Secret Sins Ch. 01

"Pleased to meet you," I said as she took my hand, her smile still appraising as her eyes seemed almost uncomfortably locked to mine. It was an effect that made one feel looking away would be admitting to some weakness or guilt.

"Likewise," she replied. She spoke and conducted herself in a pious, upper crust manner, her cool hand holding on to mine in a prolonged shake as she asked, "Have you just arrived in Regina?"

"Late yesterday afternoon," I said.

"Oh," she responded as though there was more she could have said about that. Instead, she finally let go of my hand and asked, "Are you related to Captains Jerry and Paula Watts by any chance?"

With the distinct impression that she already well knew that they were my parents, I had a momentary temptation to lie, to paste sudden perplexity to my features as I denied this just so I could amuse myself with her reaction. Of course, I couldn't do that.

"Yes, they're my parents. Do you know them?"

"Only by reputation. We've heard so many good things about them and their work up in..."

"Iqaluit," I provided.

"Iqaluit," she repeated as though to make it true. "Isn't that our farthest northern post?"

"It is, Major."

Furrowing her brow with fake concern, she said, "It must be very cold there."

"Their faith and The Lord's work warms them," I replied, enjoying the subtle reaction in her eyes. "They get along well with the people there, and the people love them."

"I'm sure they do," she replied with a charitable smile, as though I'd lied about that.

"Major Hurdle has just been telling me about the situation here in Regina, in North Central, to be exact."

Shaking her head, her expression turned regretful, saying, "It's awful, really. Just... awful."

Her words and tone were as contrived as her body language, and I could see in her eyes that she knew her performance wasn't fooling me for one second. As I wondered how a man like Major Hurdle could ever end up with a phony baloney such as this for a wife, a cold moment passed between us where an understanding of mutual dislike was clearly established.

"Well," she declared with a forced smile, her tone now crisp and devoid of any upset, put on or not, "I really should get back to work. So glad to have met you, Lieutenant."

I only smiled and nodded in reply but, when she turned and walked out the door, I realized two things, the first of these being the obvious reason for how the Major would end up with this woman. Her shapely behind was as impressive as the rest of her body and she really knew how to shake her freight. Since we Officers aren't permitted to take a spouse from outside the ranks, our choices are very slim and, in the looks department, Alessa was the Salvation Army jackpot, and it's not like she wouldn't jump at the handsome opportunity her husband presented. The second thing I'd realized was that the sole purpose for her visit was to meet me.

I didn't look directly at the Major as we each took our seats again, allowing him to get back to business first but, when he did, he showed no discomfort or concern over what had just happened. He may not have even been aware. As I didn't need to be making an enemy out of my Commanding Officer, I was understandably relieved, yet this didn't mean that Alessa wouldn't later on poison his mind against me.

"So, where was I...?" he dithered, his eyes straying south of my face for a lingering look at my chest as he searched his memory.

And that's when an idea hit me. Had I thought about it for at least an instant, I wouldn't have done it but, as soon as it struck me, I found myself unbuttoning my uniform jacket as he sat there, silently watching me.

I looked up at him and, with an innocent smile, I explained, "It's a little warm, isn't it?"

His eyes met mine for a moment, then returned to my chest without reply as I arched my back, jiggling my breasts around a bit in my struggle to remove the jacket while still seated. Once I was finished, I crossed my thighs, sitting straight backed as he managed to remove his gaze from my thrusting breasts, wonderfully showcased behind my white blouse in their push-up bra. There was no way I could have missed his unapologetic attention to my body, but I only smiled at him with my prominent goods, ensuring this show would impress him enough to maybe disregard anything his wife would later on say against me.

Now, I know what you're thinking but, strictly speaking, I didn't do anything wrong. He did. In that respect, he'd been doing things wrong since I'd entered his office and, during a quiet moment between us, as we looked each other directly in the eyes, he knew this as well as I did. However, I only continued to smile at him, not giving him the slightest indication that I particularly minded him looking at my body the way he had. He was safe. More importantly, I was safe from his wife.

Clearing his throat, he took another pointed look at my chest, as though to make sure this was okay before saying to my face, "So, yes, I uh... have some reading material for you. It's not essential, but it'll give you a good overview of what you'll be dealing with."

"What I'll be dealing with?"

"Yes," Hurdle affirmed, clearing his throat again as his tone returned to what it had been before his wife had interrupted us. "The Salvation Army wants to support the residents of North Central. We feel it's important to have a presence, and the best way to accomplish that is to open a community ministry there. We've already acquired a building- a residential home, actually- and that's where we're going to open, right in the thick of things, right where we need to be in order to do the most good and keep up a community presence. It'll also be your residence."

I wasn't sure I liked the sound of that and my face must have showed as much. His demeanor changed to smiling reassurance, saying, "It'll be perfectly safe, Lieutenant. Home invasions in North Central are only an issue for people who directly involve themselves in gang activities. Cases of specific retribution, if you know what I mean. Also, your uniform will protect you and, if you do what we need of you, everybody will see you as a friend whose only interest is in helping others. So, do make sure to wear your uniform as often as possible and make yourself visible to the community. Get to know people and help them in any way you can, no matter who they are. Mind you, I wouldn't go wandering around those streets at night, but all of our preliminary information suggests that you have nothing to fear as long as you're sensible and practice some care."

I did feel a little reassured and, sensing this as well, he took another casual look at my breasts, smiling before he moved on.

"The building itself is in reasonably good shape. I sent our maintenance staff to make sure the essentials are in decent order, that being the plumbing, electrical, etcetera, but I'm sure you'll find some minor issues that you'll want to deal with and, if you find you need help, we can support you. Of course, priority will be given to putting up the shield somewhere prominent in the front yard so people can know as soon as possible that we're there. It's a two storey house. The lower level is to be the public area and the upper level will be your living quarters. We've already taken some donated furniture out there but, should you need more, we expect you to acquire it by your own means, and that goes for structure maintenance as well. Try to involve local residents in this, both in donations of items and labour. It will help to improve our visibility and to build the ministry as a community effort that brings people together. Oh, and try to remember to get pictures of their involvement for me."

"I understand what you're saying," I managed to get in, "but won't people there resent being asked to give up their time and possessions? I mean, if they live in poverty, how do I...?"

"I see your concern but, on the other hand, how would it look if we simply outfitted the location ourselves? Hm? New flooring, new furniture, new appliances, siding... We want to fit in, not alienate ourselves as 'haves' amidst a community of 'have-nots'. We want to give the impression that we understand, that we're there in the trenches right alongside them. That's one of the reasons why you'll be living there, Tara."

"I see," I replied, having to agree with his views on this while a little surprised at his use of my first name. On the other hand, I'm sure he was a little surprised that I'd given him unspoken permission to ogle my body, which he again did before continuing with a smile.

"Aside from your regular Officer's allowance, you'll have a project fund to draw on as well. This will help out in getting things done, but be warned: It's not a lot and you'll have to budget carefully."

"Alright," I said, nodding my head, still a little nervous about all this despite his reassurances.

"Finally, I'm sure you'll be happy to know that you won't be completely alone out there. I've hired an assistant for you. Her name is Donna Liski, and I think her skillset will make her a very good fit. Her resume is included in the materials I've mentioned and, once you give it a look, I'm sure you'll agree. She's got her own car, a key to the house, and she'll be there from nine am to five pm every weekday, starting tomorrow. Also, she grew up in North Central, so I'm sure her local familiarity with the situation there will be a big help to you. However..."

The Major tapped his desk with a forefinger as he carefully regarded me, not even looking at my chest during this pause as he pulled a tight smile across his mouth. Finally, he got to it.

"Do you mind a little advice, Tara?"

"Uh... no?"

" ... Being a Lieutenant, so young and with no experience in uniform, you might have an understandable tendency to... allow Donna to take the lead. I'm not saying that she's pushy or anything; I barely know her, but she is older than you, and with her skillset comes life experience that you may tend to bow to at times. So, my advice to you is to always remember that Donna is not your friend. She's your assistant. Your Underling. You wear that uniform, not her. You are in charge and you make the decisions, not her. Use her skillset, listen to her observations and advice, but make your own decisions. Also, try to keep in mind that you're a Salvationist and that Army business is Army business, not hers. It's best to avoid telling underlings anything they don't need to know in order to do their jobs, and maintaining a certain personal distance makes that a lot easier. Another reason for maintaining that distance is because not everyone who works for us are Salvationists, and it's best not to allow them to pollute our minds and our spiritual authority as Officers with their personal interpretations. In other words, Lieutenant, keep the ranks closed. Okay?"

"Okay," I said with a smile, liking the Major even more for taking the time to pass along this advice.

"Good. So, Donna works for you and you report to me. Speaking of that, I'd like to see you here every... every week, I think. Every Friday. Just call ahead and make sure I'm here first, and we'll work out a time," he promised, reaching to the far edge of his desk to remove a business card from its little plexiglass holder. "It's best to call about nine-thirty."

"Alright," I agreed, taking the card he'd offered.

"You probably haven't gotten a Saskatchewan number yet," he assumed.

"Not yet, I'll try to see to that and then pass it along as soon as possible."

"Excellent. So... feeling overwhelmed?" he asked, an almost fatherly smile on his face.

"No," I answered truthfully, smiling back. "Nervous, yes." I've never lived in a rough area before."

"You'll be fine," he reassured. "Like I say, just wear the uniform as often as possible. People have respect for it, you know."

"I've noticed that," I replied, thinking of his slimy Booth Attendant.

He stood, saying, "Well, let's go get you introduced to Marilyn Davies, our Hostel Coordinator. She's the one who's put together the literature for you and she also has your keys to the house."

Getting to my feet, I smiled back at him, thankful for his confidence in me as he allowed me to exit his office before him, probably so he could check out my behind. To show my appreciation for his advice and confidence, I gave Major Flirty a little wiggle to take home with him.

About fifteen minutes later, walking back to my car with a valise filled with the promised reading materials in hand, the reality of how I'd acted in Major Hurdle's office struck me. I can't say why I didn't realize the impropriety of my behaviour while there, but I certainly did in the bright light of day as I was unlocking the car. With a flush working its way up my body from my waist, I tried to tell myself that I really didn't do anything wrong, that I'd only removed my jacket and... let him ogle me. And flirted with him. A married man. A married Officer!

I groaned in humiliation and self-disappointment, covering my eyes as that flush reached my face. What would my parents think? What would Jesus think? Yes, I'd successfully insulated myself against Alessa, but at the cost of cheapening myself? I'd never done anything remotely like that before, ever. What in the world had come over me? Okay, so I was attracted to him and I'll even admit that I was a little jealous of his beautiful wife, but I was an Officer and this was not the way to progress through the ranks.

As I quickly started the car, threw it in gear and sped away from the curb without even looking over my shoulder, I knew I could only blame my shameful little secret sin for this mistake.

The neighbourhood of North Central was, in itself, somewhat of a surprise in terms of what I'd anticipated based on Major Hurdle's information. I'd expected an inner-city area with a lot of broken down tenements covered in graffiti, stripped cars, babies of unwed welfare mothers crying, prostitutes fighting with the homeless on every corner and sidewalks fronting closed down shops while gunshots rang out and sirens wailed in the distance.

In reality, North Central is a relatively quiet, cozy neighbourhood with lots of large shade trees and small, post war homes crowded close together. Kids were riding bikes, laughing and playing in front yards and along the sidewalks and, though I did see a little graffiti here and there, it was nothing like what I'd have expected from 'gangland'. Sure, the broken and heaved pavement of the streets belied the lower income of the general residency there, and some of the homes looked pretty run down, but some seemed quite nice and, on the surface, it was hard to believe the problems that the Major described lived there.

As I drove, the only real clue to the reality of Canada's worst neighbourhood was its people. While I'd found most denizens of Regina to be uncommonly friendly, as open as the prairies where they lived, those who ambled up and down the sidewalks here, mostly indigenous peoples, seemed to keep their eyes trained on the sidewalks ahead of them. They didn't look up, around or ahead as they went, indicative of a personality that feels it has nowhere to go.

The exact address that Marilyn had provided was located on the one thousand block of Rae Street. Though she'd taken pains to draw out my route on a city map, the GPS app on my phone made getting there a lot easier. Just the same, sitting curbside in my car at the given location, I was compelled to check her map against my GPS to ensure that I really was at the right address, that my trusty smartphone hadn't for the first time steered me wrong.

It didn't.

Looking out the passenger window once again, I wondered what Hurdle was thinking. Bowing my head so I could see the second level through the passenger window of my car, I could only fervently hope that my personal living quarters were nicer than the ramshackle exterior of the building before me. With uncertainty, I decided to exit the car, braving a closer look at my new home.

It was a blockish, two level building, clearly older than the postwar homes on the street. It's steeply pitched roofline, clad in what appeared to be somewhat new, gray tar shingles, was at least straight as it ran towards the back, longer than the frontal width of the house. The sides of the lower level were covered in cedar shingles, painted a deep, rusty red while the upper level sported old clapboard of medium green, making me wonder if the upper level wasn't an addition. The obvious addition was the front entryway, possibly a screened porch at one point until someone gave it walls, a roof with a lower pitch than the main structure and white siding. Four wooden steps with black, wrought iron railings and no standing room at the top led visitors to the peeling, walnut stained front door with its mail slot. It was set close to the right of the wall and, while it had no window, there was one to its left side and two larger ones on the upper level, close enough together to make a sort of picture window(s).

The front yard, because of the addition, was smaller than most others on the street, the grass to either side of the cement walkway connecting the sidewalk to the front steps trampled and struggling. To the left of the steps, a few young trees sprouted too close to the house, two of them angling away as they reached for the sky, or anywhere other than the depressing abode assigned to me. Another larger tree, also too close, sprouted from the right corner. Down the left side of the house ran a narrow alley, less than four feet wide, that the next house shared. This walkway was dead ended at the rear corner of the house by another, even larger tree and tangled, impassable brush. To the right side of the house was a grassy, empty lot, sparsely littered with refuse and debris. An unpainted chipboard fence divided this unsightly space from the driveway of the neighbouring residence.

With a quick look around, as though to find someone who might be kind enough to go in after me should I need rescue, I walked around the car, stepped up to the sidewalk and slowly approached the bare, unpainted front steps, noting how they'd likely be dangerously slippery when wet. With no evident possibility of rescue, I nevertheless mounted them, removing the keys to the door from my jacket pocket as I did so. Fitting the key to the locking knob, I had to shove the heavy, sticking door to get it open, non-gracefully staggering inside when it did with a sharp creak of its hinges.

Managing to regain my balance before falling on my face, I found myself, somewhat expectedly, inside a front entry area. In the small space to my immediate right was a built in armoire type cabinet with a bar for coat hangers and three wooden shelves below for shoes. The floor was covered with old linoleum, white with gold marbling, but it was clean and looked to be in fair shape. Directly in front of me was another door with a latticed transom. Turning the knob, I found that this one opened easily, though also with a creak of its hinges as it slowly swung wide.

Since there were no windows on the left side of the house, only indirect sunlight from the right, the north wall, illuminated a fair sized space that appeared clean and smelled of detergents and faint must. The hardwood floor of what must have been the living room was in sore need of refinishing, but was level and felt solid underfoot. The dark beige walls were mostly straight, free of holes and appeared clean enough, as were the large, whitish ceiling tiles.

Passing a narrow set of stairs that clung to the left wall, under which, a door that presumably led to the basement was inset, I went on through another doorway, this one without a door, to a smallish kitchen. Along the back wall and under a large window that allowed more indirect light, ran a counter topped with white Formica. It was lower than usual, probably too low for anyone much taller than I was, but had a double stainless steel sink with taps from this century. The old wooden cabinets, both upper and lower, were painted bright yellow, creating a stomach turning clash with the peppermint green walls. To my immediate right was a small bathroom, clean with a white toilet and pedestal sink. Beside the bathroom door was the refrigerator, pea green and likely produced in the seventies while the stove, located beside it and probably from the same era, was a deep, burnt red. The floor was covered in the same linoleum as was in the front entry, but in slightly better shape. To my left and against the wall that separated this nightmare of a kitchen from the living room was a medium sized kitchen table. It was round with three matching chairs, the kind you can find almost anywhere and often on sale. It was in reasonably good shape, better than the refrigerator and stove, and beyond it, kitty-cornered under what looked like the fuse box, there was a stacked washer/dryer unit. On the rear wall, at the corner of the stove and the end of the counter, a wooden rear entry door led to the backyard, but I hadn't finished looking inside yet.