

  “Aww, Dad.” Noah hung his head.

  “What’s the rule?”

  “We wait to be given the gift and then say thank you.” Noah looked to be trying not to roll his eyes.

  “I think you waited long enough.” Raven handed the gift bags over to the kids.

  Both eagerly dug into the packages, and their faces glowed when they unearthed the moccasins.

  “Yeet. Now I’ll—”


  “What did I say about proper language?” Jude folded his arms.

  “I have to speak properly at the dinner table.” Poor Noah’s tone matched the rolling eyes he again tried to stop.

  Raven bit her lower lip to suppress her giggle. The kids weren’t any different than her rambunctious and mischievous nieces and nephews.

  Of course dinner was held up so the children could try on their new gifts. Then they had to walk about the house in their moccasins. Ten minutes later, everyone sat at the table. Both kids bowed their heads.

  Jude clasped his fingers together and also bowed his head. Raven decided to join in, although she never participated at the Matawapits house, choosing to say her own prayer to Creator instead.

  “Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.” Jude’s voice was loud and clear, Noah’s the same but a pitch higher, and Rebekah’s sweet and quiet.

  Raven’s heart warmed. She truly did belong here, and wanted to belong here, surrounded by three Catholics.

  * * * *

  Having played a board game Rebekah had picked since finding candy-filled adventures was her favorite, and with the kids now off to sleep, it was time to clean up. Jude draped the tea towel over his shoulder.

  Raven stood in front of the sink, scrubbing a plate, helping him tidy the kitchen. But they wouldn’t turn in for the night together. She’d text Mom or Dad afterward and go home to his parents’ house.

  That was okay. They were letting nature take its course. He wrapped his arms around her waist. Her reflection in the window over the sink gazed at him, beautiful lips moving into a deep smile.

  “Did you have a good time?” He pecked her cheek.

  “A really great time.” She giggled. “Wanna know something?”

  “Sure.” He nuzzled her ear.

  “I was a bit nervous. I mean, I’ve had nieces and nephews, like, forever. Um, I wasn’t sure how I’d do with kids.”

  “You did great.” He blew into her ear.

  “That tickles.” She squirmed in his embrace, her sexy ass rubbing against his crotch.

  “Keep it up and we’ll be in big trouble,” he murmured.

  “It’s not my intention to cause trouble.” Her voice was as impish as her answer.

  “Admit it, you love causing trouble.” He nibbled on her lobe with the gold studded earing.

  “Mmm... I love making major trouble, depending on who my partner in crime is.” She bumped her hips back and forth ala Marilyn Monroe, fluttering her perfectly applied fake lashes at him in the window.

  His cock thickened. “Y’know, we might have to make a special trip on Tuesday night to our old stomping grounds.”

  “Should we invest in an RV then?” She rinsed off the plate and set it in the rack.

  “We might have to...” And Jude meant each word. Having Raven staying over one weekend a month was too tough on his dick. “Or never get out of bed for the two nights we’re alone out of the month.”

  “Now that’s gonna be difficult.” Raven swiveled. They were crotch to crotch. She plucked the tea towel from his shoulder and dried her wet hands.

  Jude couldn’t resist stealing a kiss. Her arms snaked around his shoulders in the perfect slinky way she had of coiling around a man. The lips he explored were as sassy and bold as Raven, nibbling away at his mouth, a pucker and then slow and lingering.

  He broke the kiss, or they would get into trouble.

  Using the tip of her nose, she rubbed his.

  “Northern kiss?”

  “Northern kiss.” Her voice was scratchy, a delicate, dreamy echo capable of loosening his muscles.

  “The most we can do right now is cuddle on the couch and watch some TV.” He kept rubbing the tip of her nose with his.

  “Remember, I have to call by at least ten.”

  “I understand.” And he did. There were no complaints on his part, because this woman was offering him a true sanctuary again, gifting him with something he’d once lost and thought he’d never recapture.

  “I love you.” His lips were a breath of air from hers.

  “I love you, too, Jude. I love you so much.” Her love was in the softness of her words, in the glow of her eyes, the lushness of her face, and the warmth of her breath.

  “Same here, sweetheart. Same here. With all of my heart.” His mouth claimed hers, and he lavished a kiss on her silken lips.

  Other Books in The Matawapit Family Series

  Blessed

  Redeemed

  Renewed

  You may also enjoy the following from eXtasy Books Inc:

  Redeemed

  Maggie Blackbird

  Excerpt

  Lying was what Adam did best. He’d learned how to lie as a punk-ass kid. Believing the lie for the complete truth was key in confusing the cops, the Crown attorney, the judge—anyone trained to search his face, voice, or body language for signs of dishonesty. Only booze had tripped him up, nailed him good enough to send him down below because of his love for the bottle.

  He wouldn’t lie today. He hadn’t lied during his parole hearing, either. Lying wasn’t a part of his new life. Neither was whiskey.

  From now on, fatherhood was what he’d do best.

  Other parents sat in the waiting room at Children and Family Services. One paced the floor wearing yesterday’s stubble. Another shifted in her seat, bleary-eyed, either from a hangover or crying. The tall guy with holes in his clothes crossed and uncrossed his legs. The girl, not much older than twenty, rocked back and forth, slurping coffee, while her legs twitched. A tweaker, probably.

  The smell was the same in all government buildings. A lingering of something old and outdated, and the walls either a bland beige, faded white, or dull light gray. Off-white was the color of choice at Children and Family Services.

  “Mr. Guimond?” The receptionist rose from behind the rounded counter against the wall. “Your caseworker’s ready to see you. Second floor. The fourth office on your right.” She used a pen to point in the direction of the elevator.

  Adam stood. His feet remained rooted to the floor, and he forced his legs to make the ten-yard trek to the elevator. Once he was enclosed inside the stuffy chute no bigger than the drunk tank he’d been tossed in after coming off a bender, he fumbled for the second-floor button.

  There was no turning back. He was going up.

  He could face a judge sentencing him, cops tossing him on the hood of a cruiser to handcuff him, scouting his range for the first time while being sized up by the toughest of toughs, or a beat-out from the Winnipeg Warriors to drop his colors. He could face anything but a caseworker who’d decide if and when he’d see his boy.

  He checked his reflection in the mirror, smoothing his hair that kinked this way and waved that way. Damned wind was to blame after his walk to and from the bus stop. Since t-shirts, jeans, and running shoes wouldn’t impress the caseworker, he’d borrowed a too-snug dress shirt and dress pants off a guy at the halfway house. The buttoned cuffs were silver bracelets locked around his wrists, and the starched collar a noose.

  The doors opened. His breathing mirrored the rattle and hops when he’d been chased by the cops. The same for the hot pressure pounding at the back of his neck.

  There were offices in both directions. Some doors were open, a couple of them closed. Voices carried out from the offices, workers either on the phone or meeting with a loser like himself.

  He gave his left a try first and trudged down the hallway. The fourth door on the right was closed.

  Show time. He’d done this lots—getting his shit together before his execution. He fisted and un-fisted his fingers while huffing and puffing three quick breaths of air.

  He rapped his knuckles against the fake wood.

  “One moment, Mr. Guimond,” a woman said in a stern voice.

  Adam’s heartbeat slowed, and the ball of tension behind his neck
vanished. A few more seconds. He leaned on the wall and folded his arms. At least he’d gotten the right door. He’d also made sure not to smoke outside. First impressions counted, whether at a parole hearing, before a judge, anything. Smelling like an old cigarette butt was the wrong impression, but the blood threading through his veins could use a dart right now.

  “You may enter.” The woman’s supposed invitation came out as an order. She must have worked at the iron house or had a husband as a CO.

  He opened the door to a hawk—a birdlike biddy in her sixties with gray hair pulled off her narrow face and twisted into a bun. Beady cold eyes looked him up and down with the scrutiny of a judge on the bench. Her nose, the shape of a beak, she held high in the air. She pointed her skinny finger at the chair positioned in front of the desk, square in the middle.

  “You may sit.” She lowered her hard gaze to a neat stack of papers and started writing.

  Adam sat. The chair was positioned too close to the desk. Even when he opened his legs, his knees hit the cheap laminate. Maybe this was part of the caseworker’s strategy to make clients uncomfortable.

  “I’m Mrs. Dale. Your son’s caseworker.” She kept writing on the pad, her scrawny knuckles a bright red from how hard she gripped the pen.

  There wasn’t a smidgen of dust on the filing cabinet, desk, or bookshelf. One lone picture faced her. Pens kept in order of color sat in a tray. Even the essentials for an office were set square on the desk. There were no other files present but one manila folder which also sat square beside the paper she wrote on. The off-white vertical blinds were adjusted to keep the sunlight off her but allow the two blooming plants on a shelf to take in a tan.

  With all this silence, she must want him to speak first. He swallowed a helping of saliva to keep his voice strong and calm. “I’m Adam Guimond. Kyle’s father.”

  “I already know who you are and why you are here, Mr. Guimond.” The Hawk kept writing. “I have been responsible for your file since your incarceration.”