Wind Over Marshdale

by Tracy Krauss

  Con grinned at Rachel. “Funny how kids can be shy sometimes.”

  They stepped into the warmth of the house proper. Betty was in the kitchen dishing up huge slices of pie. “Hello there. How was supper?” she greeted. Lisa was sitting on a high stool, elbows on the counter, her chin propped in her hands.

  “Very nice,” Rachel said.

  “So what did you cook?” Betty directed the question at Con.

  “Lasagna,” he answered.

  “It was delicious,” Rachel supplied.

  “It’s always a bonus if you can find a man who can cook,” Betty laughed.

  Con watched Rachel’s reaction and thought he saw her color slightly. “Where’s Ivor?” he asked.

  “Watching the news,” Betty said. “Go on into the living room and I’ll bring the dessert. Do you want ice cream?”

  “Um, sure, whatever you’re having,” Rachel said. “Do you want help?”

  “That would be great. Then I can carry the coffee and mugs too.”

  Con hated to leave Rachel alone with his sister-in-law. Not that the other woman was a gossip, but that last remark was enough for him to feel a little bit worried. He found his brother sitting in his favorite recliner.

  “Hi there,” Ivor said. He sat forward in the chair, clicking it into a sitting position. He reached for the remote and switched off the TV. ”Same old same old,” he sighed.

  The women entered, laden with a tray full of dessert and another with the coffee. Lisa followed with some napkins.

  “So what church do you go to?” Ivor asked, taking a bite of his pie.

  Rachel blinked. Con frowned. What was Ivor doing? If he was purposely trying to make her uncomfortable, he was succeeding.

  “Um, I don’t actually know,” she responded. “I mean I haven’t been much of a church person.”

  “Oh?” Ivor queried.

  “No,” Rachel continued. “My parents weren’t really churchgoers, so I guess I just never got into the habit.”

  “I see,” Ivor nodded.

  “You’re doing such a fine job with the children,” Betty changed the subject. “Lisa can’t stop singing your praises.”

  “Thank you,” Rachel replied. “I enjoy them.”

  “Would you like to see my room?” Lisa asked.

  “I’d love to,” Rachel replied. Con watched as she followed his little niece down the hallway to her domain.

  “What was that about?” Con asked.

  “What do you mean?” Ivor responded, his eyebrows raised in innocence.

  “You know. ‘What church do you attend?’ Talk about uncomfortable.”

  “Why should it be uncomfortable?” Ivor asked. “I wanted to know. Seems to me you might want to know the answer to that, too.”

  “Enough,” Betty hushed them both.

  Con agreed. He didn’t want to talk about it. As if he didn’t have enough guilty feelings already. He didn’t need his older brother to lay it on, too.

  Rachel and Lisa returned and they continued with unobtrusive small talk until Con decided it was time to go. He looked at his watch. “Well, I suppose we should be heading back to town soon.”

  They said their good-byes and he and Rachel stepped back out into the now complete darkness of the night. Stars had already begun to twinkle overhead. “It’s so clear out here,” Rachel observed.

  “This is nothing,” Con said. “Wait till you see what it’s like out on the land without any lights from the house or the yard. Then you can really see the stars.”

  “I’d love to do that sometime.”

  “Yeah? Maybe we’ll stop on the way home.”

  “Okay.”

  “Need anything from the house?” Con asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Rachel replied. “I didn’t bring a purse since I didn’t think I’d need it.”

  “Right. Then I’ll just grab my keys and we can be on our way.”

  They drove for a few miles until the only visible lights were from the moon and stars. A distant yard light twinkled like a lone galaxy in a vast expanse of space. Con pulled over to the side of the road and cut the engine. He looked at Rachel and smiled. “Come on.”

  They got out of the truck and this time Con took her hand in his as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Just listen. Isn’t that something?”

  They were silent for several minutes, allowing the chirp of crickets, the buzz of the grasshoppers and the hoot of an owl to speak for them. Several coyotes barked and howled in the distance.

  “There they are again.”

  “Yep. But this time there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Cause you’re with me,” Con said.

  He couldn’t exactly see her expression in the darkness, but he imagined it was beautiful. There was a moment of hesitancy, and then, as if they both knew instinctively what was coming next, they leaned toward one another for the kiss.

  It was no more than a brief brushing of lips, but heat rushed through his body as if a floodgate had been opened within. He pulled back and smiled, imagining the look on her shrouded face. “Mmm. That was nice,” he said.

  “Yes,” came her breathless reply.

  He leaned forward again, this time taking it slow, allowing his lips to pull and tug at hers, until finally the kiss deepened. Whoa! He was playing with fire and he knew it. He pulled away sharply.

  He cleared his throat. “Yeah…well, I suppose we should get going.”

  The ride back to town was strangely silent. They had definitely crossed some unseen line and they both knew it. When they got to Mrs. Beatry’s he walked her to the doorstep, surveying Rachel’s features under the light above the door. He leaned in for another kiss, careful this time not to take it too far.

  “I’ll call you,” Con said, pulling away, his voice gruff.

  “Okay,” Rachel replied, her own voice sounding small and bewildered.

  He’d crossed the line now. Made his decision. And somewhere in his conscience he felt a prick.

  ****

  Pastor Todd stared at the computer screen. It was late and he was still working on tomorrow’s sermon. He should have it polished and printed by now, but for some reason his original thoughts for the sermon had vanished. Procrastination had begun shadowing him, it seemed, and now here he was again, sitting at his desk in the church office late on a Saturday night trying to think of something to inspire the flock.

  It didn’t help that Carol was being so distant. They didn’t exactly argue all the time, but her attitude toward him was condescending at best. She was “putting up with him” like a good Christian wife should. He could feel it. A martyr in her own home, she was maintaining a façade for the public while their marriage was actually falling apart. Doing her duty.

  Well, not exactly, he corrected. Sure they had sex on occasion, but only after he practically begged. Which was why it was probably best that he was here rather than at home tucked in with his wife. The humiliation was starting to get to him.

  With a sigh, he switched off the computer. He would do what he’d been doing a lot lately—just bring up an old sermon from his files. Something they hadn’t heard in Marshdale before. Nobody would know it wasn’t fresh material, and besides, God’s word was still God’s word, right?

  He rolled his office chair within reach of his laptop, which he had deposited on the floor by the bookcase. Unzipping it from its carrying case, he scooted back to the desk and opened the lid, pressing the ‘on’ button. Within seconds the screen came to life and he clicked on the file menu, about to search for an appropriate message.

  His fingers hovered over the keys as a fine film of sweat broke out on his forehead. Just one quick peek wouldn’t hurt anything. A small tension releaser before he went back to business. God knew he was only a man and men had needs. It was only natural.

  With a sharp intake of breath he pushed the guilty feelings aside and clicked on the internet browser. A few moments later the familia
r, forbidden site was filling the screen and his senses. Forgive me God. Just this one last time, I swear.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Of course, you'll want to watch out for those McKinleys.” Mrs. Beatry was engaged in another one of her visits.

  “Oh? They seem nice.” Rachel pasted on a smile. Unfortunately, Mrs. Beatry had seen Con pick her up yesterday and felt it her duty to warn her. She wasn’t about to offer tea this time, though. They sat at Rachel’s kitchen table, conspicuously bare of refreshments. It was time Mrs. Beatry got the hint. She didn’t appreciate her meddlesome ways.

  “Of course. They seem nice. My, yes. But there has been some bad blood in the past, you know, my dear. All is not saintly in the McKinley family tree! Of course, they do a good job of covering it up, they do. Very regular churchgoers. Quite fanatical about it, some might say. Of course, one's religion is one's own business—at least that's my belief on the subject. But one would think, the way they carry on, that there were never any skeletons in the McKinley closet.”

  Despite herself, Rachel's interest was pricked. Con himself had implied that there were some interesting rungs on the family tree. She didn’t have long to wait for an explanation.

  “I knew old man McKinley myself. Indeed I did. Of course, I was just a young bride, then. Not long from England and fresh as a daisy—and just as naïve! Rumor had it, even back then, that Charles McKinley had gone and left his wife and two daughters back in Ontario, while he came out to homestead. Of course, there's nothing wrong in that, in itself. A lot of immigrants had to do the same until they could afford to bring their families over. But he was no immigrant! No! His wife, Amelia, was the daughter of a wealthy businessman back in Sudbury. Rumor has it theirs was a shotgun marriage. You know what I mean, dearie. They had to get married. They also say she simply refused to leave the comforts of her father's home. And so Charles came west alone and left her with the girls back in Ontario. A rather unreliable streak, I would say, and certainly stubborn!”

  So…the story was about to unfold. Maybe she’d put the tea on after all. “Is that so?” Rachel encouraged, filling the kettle and putting it on the stove.

  “I’m sure he never so much as paid a visit to those poor girls! Well, not very frequently, on any account.”

  “The girls?” Rachel prodded.

  “His daughters, Stephanie and May. Quite bitter individuals, they both turned out to be. They came for a visit a few years back. Very bitter. Their poor father was on his deathbed and all they cared for was getting their share of his money! They're both spinsters, you know. Very elderly, now. And bitter.”

  “I suppose they have a right to be, if their father neglected them as you say.”

  “Fortunately, they were well looked after financially by their grandfather on their mother's side,” Mrs. Beatry confided, leaning forward. “If things had turned out differently, the McKinley boys surely wouldn't be farming the big spread they have now!”

  “You mean Ivor and Con?”

  “Of course, who else would I mean?”

  “So… how do they fit into the picture? Are they the sons of one of the daughters?”

  “My, no!” Mrs. Beatry was fairly beaming now, anxious to continue her story. “Charles 'set up house' with a young girl from the States. Minnie was her name. It was quite scandalous. She was nearly half his age, for one thing, and no one knew anything about her background—where she came from or what kind of a family she had. Of course, they let on they were married, but they never really made it legal until Charles' first wife died. They say it was cancer, poor woman, but I'm not so sure. She more than likely died of a broken heart! Of course, most of the upstanding citizens didn't know all the details until much after the fact. Imagine! Old Charlie McKinley even acted as municipal councilor for a number of years and was elected to the school board for two terms running!”

  “Well, I suppose one’s personal life doesn't necessarily have to have a negative effect on how they perform in other areas,” Rachel reasoned.

  Mrs. Beatry shook her head, patting Rachel's hand. “You young folk are so liberal minded. Mind you, I do like to think of myself as rather open-minded for someone of my generation. But where was I? Oh yes! Old Charlie McKinley. He was quite the shrewd businessman, he was. He ended up one of the most well- off farmers in the area and passed it on to his son.”

  “Ivor?”

  “My, no!” Mrs. Beatry clucked, as if Rachel were dense. “Edward was his name. Young Edward turned out all right, considering his parentage. He married a decent girl, Mary Houge. Fortunately for them, Charles had taken all the right precautions with his will and left most of his possessions to Edward. Those half-sisters would have liked to see it otherwise, but…”

  “But you still haven't told me how Con and Ivor fit in.”

  “Why, they’re Edward and Mary’s boys,” Mrs. Beatry explained, as if it should have been obvious.

  “Oh, I see. So all the scandal you were warning me about had to do with a grandfather who is now dead?” Rachel commented somewhat dryly.

  “You make it sound so trite, my dear,” Mrs. Beatry defended. “I’ve been around a long time and I've seen how these family characteristics can run in cycles. Take the Bradleys, for instance. They say that old Mrs. Bradley was—”

  “Please, Mrs. Beatry,” Rachel interrupted. “I’m really not sure what this has to do with—”

  “Oh, but it has everything to do with it! Mrs. Bradley's granddaughter turned out just like her. The spitting image of her grandmother and they both ended up in the nut house!”

  “But…a—”

  “Now take those McKinley boys. Ivor, he has more of his mother in him. Rather a quiet, steady fellow. But young Conrad! He's the spitting image of his grandfather Charlie if I ever did see it. Quite a good looking man, old Charlie was, even in old age. But a rascal, if ever there was one!”

  “But surely you can't judge a person's character by their looks,” Rachel argued.

  “Far be it from me to judge! Oh, no! I'm just pointing out the resemblance, that's all. Why I've heard rumors about young Conrad McKinley during his university days. I think he liked to kick up his heels, so to speak. Of course, that was before he got religious.”

  “Oh?” Rachel prodded.

  “His folks joined one of those holy-roller groups years back when some preacher came through. Now, don't get me wrong. Like I said before, I don't mind about a person's religion. But what works for one person doesn't necessarily work for another and I don't appreciate people trying to push their beliefs down other people's throats. I'm a good churchgoer myself, but I certainly don't try to influence anybody else!”

  Rachel smiled inwardly. Yeah, right!

  “Well, I must let you get back to whatever it was you were up to. Just watch your step with those McKinleys.”

  “Thank you, I will.” Rachel watched Mrs. Beatry's slowly retreating figure and let out a sigh of relief when her landlady had turned the corner at the top of the steps. As far as any scandalous genetics went, she wasn’t too worried. The religious warnings on the other hand, had her wondering. That might require further investigation.

  ****

  The congregation was lingering after church again, reluctant to sever the sense of belonging that clung after the service. It was a good thing. People needed each other and Thomas was glad that he had found a place—despite a few thorns—where his family was accepted.

  “Have any more dreams?” Con McKinley asked, coming up beside Thomas.

  Thomas raised his eyebrows. The other man sounded sincere, although the topic could be a touchy one. Some people didn’t believe in modern day manifestations of the Holy Spirit, including visions and dreams being from God.

  “Every night,” Thomas responded, taking a chance on Con. “I’ve been thinking about talking to Pastor Todd about it, but I’m not sure about his stance on the subject.”

  “I suppose the best way to find out is to ask,” Con suggested.

  �
��Hmm,” Thomas considered that for a minute. “I suppose. I guess I’ve been avoiding it. I hate to put him in a bad place. A compromising situation. I know there are others in the church that might use it against me.”

  “True,” Con nodded. “Maybe you’re best to just keep on praying until God gives you direction.”

  “I have been,” Thomas admitted. “And actually, I had a thought occur to me just this morning.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “I think God wants me to repent. On behalf of my ancestors,” Thomas stated. He surveyed the other man for a reaction.

  “I’ve heard about repenting on behalf of one’s ancestors,” Con nodded. “Nehemiah, Moses—there are lots of examples.”

  “Then you don’t think it’s crazy?” Thomas asked.

  “Of course not,” Con responded.

  “When I woke up this morning it was like I knew I had to do it. It was like God told me directly to go out to the site and pray. To get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness for all that has gone on in the past,” Thomas explained.

  “Must have been some dream,” Con commented.

  “It was,” Thomas said, his eyes reflective as he gazed past Con to visions beyond. He shifted his gaze back to his friend and smiled sheepishly. “I don’t mind admitting I woke up crying like a baby. I was afraid the kids heard me. But it was just so sad. So many vile and vulgar things flashed before my eyes and it was like I could see them all—all the people from past generations drowning in their own filth, not even knowing anything was wrong. I don’t even know how to start or what to say, but I just know I have to go out there and do it.”

  “I’ll go with you if you want,” Con offered.

  Thomas surveyed Con closely. “You would be willing to do that?” he asked. “Come out there with me and pray?”

  “Sure,” Con shrugged. “When were you thinking of going?”

  “This afternoon if possible,” Thomas answered. “I’m not sure how long it’ll take. Maybe only a few minutes. Maybe hours. But Ryder’s old enough to look after Whisper if I’m gone for too long.”