Maggie Blackbird - Better Than Gold

Sometimes chocolate is better than a golden ring.

Etta Bannon must endure another Christmas at the Indian Residential School for girls. With her heart heavy for home that is a two-day train ride away, all she has is the stolen moments with her beau to look forward to, but even the boy she cares deeply about cannot erase her longing for her family.

Charlie Shawanda is also stuck at the Indian Residential School for boys. Only a mere jog away from Etta, he longs to make their last Christmas at the school special before they graduate in the spring and go their separate ways. But what he truly years for is to call Etta his very own.

When a golden opportunity arises for Charlie to show his love, he must make a tough decisionendure the cruel punishment of the strap or miss out on a chance to tell Etta how he truly feels and maybe lose her forever.

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Better Than Gold

Copyright 2020 Maggie Blackbird

ISBN: 978-1-4874-3130-3

Cover art by Martine Jardin

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

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Better Than Gold

By

Maggie Blackbird

For my father, who spent two Christmases away at Charles Garnier Indian Residential School for Boys.

Thank you to my husband and our new fur babies for your never-ending love and support.

Thank you to Emmy, my editor, Bri, my proofer, Martine, my cover artist, and Jay, EIC.

December 1955

Spanish, Northern Ontario

It didnt matter Ettas clothes were donated. What mattered was that the double-breasted, wool jacket with the big shiny buttons Sister Maria had given her this morning fit closely around her breasts, accentuated her tiny waist, and swathed her pencil skirt that snuggly fit her hips.

For sure her new coat would earn her a long lingering look from Charlie at tonights choir practice once the afternoon chores were complete. Nor did it matter her annoying school number of forty-six was written in the lining.

If Sister Maria saw Etta at this moment, the old nuns thin lips would pucker into her familiar wrinkled frown, because vanity was a sin. Maybe the so-called evil of self-admiration was why there was only one mirror in the school the students could use, and it spanned the six rows of sinks in the bathroom.

Quit dallying. We got to go. Bernice stuck her head inside. She thrust out the heavy gray smock.

Etta bent at the waist and removed the boots with the faux fur trim. If she was at home, Mom wouldve sewn rabbit fur around her ankles as she always had done when Dad returned with his haul from the trapline, the very place where Etta had been born. I was trying on my new clothes. Im wearing them to choir practice.

Sister Marias waiting. Fear and urgency saturated Bernices high-pitched warning. Move. Move. I dont want the strap.

The horrible five-letter word spread gooseflesh and a chill across Ettas skin. Im hurrying.

You still got to hang your belongings. Bernice tugged on Ettas hand.

They dashed for the dormitory across the way, where the many cast-iron beds set up in two long rows were located.

Once Etta hung her coat and set her boots in the tiny closet assigned to her, where her two remaining skirts and blouses hung, she quickly put on the smock and her saddle shoes. Together, they darted for the stairs.

As they scurried to the basement, they passed other girls knee-deep in chores. Some swept. Others mopped. A few dusted.

Skeleton students, Sister Maria had referred to the girls who remained behind for the Christmas holidays, since their parents were unable to pay the bus or train fare to send them home.

Home. So far away.

A teardrop threatened to slide from Ettas eye, and lonesomeness gripped her heart. Again, she wouldnt get to see her family during the special day. Mom, Dad, and her younger brothers and sisters would celebrate by eating the deer Dad always hunted for them.

Etta and Beatrice reached the laundry room, where gray bags full of dirty clothes from the boys school yards away waited for them. The stale smell of must lingered under Ettas nose. She reached for the first bag and dumped a pile of pants onto the wooden table used for sorting.

Were you checking yourself out for Charlie? Beatrice giggled. She pushed at her cats eye glasses that forever slipped down her beak-like nose.

Since they were safely tucked away from the prying ears of the apostolic sisters, Etta also let the giggle in her throat burst free at the mention of Charlies name, as it always did, even when the awful lonesomeness clung to her heart like the icicles hanging from the eavestrough of the three-story brick school. What do you think?

Hes the finest there is. A trace of wistfulness lingered in Beatrices words.

Etta began rifling through the pants pockets. Maybe a boy had left Beatrice a note. Itd be a great surprise and something to make her best friend smile. Beatrice was too kind and sweet to go unnoticed. But the two notes Etta unearthed were for the other girls, which she quickly stuffed into the pouch of her smock to hand to them afterward.

When she came to Charlies pants, her shriveled heart puffed back to its normal shape. If only they could see each other, instead of hiding what they shared. But getting too close to a boy was a sin, according to Sister Maria, something Etta turned her nose up at. Mom had told her she could hold hands and kiss.

She dug inside the front pocket. Her fingers touched a slip of paper. Quickly, she peeled out the note and opened it. Charlies perfect penmanship the priests demandedand the same for the sisterspopped off the paper.

Hey, Etta, Ill see you at choir practice tonight. I tried to take the laundry over, but Ronald had the chore for today. He wouldnt give it up even for my lard.

Etta bit down on her lower lip and giggled. Every boy wanted to deliver the laundry. Trading for lard was as precious as gold, because it was all they got to spread on their black bread in the morning, even if the white, greasy portions were barely enough to cover a whole slice.

Then there was the porridge they ate every single day for breakfast. Another trade-off for the boys. The brown sugar in the big pot always sank to the bottom, so those first in line got stuck with the plain, lumpy yuck while the ones in the back savored the scrumptious taste of the sweet, brown, gooey stuff.

Ill be sureto walk extra slow on Saturday. We can sneak off behind Greens. Charlie.

Her pulse points quickened. Two days shed have to wait to be alone with Charlie. While she continued to sort the laundry, his big ebony eyes, luscious mounds of black hair slicked into a pompadour, and dimple-baring smile clung to her brain.