Carol GoldenEagle - Bone Black

“It’s been a while since we’ve taken a trip anywhere,” laments Wren.

“You’re right, my love.” Lord’s expression changes from sleepy to intrigued. “Any place you want to go in particular?”

Wren tells him she wants to go somewhere hot. Maybe Cuba.

“That is an excellent idea. I’ll check out some travel agents while in the city today and bring home some brochures. Look at the time,” he says, and quickly finishes up his last bite. “I’ll see you for dinner. And, don’t worry about cooking me anything. I’ll pick up something to go.”

Not five minutes later, Wren watches her husband’s car make the turn from their grid road onto the main highway. He’s got plans for the day and so does she.

It has not been difficult to stalk Billy, not hard to figure out his routine at all. Wren found him right away online. He works as an independent roofer and has ads around town. His truck dons the logo for his company and his contact information.

After Lord leaves for the office each day, Wren leaves for the city. She’s been following Billy for the past three days. His schedule is the same every morning. At 8:30 he visits a local Tim Hortons on North Albert Street. He doesn’t use the drive-thru because it’s often faster to use the counter service, so he orders inside. She even knows what he gets: oatmeal with milk and an extra-large double-double coffee to go. She has sat, watched and noted everything, from what he wears to his mannerisms.

This morning and before leaving for the city, her plan is to alter her appearance as much as possible, tie her hair up in a bun and hide it under a hat. She practises changing her speaking voice, with a slight French accent.

Wren arrives at the Tim Hortons parking lot before Billy does. It’s 8:27 a.m. As she watches Billy’s truck pull into a space beside her car, her breathing increases just a bit. She’s suddenly nervous about whether she can pull this off, and is hoping he doesn’t recognize her.

It’s been a decade since she last saw him. She prays he won’t remember. By sheer willpower, Wren stops her hands from shaking. It’s showtime. Her plan is to approach him, not confront him, but just meet him head-on, be polite. Kill him with kindness as it were.

“Oh, hello,” she says as he exits his truck. “I notice you do roofing. I’ve seen your truck here a couple of mornings now when I’ve stopped in for a tea.” Her French accent is iffy, though only a Francophone would detect this.

“Morning, ma’am.” Billy’s greeting is jovial, and it’s clear to Wren that he does not recognize her.

“I don’t know if you take jobs out of town,” she tells him, “but part of my roof needs some work. More so now that the weather has come in. I don’t want any further damage.” She tells him that the person she’d contracted earlier in the fall had some health problems so wasn’t even able to start the job and she doesn’t want to chance leaving the work until springtime. “Could you do an estimate? If you take out-of-town jobs that is.”

The two chat for a short while and Billy offers to come out to the farmhouse the next day.

“That won’t work, I have to head out of town for a few days for work. But on Monday I will be at home.” That’s the day Lord indicated he’ll be out of province.

Billy checks the work schedule on his cellphone. “I seem to be available Monday,” he says. “What’s the address?”

“It is a bit of a maze to get to my house, so I won’t give you farmer’s directions.” Billy gives a slight laugh at Wren’s comment because he’s been in southern Saskatchewan and gotten lost on the grids. Rural people know about the red barn by the slough where you’re supposed to turn left toward the Baker’s farm, whoever Baker is, and then make a right where there’s a fork in the road, marked only by an abandoned postbox. It’s rural lingo and farmer’s directions, understood and followed by the local folk.

“I’ll draw you a map,” Wren offers.

She doesn’t want to leave any type of electronic trail, so she jots down crude directions on the back of a pamphlet. She makes sure to keep her red leather gloves on while drawing—no fingerprints to leave behind. When Billy asks her for a phone number “in case there is a change of plans,” Wren writes down the number for a disposable cellphone she purchased recently for exactly this purpose.

“So, Monday, then,” she says and thanks him. “I’ll make sure to put the coffee on before you show up, then you can look at what’s needed and let me know if you can do this job. Lord knows I don’t want to go through my first blizzard without having it fixed. I swear, I saw a couple of shingles blow right off with that strong wind from the north the other day.”

Billy folds the pamphlet with the directions, slides it into his back pocket and heads to the coffee shop. Wren doesn’t follow him inside to order a tea. Instead, she feigns having to make a phone call. She waits for him to go in through the door and gets back into her vehicle, driving out of the parking lot feeling satisfied with herself. Contact has been made. A plausible trap has been set, which will soon lure Billy’s wretched soul to his doom.

Wren thinks about Stella and Jeremy as she makes the righthand turn back toward busy North Albert Street. Then she mutters the words, “You will take no more, Vespas.”

A few days after Lord leaves for business in Alberta, Wren is standing at the bathroom mirror, staring at her reflection. She notices a wrinkle between her eyebrows. She notices that she has no smile lines, but creases have formed in a downward direction at the sides of her mouth, frownlines indicating prolonged sadness. She stares intently, examining her face.

In that moment she has thoughts of vengeance again, then realizes that the feeling is a natural part of grieving or experiencing injustice. Even God does it , she assures herself, remembering stories from the Bible, including one told to her by her beloved kohkum. According to the Exodus account, Moses held out his staff and the Red Sea was parted by God. The Israelites walked on the exposed dry ground and crossed the sea, followed by the Egyptian army. Moses lowered his staff once the Israelites had crossed and the sea closed up, drowning the entire Egyptian army.

It’s a Bible passage that will always stay with Wren. She remembers it from her childhood when she and Raven would cuddle on the couch with Kohkum. They’d have a plate of sugar cookies in front of them, baked with love, and they’d watch The Ten Commandments with Charlton Heston playing the role of Moses. Along with other feature films, that movie was always on television, always a part of the Christmas season. Not too many weeks from now, it’ll be Christmas again. But without the movie, without Kohkum, without her Raven.

If God can decree that some people need to be put to death, then am I doing anything wrong if I do the same? Wren asks herself, remembering that stern punishment has always been a part of her culture as well.

She recalls a story that her kohkum used to tell when the girls misbehaved. Kohkum told the story as a lesson to always be mindful about how we treat others, that bad deeds do not go unnoticed, that doing good will be rewarded, and if we cause harm, it will be met with the same.

Kohkum’s story centres around a group of bad young men. She called them the Young Dogs. They were a group of wayward youth who had been banished from their Cree and Nakota tribes because each had committed crimes too unspeakable for a young girl’s ears. Kohkum didn’t go into details about how the Young Dogs brutalized Elders and those who were two-spirited, nor how they sexually molested many, even children. They were poisonous, and poison needs to be removed, so each was banished and forced to leave the safety of the tipi villages to set out on their own.