{Jon}

Long afternoon light was slanting through the window of Jon's work house as he sliced up apples and tossed them in lemon juice. The sun would drop under the horizon before supper hour, its beams already hazy over the snowy streets, where three children were tramping home. Dusty was first in the door, barely pausing to kick off his boots.

"Did anything come in the mail for me?" the boy asked breathlessly.

Jon grinned back at him. "Hey, welcome home Dusty. Yeah, your mom's letter is here, just like she promised." As Dusty dropped his jacket and backpack in the entryway to snatch up the letter, Jon said, "Dusty--jacket," like he did every single day.

Hastily, Dusty turned back to throw his coat over a hook, leaned into Jon for a quick hug, and then hurried to his room, the envelope clutched in his hand. It was the third letter from the treatment center in southern Alberta in as many weeks. Dusty's hope for his mom was contagious; Jon was starting to feel it too.

Glancing at the street, Jon smiled to see Jordin running along the top of a snow drift, her skirt flapping over her thick leggings, and Grace trailing behind, her coat unzipped and her nose buried in a book. Dusty burst back out of his room as Jon set the apple snack out on the table for the other two children climbing out of their snow clothes.

"Pops, what's this word mean?"

Jon squinted at the page. Dusty's mom had looping cursive, overflowing the lines of the paper. "Tremendously," he said. "That means, a lot."

Dusty hugged the page to his chest, while Jordin glanced warily at him. "She says she's tremendously proud of me--and you too Jordin."

Jordin's thin mouth pulled up on one side, like she wanted to smile. "Yeah?"

"I'm gonna write back, are you?" Dusty laid the letter next to Jordin's elbow on the table. She only glanced at it for a second.

"No. You can though." Jordin ruffled Dusty's hair, popping the last apple slice in her mouth and getting up to play video games.

"Jordin--dishes please," Jon said, and Jordin checked herself, putting her bowl and cup in the sink.

"What's for supper?" Jordin asked. Her face was all cheekbones and her knees and elbows kept wearing holes in her leggings and shirts. Jon thought she was in a growth spurt and they would need to go shopping again soon.

"Spaghetti," Jon said. "Is that still your favorite?"

In answer, Jordin narrowed her black eyes at him in a silent smile. She turned aside and Jon noted the way her angular shoulders strained the blouse she was wearing today. The flowing skirts and tunics Jordin wore now matched her graceful athleticism, but her body was increasingly becoming man-shaped. It was outside the scope of Jon's role, but he wondered if they could stretch her clothing budget to get some hip pads to go with the bra she wore now so her outside matched her inside, at least in her clothes.

He couldn't help her step into a more womanly shape permanently; on Jordin's 14th birthday she would 'age out' of this house. Already, at 13, it was unusual that she would live in a home for 9-12 year olds. Jon had worked tirelessly the weeks before her last birthday to make the case to his boss, his organization, Jordin's Indigenous band, and Social Services that they could handle an older child in the home and that it was worth stretching themselves for one more year of stability for Jordin.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, and found Grace's eyes on his face as she hunched over her bowl of apples, picking the ends off with her fingers before taking a nibbling bite. "Is Angel coming today?" Grace asked in her throaty voice.

Jon smiled. "She sure is. Here after supper."

Grace nodded, lowering her eyes.

"Any stories from school today, Grace?" Jon asked.

She appeared to genuinely think about the question, then said, "No."

Jon laughed a little to himself. The rewarding work of caring for middle-schoolers.

Jon was in the office finishing the Christmas holiday schedule when Angel came on shift. "Evening boss," she said as she hung up her colourful Frankenstein sweater.

Jon smiled briefly at her. "Hey Angel. I didn't see a holiday request from you-did I miss it? The schedule's almost done so if you wanted time off to be with family..."

She shook her head, fluffing up her pastel hair. "No worries, boss. This is my family for Christmas."

Jon paused, checking her face. He walked a fine line with his staff, protecting his personal life by sharing very little in the workplace, while still caring enough about their personal lives to know when they needed extra grace or a day off. Angel's almond eyes smiled back at him but she didn't offer further explanation.

"Well, I put you on Christmas day with Patrick and Naomi," Jon said. "So you know the food and the company will be good. It's just Grace here; Jordin and Dusty are at their Grandmother's."

"Aw Grace will love that," Angel said. "Some quality quiet time will be really good for her."

They were always aware that it was a strain for new children to adjust to a house full of strangers--even the other children could seem threatening. An unforeseen side-benefit to Jordin's transition from male to female was that Grace came out of her room more, no longer afraid to be in the public areas with her older, larger housemate.

"She's very attached to you," Jon commented.

Angel shrugged. "I don't mind. It's good for her to have someone safe who cares for her."

Jon hesitated. This was Angel's second year in the house and they'd had very little turn-over in the time she'd been here. Some years he'd seen multiple children come and go. "You know she's going to go at some point, right? Hold her lightly Angel; she's not ours to keep."

She snorted. "This coming from you?"

Jon laughed drily. "All right, Dusty got to me. If I got attached to all of them my heart would be broken a dozen times already."

Smiling at him, she leaned against the doorframe with her hands in the pockets of her olive-green cargo pants. "And you care anyways. That's why we love you."

Jon waved this away, well-aware that was hardly the word for the way staff like Sharon felt about him.

Angel shrugged. "Boss, you know I worked at a government-run home before this. We weren't allowed to get attached, or to let the kids attach to us. I couldn't do it. I'm here because I'd rather get my heart broken."

He folded his arms over his chest. "I feel that," he said quietly. It was one of the reasons he was still here too. In contrast to many other children's housing programs in the city, the Christian values of love and hospitality their organization held deeply influenced the way they were free to care for the children in this house, even if that hospitality didn't extend as far as to welcome his relationship with Kurt.

"Are you taking time off for loved ones this year?" Angel asked, without looking at him.

Jon lifted his shoulders. "Yes. Feels like...a hundred years away. But Terry's covering Christmas for me."

"You know no one wants to lose you around here, right?" Angel asked lightly as she glanced sideways at him. "You've been juggling a lot. I hope you're taking care, Jon."

There was a brief pause; everything she wasn't saying about seeing him at church with Kurt hanging in the air. "I'm taking care," he said quietly. "Don't worry Angel. I'm not going anywhere soon."

He saw her relax a little, and she nodded, turning aside. "Glad to hear it. The house needs you. You and I both know why Patrick couldn't do the job you're doing right now."

When she left Jon sat a moment, ears hot and eyes on his fingers on the keys, thinking of Kurt weaving their hands together, his lips brushing Jon's knuckles. Closing his eyes, he exhaled and shook his shoulders out. He lifted his face to finish the schedule for his people.

At bedtime, Dusty handed Jon an envelope already licked and sealed, then climbed into bed, snuggling down in his Spiderman pyjamas. "Can you mail that quick quick, Pops?" he asked. "On Sunday Mom's calling me about Christmas and that's my Christmas list and Jordin's."

"Did you make a copy for Kokum?" Jon asked. "You know your mom won't have time for shopping." Or money, fresh out of treatment, he thought to himself.

"Mm-hmm I did." Dusty's eyes were glowing with quiet excitement. "Mom says she's doing really good. She says she prays the tent for us every night."

Kneeling beside Dusty's bed, Jon fingered the precious envelope. "I'm glad Dusty." From his conversations with their family caseworker, he gathered this was true. Darla Kickingbird had used up a lot of second chances in her life but she wasn't letting this one slide through her fingers. He found himself praying for her every afternoon on his way to work and daring to hope that Jordin's next home wouldn't be in the system or on the street.

He tucked the blankets around Dusty's feet. "You know this Christmas is just a visit, right? Your mom needs time to get settled before she's ready for you to live with her full-time."

Dusty nodded, pulling his stuffed rabbit over his face to sleep. "She's gonna do it, though. The Creator is helping her." His dry little hand found Jon's and clasped it. "Gonna miss you Pops. But my mom needs me more."

Jon blinked, feeling abruptly like he'd been punched in the chest. He wrinkled his stinging nose. "That's months away, Dust. I'll be here as long as you need me."

The child sighed contentedly. "I know. Make the tent?"

Clearing his throat, Jon bowed his head to say the words he'd prayed over Dusty week after week for years. Dusty had come so young to their house, and his home life had been so fractured and unreliable, that Jon had believed somehow this one would be his right to Dusty's 13th birthday and refused to think beyond that. It was too soon and Dusty felt so small to be sending him out into the world already. Jon just hoped he'd done all he could to anchor Dusty down in the Creator's love to face whatever storms would come when he didn't have the shelter of this house.

*Lovelies, this story is set in Edmonton, Alberta, which is situated on Indigenous land in Treaty 6 territory; land occupied, travelled, and cared for by Indigenous Peoples since time immemorial to the present day.

Edmonton - ᒥᐢᑿᒌᐚᐢᑲᐦᐃᑲᐣ, amiskwacîwâskahikan - is a traditional meeting ground, gathering place, and travelling route of the Nêhiyawak (Cree), Anishinaabe (Saulteaux), Niitsitapi (Blackfoot), Métis, Dene, and Nakota Sioux; whose histories, languages, and cultures continue to enrich our shared heritage. We are all Treaty People bound to one another by the spirit and intent of Treaty.

I also want to acknowledge that Dusty's mother doesn't go by her Cree name. Kickingbird is an inadequate English translation of her surname in Cree and Darla is an entirely Anglo name. Like many Indigenous people and other ethnic minorities, she allows her name in her native language to be hidden for ease of passage through the systems and geography of our country.

While Indigenous children make up 7% of Canada's under-14 year olds, Indigenous children make up more than 50% of children in the foster care system. This is because of a long, ugly history of policies that disadvantage Indigenous parents and bands. Google the 'sixties scoop' and understand that these practices continued in every decade since that time.

As of January 1, 2020, a new act came into effect in Canada that affirms the rights of First Nations, Inuit and Métis peoples to exercise jurisdiction over their child and family services. I hope and pray over the next decade that we will see a turn-around in these numbers, and more children like Dusty and Jordin will be able to be raised by their family and culture of origin.

Link to more about that act in the comments.*

2067 words.