Carol GoldenEagle - Bone Black

Wren’s nightmare changes. Now she sees Kohkum standing in front of her doorway. Kohkum holds the pink rosary in one hand and a braid of sweetgrass in the other. Raven is standing next to her. Kohkum says a few words in Cree. Mahti sipwehte kisewatisiwin ochi . Leave now with kindness. It is spoken with both the reverence of a prayer and the authority of a command. Scarecrow disappears, turning to ash and disappearing into the fresh snow. The hand continues to advance until Raven picks up the axe leaning against the house and brings it down with one hard blow, almost severing it in two.

The coyote runs from the darkness of the bush and grabs the hand. It flops on the ground like a fish out of water until it’s crushed in the strong jaws of the hungry animal. Kohkum makes the sign of the cross and both she and Raven disappear into the night. Like the tail of a shooting star, a light ascends toward the heavens, making Wren feel safe. Nothing bad shall be allowed to cross over her threshold.

Whatever has been done needed to be done. As Wren awakens from sleep, she too makes the sign of the cross, lifts her arms toward the sky and bids her grandmother good night. “Kisakihitin Kohkum. I love you Grandmother and thank you. Raven, I miss you. Kinanaskomitin.”

It is important to Wren to speak in the old language, the language those in the spirit world will understand. She wipes a tear from her eye and in the dark, says another prayer for forgiveness.

Wren has done her best to make sure no clues are left behind, other than boots on the fence post and stories in petroglyph images on her bone black pottery. Ashes of the dead. It’s been three days since she put that old man in her kiln. He’s ash now. Burned him up so that God won’t even recognize him.

She knows Father Hector left his car in the parking lot of the strip mall where she’d been stalking him. She figures that eventually the car will get towed away and put into the police impound where someone can purchase it at auction at some later date. But surely , she thinks, someone is bound to notice he hasn’t returned to the seniors’ home, or that he no longer goes to the coffee shop to order a day-old muffin?

Wren sees nothing in the newspaper, which she peruses while standing at the gas station. She’s going to head to the city again with a grocery list. As she turns on her ignition, news radio comes to life. She wants to know if there’s a story about Father Hector, but there is nothing on the news about a missing priest. This surprises her, considering the coverage of his recent acquittal.

Wren wonders if no one cares about him, thinks that maybe others secretly wondered if all the testimonies were true. Wren supposes that someday soon, people will notice he’s missing. But then, people go missing all the time. Wren pauses for a second, realizing the irony of her own thoughts.

None of the news really interests Wren. The newscaster talks about a decline in home sales, a union somewhere planning a strike. She is just about to change the station when a story comes on that makes her blood boil.

“A verdict has been reached in the case of Myron Salt.” the news anchor announces. “Minutes ago, the judge presiding over the case found him not guilty in the death of Mavis Blind, the fifteen-year-old girl found deceased in a farmer’s field near Southey over a year ago. We have a reporter at the courthouse.”

Wren listens to the familiar details about the girl’s disappearance. The reporter goes on to say that the young lady left a house party around midnight in the city’s North Central area last year. Young Mavis didn’t have enough money to cover the cost of a cab ride to her home on the George Gordon First Nation near Punnichy, deciding to hitchhike instead.

It wasn’t until the following spring that a farmer discovered her body while he was out seeding. Her half-naked corpse was found stuffed under a round hay bale. The not-guilty verdict was reached because there was no forensic evidence and there were no eyewitnesses. The reporter ended the update by explaining that the twenty-one-year-old accused of the crime was pronounced free and led out a back door of the courthouse as the Blind family was left in the courtroom, visibly shaken.

It’s too much for Wren. Too many real-life stories about evil men causing destruction and seemingly never taking responsibility for their actions. Wren feels like she hears stories like this every week and all she ever hears anyone say is that it’s tragic these things happen. They never offer a solution, always figuring the answer lies somewhere else.

“Not this time, Myron Salt,” Wren mutters while wiping away a tear.

Wren finds herself stopped at the shoulder of the highway, radio still blaring. She can’t remember why she is pulled over or what she is looking for, and in these moments, Wren is not herself. She enters a fugue state again—a place where her actions have a life of their own, without memory, without accountability. When she checks the clock on the dashboard, she sees that a whole hour has passed.

She wants to scream because of the last thing she heard on the news. Another young girl is dead and the person accused of killing her is free. Wren begins to beat the dashboard, yelling as she does. Raven is gone and there was no investigation. Billy Vespas was violent and a rapist—no one brought him to justice. That old perverted priest was pronounced innocent of his crimes, even though Wren knows he deserved much worse. Now this. No more.

“Justice will be served,” Wren promises to an empty car. “And your dark filth will be wiped clean with the fresh snowfall.”

Her thoughts go back to the day Mavis’s body was discovered. She cries as she listens to the news story, it makes her think about Raven again. What if this was a story about her? Wren screams in anger as she slams her fist on the dashboard again. She knows she’ll have to regain her composure soon. She straightens her shirt and pulls her hair away from her face. It’s a good day , like she told herself upon waking, despite the tragic news on the radio. It’s a good day because Lord is coming home this afternoon . He’s been gone over a week and as much as she’s grateful that he hasn’t been home these past days, she also misses him. She’s looking forward to preparing him one of his favourite meals: a slow-cooked beef stew.

Wren restarts the car and turns back onto the highway. As she reaches the outskirts of the city, she decides to practise breathing techniques learned in yoga class. “Inhale goodness, peace and love,” she tells herself. “Exhale sadness, worry and despair.” It helps to calm her and allows her to let feelings of fury and rage subside. Any plans that she might think of for Myron will come to her later, when she’s alone with her thoughts. She will figure out where Myron Salt lives, where he works, where he hangs out. For now, she has a grocery list that needs her attention and a lovely evening with her husband awaits.

After she visits the grocery store, Wren checks the time. Lord’s flight lands in half an hour and she wants to make sure she gets to the airport before his plane does. The traffic flow is light at this time of day, which means Wren has plenty of time to find a parking stall. Her early arrival at the terminal means she has some time to look around the airport gift shop, too. There are so many corny souvenirs, like a fish replica covered in bits of fur and a sign that boasts: Saskatchewan lake fish .

The shop also carries beautiful, handmade jewellery made by local artists, but all the pieces are for women. There are also fresh flowers. Wren buys Lord a red rose. a symbol of their love and an affirmation to herself that she will do her best to focus on the joy in her life, putting an end to dark thoughts and deeds. He has gone out of his way to be patient these past months but she fears his patience might be running out. She misses the days when they used to tell each other that they loved one another. She misses knowing what he ate for lunch. She misses the trust that she’d see each time he looked into her eyes. She misses his touch.