The Outcast

Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed brightly across the dark sky. The rain pattered loudly on the uneven ground and on the hood of our carriage. The twin horses jolted across the muddy meadow to reach my aunt’s village, making the two of us bounce up and down roughly against our seats.

Aunt and I were dressed in black mourning dresses; my brunette hair was tied up with black laces while her raven hair was combed up in a neat bun. I stared at my newfound aunt who looked away gloomily at the road ahead; a black shawl was draped around her stiff figure.

I clutched onto my seat tightly, my heart was shattered into millions of pieces. My eyes were swollen from weeping uncontrollably and my heart trembled to go back from where I came from.

My father was a noble British businessman from what I have known, he was widely known for his wealth and kindness. We lived in one grand house bustling with caretakers and maids; my life was full of luxury and love until recently, when my only parent passed away leaving me to face the brutality of life. My mother passed away when I was one leaving me under the care of my father and the maids, but now I had no one.

I was an orphan.

When the news of my deceased father reached my aunt, she rushed to get here as fast as she could. Ever since the past fifteen years of my birth, I have never known much about my extended family. They were a hidden secret that my father never exposed. Not to me, not to anyone.

My aunt, my father’s only living sister, was a dark coloured young lady with long raven hair. How was it possible that my father was fair looking while his sister was dark-coloured?

Aunt and I were on the carriage for almost an hour heading to her village, and so far none of us has spoken yet. She sat on the other side of the seat keeping some safe distance between us clutching tightly onto her shawl.

“How long until… um… we reach your home?” I asked awkwardly, trying to make a comfortable conversation.

“Around fifteen minutes.” She answered flatly, keeping her eyes out the window and farther onto the meadow ahead.

“Umm, may I ask you a question?” I asked hesitantly.

She looked at me with a scrutinizing gaze before stiffly nodding.

“How come you and father don’t look alike, I mean father was a British man wasn’t he?”

“No dear, your father and I are Metis.” She bit her lips, studying my expression with narrowed eyes. “I presume you already knew that?”

“N-no, I did not!” I whispered with a frown. “He never told me.”

“He lived under a British name to have a better life. Metis are not treated rightly in this era! He wanted to get away from our village to earn a better life in the East. He went there and married, studied English, and had you. After all, he was fair-skinned. He got all the advantage!”

“So, I am a Metis?” I asked again unbelievingly, the word felt weird under my tongue. I glanced at my reflection on the carriage window, watching a young woman with brunette hair, blue eyes, and fair skin stare back. How could I possibly be a Metis?

“Yes, dear. You do know that Metis are people with French and First Nation ancestry, right?”

I nodded.

Silence again draped over us like an invisible cloak, we both drowned in our own thoughts letting time pass. I needed time to adjust to all this newfound information.

The thunderous rain lightened and the dark clouds began clearing away as the horses steadied their speed. The meadow was gone from view, replaced with an old shabby village.

“This is my village. We are almost close to my house which you can also consider yours.” My Aunt said, staring out the window at the villagers dressed in patched or worn-out clothing. The shacks were frail and poor made from old wood and rusted metal. Some of the doors and windows remained unhinged, paints that had peeled out and discoloured over the course of years. People poked their heads out their windows curiously to see our carriage drive by; their eyes running down our silhouette.

“Ava,” A smiling man hollered from his doorstep. “Who is that with you?”

“My niece, Isabella!” My Aunt shouted back with a gentle smile curved on her lips. She waved at the people as the horses pounded deeper into the village. Everyone now and then, people shouted out greetings to my Aunt in a language that I barely understood.

“What’s that language?” I asked curiously.

“That’s Michif, Metis language.” My Aunt confirmed with a smile.

I frowned. “It would be really hard for me to adjust here.” My mother tongue was English, the only language that my father and friends uttered back where I was raised. Presumably, my mother's as well!

“How come the village here looks so worn out? I mean I don’t want to be rude or anything, but… doesn’t the government help you guys? This is the early twentieth century for goodness's sake, things are supposed to be upgraded.” I asked, observing the shacks that ran past by us.

“In this world, we are outcasts. We are barred from owning land, we always have to find a way to live in the road allowances or ditches and sometimes in the strips of government land between public highways or private properties of recognized citizens.” My Aunt sighed. “If you aren’t in our shoes, you would never know how it feels. We are unknown to the world!”

The carriage halted in front of another poor-looking wooden shack. It was much worse and smaller than neighbouring ones. The shack was shaky, molded from sides, and one of the window shutters was hanging desperately from one of its hinges.

“That’s it!” My Aunt said, jumping off. We both went to the trunk to get my belongings, a few bags that contained some of my treasured belongings. It was packed with my best dresses and some colourful story books that my father used to read to me at night.

I entered my Aunt's shack which looked surprisingly cozy in the inside. Dark curtains were draped over the small living room window that had few trembling wooden chairs arranged for sitting. The kitchen was on the right with one cupboard, a yellowed stove, a rickety table, and a thread-bared bed thrown in the corner.

“You will be sleeping there!” My aunt pointed at the bed. She helped me organize my baggages on the floor next to the bed. “My room is in the attic.” She said, eyeing the ladder that led upwards into a dark pit that sent chills down my spine. How could she sleep in such darkness?

“You can call me Bella.” I confirmed after some comfortable silence.

“Okay Bella, make yourself at home.” My Aunt smiled warmly. “ You traveled all the way from Ontario, you must be tired. Take some rest. I will be upstairs if you need anything.”

I nodded, eyeing the worn out bed. "Okay..."

Glancing at me one more time, my aunt climbed up the ladder leaving me isolated in my new shabby room.

Hesitantly, I slumped down on the bed. It was everything my father would avoid giving me; It was hard and itchy, nothing like my pink old room.

“Aunt Ava!” I shouted. “Where is the lavatory?”

“Outside.”

It was nothing like my house back in the east!

* * * * * * * *

It has been a few weeks since my arrival, and I already got to know the neighbours well enough by spending most of my time outside the shack. People were friendly here, always asking me if I needed a hand in my chores. They spent their time chatting, and helping one another with their chores under broad daylight.

Across our shack, some women were happily conversing while they both did their laundry in the river. Nieghbouring men helping one another fix their transportation carriage, and load things on it.

“Bella, come for breakfast!” My Aunt hollered from the kitchen. The house was filled with a delicious aroma of freshly baked bread and melted butter.

“Coming!” I shouted back, rubbing the sleep off my eyes. I combed down my hair into plaits, and wore a pink floral dress that reached my knees. On the side of my room was an old rusted mirror hung up on the wall. I glanced in it finding an oddly fair woman with rosy cheeks and brunette hair staring back at me.

My stomach growled loudly reminding me that I hadn't eaten last night. I entered the kitchen inhaling the delicious aroma. My Aunt looked up and warmly smiled, an apron tied around her waist. “Good morning dear, you must be hungry. Take a seat!” She commanded, pulling out a chair for me at the old rickety table.

I sat at the chair cautiously, hoping it won't collapse. In an old stained plate, my aunt served French toast with butter. “Aunt Ava, you have any siblings alive?” I asked between my mouthful of bites.

“Yes," She pulled up another seat, joining me at the table with her set of butter french toast. "I had more sisters who died in the residential school that they sent us to. The government is more brutal than you know. They forced us to go to those schools so we could forget our cultural heritage."

“If you don’t mind me asking, how was it brutal?”

She sat on the other side of the table, sipping on her cup of tea, her hawk eyes observing my every move. “They’ve beaten and tortured us for every little thing we did. My sisters couldn’t survive that, your father escaped and I…. I struggled until I was sixteen when they finally freed me from their grasp.”

“I am so sorry,” I whispered, placing my hand on hers across the table. “My grandparents?”

“They passed away when I was a baby.” Her voice shoke as she stared at our hands rested on the middle of table.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have asked.”

“That’s fine, you should know.” She said, wiping her fallen tears.

“Can I go to school here?” I inquired eagerly, after some depressing silence.

“S-sure. But, here in Canada, you will be discriminated as a Metis. They hate our culture, they hate us. They do not care about how we are faring. Otherwise, we would have had a life much better than this. I could've given you a better life. We are unemployed because of our culture and looks.” My aunt spat venomously, her words slurred with hatred towards the government.

“So, when do we go looking for a school?” I asked excitedly, gulping down the last piece of bread.

“We can go today.” She suggested with a smile.

Yes!

* * * * * * * *

“Here we are in front of your new school?” Aunt Ava said, parking our well-groomed horses next to the school. “You can go inside, call me if they need me.”

“Okay.” I answered.

I got down from my horse, and entered the well- organized school. A tall building with white teachers and nuns scurrying by, comsumed in their own world. I straightened my skirt and patted down my hair nervously, hoping that I looked presentable enough.

I entered the front office finding a man sitting at the main desk, he looked to meet my eyes. “How may I help you?”

“Hi, I would like to study at this school!” I said politely, praying my voice wasn't shaking at this vulnerable moment.

The man eyed me from the top to bottom suspiciously. “Well then, you have to pass the entry test.”

“Yes, I am ready for it!” I said confidently, with a determined nod of my head.

Sitting across me, he interrogated me for a full hour by asking me numerous questions which I passed confidently with flying colours.

“I am impressed Isabella, welcome to our school!” The man grinned warmly, handing me some papers. “But, I would need your parents or guardian to sign some of the admission documents, and ... you are good to go. Did you come alone?”

“No, my aunt is waiting outside.”

“Could you get her for me please?”

I nodded, sauntering outside to get my aunt. My Aunt entered the building, holding her head high and clenching her shawl against her slender silhouette.

As soon as she entered, the man gave her a disgusted look. “Isabella, you never told me you are metis?” He spat, not taking his eyes off my aunt. "I'm sorry you are not permitted in this school!"

“Excuse me, you just said I passed with flying colours.” I argued, my voice raising with thunderous rage.

“This school isn't for you people!” He snarled, snatching the admission papers from my hand. “It is a private school, now please leave the building. I cannot bear to stand your presence!”

“What is the meaning of this?” I shrieked, stomping my feet of the damn ground of this school. “Just because of my Aunt’s dark skinned, you are withdrawing your offer?”

“For you people, the residential school is perfect.” He spat rudely. “You disgusting little savages!”

“You racist rascal!” I yelled, balling my fist and gritting my teeth angrily. Never have a I ever been treated this rudely!

My Aunt placed her hand supportingly on my shoulders. “Some people are blind to see the truth clearly.” She said bitterly, eyeing the man with an equal level of disgust. “We should go dear, you deserve better!”

Suddenly, a police officer approached us from behind.“Umm... Miss. Is your child attending a residential school? You know the policy, all children of the First Nations and Metis must attend it in all due respect.”

“I have been in a catholic school my entire life.” I said boldly on behalf of my Aunt. “And I'm fifteen, I don't think it will be necessary for me.”

“Then you must be a well-built Catholic by heart by now, and we expect you to teach those savages how to act and change their stupid culture.” He spat, glaring at my aunt with disgust like she was a worm on the ground.

“No, I will teach the world to treat others fairly with kindness and love. Nobody should be treated differently because of their culture, religion, race, or whatnot.”

'Okay Bella, that's enough!" My Aunt dragged me away fearfully to prevent things from escalating. Never have I ever thought that I would be treated with disregard because of my race.

We instantly jumped up on our horses and galloped away into the road ahead of us. The officer raced out of the building angrily only to gawk at us from afar with his seeping anger ravaging him.

As our horses jolted down the street, white people threw us disgusted stares and some even spat at us venomously. What was so bad about us? Do they hate us just because we were Metis, just because we have First Nation blood in us?

“I am sorry dear.” My Aunt sighed, depressed. "I'm ruining your life, aren't I?

“It’s not your fault,” I narrowed my eyes at the road ahead. “It’s their fault!”

“Ever since the arrival of the French settlers in the eighteen hundreds we were treated as outcasts.”

“Don’t worry, I will find a way to fix everything,” I said confidently. “I promise! One day, we won't be outcasts!"

What the world needed was a change, and I will give it what it needed.

* * * * * * *

I let weeks pass by learning more and more about my newly found cultural heritage. The elders in the neighborhood sat together every afternoon giving us inspirational speeches. They taught us history, patience, friendliness, and especially to love one another and treat others with kindness.

I am an outcast in my new world. So what?

I will change it one day, forever.

But for now, knowledge is nothing if you can’t treat others fairly.