p.m.
Kala filed her daily report late that afternoon before packing up her gear and heading downtown in her truck. She was becoming familiar with the rabbit warren of streets in the ByWard Market, but the mission was just outside the core and close to Ottawa University. She easily found the three-storey, red brick building on Waller Street just before six o’clock. She followed an army of footprints up the snowy walkway to the front entrance. Red arrows posted on the walls led her to the packed hall.
The place was hopping.
Overhead speakers crooned Bing Crosby singing Silent Night. His voice mixed with the noise made by the tables of street people and assisted living families who’d come in for turkey and mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie. She heard the clink of cutlery and plates being slid onto tables by volunteer servers, and people speaking in loud voices, trying to make themselves heard above each other. Cheap loops of silver tinsel hung from the ceiling. Multi-coloured lights flashed on a plastic Christmas tree near the washrooms. The room was as warm as a sweat lodge and steam blurred the inside of the windows. Moisture trickled down her back under her heavy parka.
She threaded her way through the long rows of tables and sea of people to the kitchen at the back. It took a few minutes to catch the attention of a large black woman who looked to be in charge. She was dressed in a red skirt and shiny green blouse with a reindeer brooch pinned just below the collar. Rudolph’s red nose flashed on and off like a turn signal. The woman held a clipboard and was directing volunteers with trays of food-laden plates.
“Yes, can I help you?” she asked, spotting Kala. Laugh lines creased around her eyes behind red-rimmed glasses.
“I phoned this morning about helping out. My name’s Kala Stonechild.”
The woman looked down at her clipboard. “Kala Stonechild. I was hoping you’d show up. A few of the volunteers are wanting to get home to their families. Welcome aboard. Take that apron over there and … you said you’d waited tables before? Then, that section by the door is all yours. This is the one day of the year our patrons don’t have to line up for their food. If you have any questions, just ask. My name is Maya.” She snapped her fingers in the direction of a heavily pierced girl with purple hair. “Tiffany! Show Kala here the ropes. She’s going to help feed these hungry folks.”
Tiffany smiled, said hello, and led Kala through the door into the kitchen. She set Kala up with a tray, notepad, and pen and showed her where to place orders and where to pick up the food. “You don’t have to worry about clearing the tables,” Tiffany said. “We have volunteers for that. If they finish eating, try to move them along to free up some tables. If we’re lucky, we’ll feed everybody by midnight. It’s a madhouse this year.”
“Everyone seems to be having a good time.”
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Tiffany laughed. “Even people with nothing can be happy at Christmas. Track me down if you need anything else.” She waved and disappeared to deliver a tray of salads.
Kala looked around at the room of people and wondered what she’d gotten herself into. A few deep breaths and she headed to the first group of waiting people. Three tables later and she was in the thick of it. Taking orders. Back and forth from the kitchen with soup, salads, and plate after plate of turkey and dessert. Pouring coffee. Getting milk and juice for the kids. Everybody was in a good mood and laughter echoed off the corners of the room and down from the ceiling. After a while, she couldn’t believe how much fun she was having.
She didn’t forget the real reason she was spending her Christmas Eve working for the Mission. Every five minutes she scanned the room, looking for an Aboriginal woman with a twelve-year-old daughter. Twice she thought she saw them, but both times she was disappointed.
People weren’t coming into the hall as often now, and hadn’t been for the past hour or so. She was finally able to manage her tables without rushing. It gave her time to notice how tired her legs and feet were feeling. She made one last trip to the kitchen for an order of turkey that she delivered to a table of three homeless men. She straightened from setting down the last plate and felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning, she found herself a foot away from Maya’s beaming face.
“Well, now. You’ve done more than your fair share of serving people. It’s starting to slow down. Time to have a plate of turkey and some pie and coffee,” said Maya, taking her by the arm. “I’ve got it set up on the table over here. I could use a rest too.”
“Now that you mention it, that pie does look good,” said Kala. “I’m not hungry for turkey though. I ate earlier.”
“It’s fine pie. I baked them all myself.”
They took seats across the table from each other. Kala added cream to her coffee and took a sip. She lifted her fork and took a bite of pumpkin pie. She rolled the filling around her tongue before swallowing. “Ah, I needed this. Thanks, Maya.”
“You’re welcome, girl. Now, tell me the story of what brought you to us on this fine Christmas Eve.”
“What makes you think I have a story?”
“Everyone has a story. I’ve heard enough of them to fill a good number of books.”
“I started a job here a few days ago. The reason I picked Ottawa was I got word my cousin was living here. I’ve been looking for her for a long time. We lost touch.” She stopped talking and drank from her coffee cup. She looked up at the narrow window near the ceiling. “It’s snowing again,” she said.
Maya turned and lifted her head. She sighed. “Some folks’ll be glad we’re having a white Christmas. I’m not one of them.” She turned back around. “So, you thought your cousin might be dropping in here for supper? It’s a big city. We aren’t the only place offering supper to people with no place to go.”
“The address I had for her was downtown, near here, but she’s moved on. I thought she might be in the same neighbourhood since her daughter’s in school.”
“That makes sense. How old is the daughter?”
“Twelve. Her name’s Dawn and my cousin’s name is Rosie. I’m wondering if you’ve seen them?”
Maya leaned her head sideways and studied Kala until she seemed satisfied. “A lot of people I see don’t want to be found for one reason or another. Some are escaping their old lives that caused them pain. Some are sick or drinking too much and don’t want anybody to see how far down they’ve fallen. If they change their minds, we do all we can to help them get back to their old lives, but that doesn’t happen all that often. Sometimes we’ve had luck with teenagers, you know, getting them back to their families, but that’s less often than you’d think. This Rosie girl, did she have it tough?”
“Yeah, she had it tough.”
Maya’s inky black eyes held Kala’s so that she could not look away. “Looks like you might have had it tough too, child,” she said softly.
“I’m doing okay.”
Maya nodded. She chewed her pie while she considered the request. “A Native girl came in by herself when we first opened today. She looked to be around twelve. I went over to talk to her because it was so odd her being here all alone. She said her mom was too sick to come for supper, but she hoped she could bring some food home.”
Kala’s heart quickened. “Did she say where they were living?”
“No,
