Carol GoldenEagle - Bone Black

Before any colour is added, however, the hardwood floor is in need of some care. The room is pretty empty, with only an old dresser and a few boxes filled with old books needing to be moved. As Lord opens one of the boxes, he is filled with contentment upon seeing a copy of Dr. Seuss’s Green Eggs and Ham . He figures it’s something Wren often read as a child and he removes the book from its place, hidden in a box. It will be a part of their baby’s life, too. Lord smiles as he imagines sitting on the bed and reading a book to his child. He makes a point of taking the copy and walking it down the hallway where he sets it on his bedside table. He knows it’s a memory that will make his wife happy.

Back in the baby’s room, Lord opens a dresser drawer. He finds the death photo of his mother hidden underneath some scarves. Hidden from sight by his wife.

Lord has come down to the kitchen where Wren is making some tea. He’s carrying the photo of his dead mother lying in her coffin. “Why did I find this hidden in the spare room?”

“Oh that.” Wren feels a twinge of guilt. “How can I explain?” she starts.

She admits her fear, that the Magras curse might be something real, kept alive, if only in the imagination. Wren tells Lord that something about that photo seems wrong to her. Haunting, as if his mother still doesn’t want anyone to enter their home. She talks about how the couple has not had any visitors except for Raven, but that Raven went away. And that first baby, too.

Wren tells Lord about the dreams she’s been having about a scarecrow, and that it is somehow influencing her not allow anyone across the threshold of the farmhouse. She tells him she worries for the new baby, and that somehow that photo of his mother might be trying to undo what happiness they have found.

“It is just a photo, Wren.” Lord does his best to console his wife, though he is upset that she hid the picture in a drawer.

“A photo, yes,” Wren replies, “but what if, somehow, your mom attached a part of herself to the photo? What if the curse is not just something that was talked about, but something real? I can’t risk losing another baby, Lord.”

Wren continues, trying to explain the intensity of her fears so Lord will understand. She describes a memory from her childhood, standing alone on the prairie near an abandoned farmhouse, its wood rotting with age and weather. “There are voices that can be heard from its cistern. And a smell, like sour flesh. There was always something about that place that said Stay away . Raven and I went there on our bikes sometimes when we were girls, even though we were warned not to.”

The prairie area is near the lake, within walking distance of the point. Wren talks about an old hermit who used to live there who died in his sleep and no one found him for months. He had not picked up his mail all those weeks, which is why the post office alerted police to go and check. By the time the rcmp showed up, he’d already been wrapped in cobwebs and was stiff and rotted. The whole house was filled with spiders. In life, that man hated and cursed anyone who crossed his path. The story says he ended up like that because he was jilted by his young bride, who left him with no explanation. His heart went to darkness and he called on a curse. He believed in it and gave it life.

After he died, the property stood empty. Nothing grew except for weeds. Wren remembers feeling like there was electricity in the air whenever she went near the home. Raven and Wren dared each other but never went in, prevented by a foreboding feeling of being watched. “So, I do believe in curses. People make fun of it and call it nothing but superstition,” Wren tells Lord, “but I really think that if you give a bad thought too much energy, it becomes something real. And by its very nature, a curse does nothing but cause harm. I can’t take that chance now.”

As she holds her belly, Lord softens towards her. He realizes that there have not been many guests invited into this farmhouse. Raven did disappear and yes, the first baby went away. He wonders if his wife is correct, that lending thought to an ominous suggestion gives it power, transforms it from an idea into a true thing. He decides in that moment that if something was done, it can be undone.

“I will get rid of the photo,” he says. “Out of the house. I will burn it and send my mother’s intention away with it. Then she can rest in peace. But I will need your help.”

Thoughts of revenge and vengeance no longer cloud her mind. Her pregnancy is now in its second trimester and the couple couldn’t be more excited. Lord has painted the baby’s room and put up some stained glass in the window. The colourful glass faces west, so the baby will be covered with light as the sun goes down, marking each day in colour. Wren’s appetite has returned and Lord is doing much of the cooking, although he still stops in frequently at a deli in the city to get to-go meals. Wren is aglow, happy and looking forward to the future. She suggests taking a road trip before the baby arrives.

“I’ve been thinking about our earlier discussions about taking a trip abroad,” Wren tells Lord, “but it occurs to me that we don’t need to leave home to find something more magical than what we already have right here in Saskatchewan.” Lord doesn’t quite follow, so Wren explains further. “We can go to Amsterdam or Strasbourg and never have to leave the ground. Never have to travel elsewhere,” she continues. “There are all sorts of towns named after international cities right here in this province.” She laughs. “Let’s see how the local folk in those places live. Let’s find out their local customs and what they do. We can even visit Norway and the Hague, just outside of Saskatoon.” Wren snickers, adding, “Besides, I don’t want to fly away somewhere if there might be problems with the baby is all I’m saying.”

“A road trip?” Lord inquires.

“A road trip, yes,” Wren replies. “How many people know you can visit Kandahar without ever having to board a flight? We have that town right here in the province.” At this she pats her tummy and says, “I bet they have great snacks in Penzance. Let’s give this baby an appreciation of history about the place we call home. A history that is both yours and mine.

She goes on to talk about the prairie landscape and how it changes from farmland to lakes and bush, to Precambrian Shield and the boreal forest. Wren talks about how food traditions change along the way, too, from Russian shishliki lamb, to Icelandic jólasveinar sausage. She talks about flapper pie, raisin pie and all the different ways bread is made, adding the suggestion that they stop in at various Indigenous-owned gas stations to pick up fried bannock.

Lord nods his head in agreement, not fully knowing what he is agreeing to.

“We’ll be together. Just you and me,” she continues. “Hours and hours on the road. We can listen to seventies music all the while stopping whenever we want because we are not in a hurry. We can take photos, talk, eat home-baked goods.”

His wife has had a generous appetite lately, which makes him feel assured and joyous.

Wren adds, “It doesn’t matter if we spend each night in a cheap roadside motel. We’ll get to know the land and the people we live with, those we call our neighbours. This province where we live is multi-layered, like my pottery pieces. We are bringing a new life into this world, and I want her to know her world. I want her to be interested in stories about local museums and the people who live down the road, even if that road is hours away. It’s how we understand why we do what we do; it’s how we make sense.”