Stonechild pulled into the parking lot next to Joliette Institution for Women and took a moment to survey the red-brick building behind a high metal fence capped with barbed wire. The trip had been a slow drive: three and a half hours from Kingston to Montreal, hampered the entire way by blowing snow, with the town of Joliette an additional hour and a quarter on Autoroute 40. Traffic had moved at a crawl the entire way.
She got out of her truck and stepped into a snowdrift. Snowflakes wet her face and gathered in the creases of her jacket. Cutting across the open space, the wind gusted and swirled wet flakes around her as she pushed her way to the entrance.
She was met by a guard, who radioed to somebody to come out and accompany her inside. In the meantime, she showed her ID and signed in before putting her phone and valuables into a tray and walking through the scanner. The place had the institutional smell of cleaning products and the lonely feel of hopelessness. Kala already felt depressed at the thought of the empty hours spent inside these walls by women who could not leave until they paid for their crimes, the majority of which had to do with drugs and prostitution.
The caseworker who shook her hand was a tall, stout woman with curly red hair and a kind, freckled face. “My name is Linda. Thank you for coming all this way. We were pleased when Rose asked to see you.”
“How has she been doing?”
They started walking but stopped in front of a metal door. A second later, someone inside pressed a button and the door opened.
“A few months ago, she started going to the trailer where the Indigenous inmates gather for circle and therapy. This seems to be helping her get out of the depression. Today, they made bead bracelets and I hear that she participated.”
Linda said this as if it was a big step forward but Kala felt sad at the thought of how small Rose’s life had become. They waited for a second door to be unlocked from the inside. The caseworker looked sideways at her. “When I started working here, the inmates with mental issues were in the minority. Now, I’d say close to seventy percent have mental issues. We don’t have nearly the resources to deal with the crisis.”
“Has Rose been in solitary?”
“No. She lives in one of the residences with four other women. They cook for themselves and have some freedom to move around. Rose has been a model inmate but makes no effort to develop relationships.” Linda paused for a moment. “She works every weekday in the prison shop sewing underwear for male inmates in other pens.”
“It’s good that she keeps busy.”
Kala wasn’t surprised that Rose had kept people at a distance. From what she remembered of Rose on the rez when they were younger, she’d been a tough teen with no liking for people. Linda led her down a green corridor that fed into a large room with a guard behind bulletproof glass at one end. He nodded at them and Linda raised a hand in greeting. Tables and chairs were bolted into the floor at discreet distances from each other. The room colour was a slightly brighter shade than the green corridor, but still depressingly institutional.
“Take a seat and a guard will bring Rose to you. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that the guard is listening in on your conversation through the mic under the middle of table. I don’t expect any trouble, but you can signal the guard for assistance at any point. I’ll return in twenty minutes to take you back to the front desk. Remember, no touching.”
Kala took a seat facing the guard and thought about the last time she’d seen Rose. It had been over a year ago in the rundown apartment where she and her twelve-year-old daughter Dawn were living. Kala had spent months tracking them down but the reunion hadn’t lasted long. A week later, Rose took Dawn and joined a new boyfriend to hold up a liquor store before fleeing into the west. The police picked them up in the prairies and Kala became Dawn’s guardian because there was nobody else. Rose had refused to see her or Dawn before or after sentencing … until now.
She heard the door behind her open and waited as a guard escorted Rose to the seat across from her. Kala was surprised to see Rose dressed in regular clothes — a blue sweatshirt, jeans, and running shoes — having envisioned an orange jumpsuit as seen on television prison shows. Rose was skinnier than she remembered, her cheeks hollowed out and grey strands in her long black hair. She kept her eyes downcast, hands folded in her lap.
“How are you doing?” Kala asked. She wanted to reach across the table and hug her friend, but knew she could not.
Rose didn’t say anything for a few moments. She kept her head lowered but finally said, “Three squares a day. Who can complain?” She raised her eyes to look at Kala and for an instant, Kala saw the cocky grin that used to come so easily. It didn’t last long. “How’s my kid?”
Anyone who didn’t know her would think that she didn’t care all that much, but Kala knew otherwise. “Dawn is good. Maybe I could bring her next time?”
“No!” Rose shook her head and lowered her voice. “No, not here. I don’t want this place tainting her and I sure as hell don’t want her seeing me locked up.”
“I think it would help her if she saw you. She misses you.”
“Has she said that?”
“Not in so many words, but she’s struggling, Rose. She’s keeping everything in. She sees a counsellor but hasn’t opened up.”
“She is my kid. Tough to the end.”
“Well, sometimes tough is just hiding a whole whack of hurt.”
“I never said it wasn’t.” This time, Rose lifted her eyes and stared into Kala’s. “I need to ask you a favour.”
“Name it.”
“My ex, Dawn’s dad,” she spit out the word, “I heard that he got early parole but seems nobody thought to tell me. I need you to find out when he got released and track where he goes on the outside.”
“If you told me his name, I’ve forgotten. What was he in for?”
“Bastard’s name is Paul Dumont but the only one who still calls him Paulie is his mother. Everyone else calls him Fisher because it was all he ever wanted to do when he was a kid. Fish for pickerel or lake trout and he was good at it. Too bad he ever left the bush. Fisher got fifteen years for dealing drugs and B & Es in North Bay although I think the judge gave as long a sentence as he could because he assaulted a cop when they tried to arrest him. Last I heard he was in Millhaven.”
“Okay. I’ll look into it. Anything else?”
“Fisher’s bad news, Kala. Not the murder-your-sister kind of bad news, but he can’t hold a job and if there’s trouble anywhere to be found, he’s right smack in the middle of it. I need you to keep him away from Dawn.”
Kala felt a coldness spreading through her. “Has he threatened to do something?”
Rose dropped her eyes and stared at her hands. She spoke without emotion, as if she’d long ago given up on anything turning out in her favour. “Fisher doesn’t threaten. He sneaks up on you when you least expect him and robs you blind.” She raised her eyes to Kala’s. “The only thing I got worth stealing is Dawn. I need you to make sure he doesn’t get his hands on her.”
chapter three
Tristan
