Wind Over Marshdale

by Tracy Krauss

  “This afternoon,” Con repeated, furrowing his brow.

  “If you’ve got other plans, don’t sweat it,” Thomas interpreted the other man’s thoughts. “We can always go together another time.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that, man, but I did kind of have other plans,” Con admitted, flashing an apologetic smile.

  ****

  He most certainly did. Con shoved any guilty twinges aside as he waved good-bye to Thomas and his family. Engaging in some warfare with his friend was probably the more spiritual of his options for the afternoon, but the memory of a lingering kiss from a certain woman was far more appealing.

  He was out in the parking lot at the church, heading toward his truck, debating whether he should phone Rachel Bosworth first, as he had promised, or just show up on her doorstep unannounced.

  “You coming for lunch?” a voice called. It was Betty, calling to him from across the hood of their vehicle.

  “Thanks, but not today,” Con called back.

  “Staying in town for lunch?”

  Con swung around to face his older brother, who was only steps behind him. “I didn’t even hear you. I guess my mind was somewhere else.”

  “Let me guess,” Ivor said. “The new teacher?”

  The hair on the back of Con’s neck bristled and he straightened his stance. “That a problem?”

  “You tell me.” Ivor scrutinized his brother. “You know, she’s not a believer.”

  Con tried to stare his brother down, but gave up and allowed his gaze to shift to his toes. He didn’t have a comeback. Of course he knew that already. It was what had been eating at him for the past twelve hours or so.

  “You want to talk about it?” Ivor offered.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” Con clipped.

  “Okay. Whatever you say. As long as you know the offer’s open. See you later.” Ivor waved good-bye and kept walking toward his own vehicle, leaving Con to brood alone.

  Ivor had summed it up pretty succinctly. She wasn’t a believer. He should just walk away before he got in any deeper than he was already. Simple.

  Or not. His head told him one thing, his heart another. The Bible said, “Do not be yoked to an unbeliever.” But then again, God himself created human emotion. God wouldn’t allow such a strong and unexpected onslaught of feeling without a reason, would He? Con was a man who loved God; followed Him with his whole heart. Maybe He had placed her in his path so that he could witness to her. There was always the possibility that she would come to know the Lord, right?

  Who was he kidding? God was not the author of confusion and if there was one thing he was certain of in all this, it was his own sense of it.

  I’m only a man, Lord. If ever I needed Your guidance, it’s now.

  ****

  Rachel shut the door to her suite with a click and skipped down the steps. She took off at a brisk pace, hoping to make the next corner before Con’s truck appeared. He’d just called, inviting her for an afternoon drive, and she didn’t want Mrs. Beatry to see his vehicle when he came to pick her up. If she could head him off at the corner, there would be less explaining to do later—especially after their gossip session this morning and Mrs. Beatry’s subsequent warning.

  Imagine! Warning her about Con McKinley just because he bore a resemblance to his grandfather! Talk about old-fashioned. The thought of a rogue buried somewhere beneath his gentlemanly demeanor got her wondering, though. Her stomach fluttered with a sudden surge of giddiness.

  She spotted his approaching vehicle and waved. He barely had time to come to a full stop and she was jumping into the cab.

  “You’re in a hurry,” Con teased. “Does this mean you’re glad to see me?”

  “Maybe,” Rachel hedged with a coy smile. “So, where are we going?”

  “Not sure yet. Just a little drive in the country if you’re up for it. Did you eat yet?”

  “I had a late breakfast.”

  “Oh.” Con’s stomach growled as if on cue.

  “But we can go somewhere to eat if you want,” Rachel said.

  “Sonny’s is closed on Sundays,” Con reminded. “I stopped at the grocery store, though, and bought some subs.”

  “A picnic!” Rachel exclaimed. “How nice.”

  “I guess I should have called earlier, but …” Con trailed off.

  “Good thing I don’t have much of a life,” Rachel agreed. “It would have been a shame if you’d come all the way to town and I wasn’t home.”

  “I had to come to town anyway,” Con replied. “I just came from church.”

  “Oh, right.” Rachel nodded. Maybe now was the time to investigate this aspect of his life. “You go to church every Sunday?”

  Con glanced her way before turning his eyes back on the road. They had reached the outskirts of town and he had turned onto a gravel road heading west. “I suppose Mrs. Beatry also filled you in on my religious fanaticism, as she puts it.”

  “Umm, she may have mentioned something."

  “Does that make you uncomfortable?” Con asked candidly.

  “Of course not.”

  “Oh yeah? You really don't lie very well.” He smiled at her silence. “It's okay. A lot of people feel uncomfortable talking about spiritual things.”

  “Frankly, I've never really thought much about it,” Rachel confessed.

  “Do you believe in God?”

  “Sure. I guess I do.” Rachel shrugged.

  “It’s surprising, but when you ask people that question, most people say just what you said. They believe in God, but they don't really know why. For me, I need to know why I believe it, and then, if I do believe it, I need to act like I mean it. Otherwise, what's the point?”

  “It seems to me it's an awfully big topic. You can't really expect to be absolutely sure about something like that. If you live a good life I suppose you can hope for the best,” Rachel reasoned.

  “But that's my point exactly. If the best we can do is hope for the best then what is the point of having any faith at all? “

  “But how can anyone be sure?”

  “For starters, it's in the Bible.”

  “But that's just a book.”

  “Some people would say that,” Con agreed. “I used to think so myself. I was raised reading my Bible and going to church, but all I really had to go on was what my parents or my pastor had to say. I just had to take their word for it, and that wasn't good enough for me.”

  “And?”

  “I rebelled against all of it for a few years,” Con admitted.

  “But somewhere along the line you changed your thinking,” Rachel finished.

  “Yes.”

  “What happened?”

  “Let's just say I experienced God for myself,” Con said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Con gave a low whistle and shook his head.

  “What's the matter?” Rachel asked.

  “Nothing. I wanted to have this talk with you,” Con admitted. “I just wasn’t expecting for it to come out all at once, that’s all. I thought a nice picnic lunch would make it easier. I didn't want to scare you away with anything too heavy.”

  “Oh. I see. I guess.” Rachel frowned. “We can wait for the picnic if you want.”

  “It doesn’t really matter. I prayed beforehand and asked God to help me out, so I guess if this is how it’s supposed to go then it’s okay.”

  “You prayed about something like that?” Rachel was truly puzzled now.

  “It might sound trivial, but God and I have a relationship where I can talk to Him about anything,” Con explained. “Like a friend.” Con looked over at her again. She didn’t know what to make of it. “Have I freaked you out yet?” He chuckled.

  “Um, no…well, maybe,” Rachel replied. “I have heard something similar before. On TV and such. But, I just thought it was part of a money making scheme. A way to suck unfortunate people in during a weak moment.”

  “Unfortunately, that does happen sometimes, too.
It certainly has given a lot of genuine Christians a bad name.” He slowed the vehicle and made another left, turning onto a much narrower dirt track.

  “Where are we?” Rachel asked.

  “To your right is affectionately known as ‘Jake’s Trees’. The land is owned by a local farmer. Kids come out here to party sometimes, but it’s a nice quiet spot on a Sunday afternoon. Just over the hill you can see Old Man’s Lake. That’s where we’re headed.”

  They crested the hill and Con pulled the vehicle to the side of the road and stopped. He jumped out of the truck and rounded the vehicle to open her door, helping her down. “Watch your step. Gopher holes are like land mines out here.”

  The ground was a crisp carpet of dry grasses mixed with clumps of stunted sagebrush. Rachel walked a few feet away from the truck as Con rummaged around behind the seat. She shielded her eyes as she took in the expanse of prairie before her. Gentle hills flowed together like the rolling waves of the sea, stretching to the horizon. She could see the shimmering surface of Old Man’s Lake, like a glass mirage that appeared to be close, but was in fact quite far distant.

  Con spread a blanket on the knoll and invited her to sit with a gesture.

  “You came prepared,” Rachel noted, lowering herself onto the coarse checkered material.

  “I always carry survival gear, including a blanket,” Con explained. “It does come in handy for other things at times, though.” He dug in the brown paper take-out bag. “Sub?” He held up a cellophane wrapped sandwich.

  “Um, maybe half.” Rachel reached out, accepting the food. “I’m not all that hungry.”

  They munched on their subs for a few moments, enjoying the freshness of the air and expanse of scenery in front of them. This was the kind of Sunday afternoon she could get used to. Simple and uncomplicated, with a very handsome man for company. Well, on the surface it seemed uncomplicated. She frowned slightly, thinking about their earlier conversation. “So does this mean I have to start going to your church?".

  “Not if you don’t want to,” Con replied. “It’s not about the building. It’s about what’s in here.” He tapped his chest.

  “Oh. I see.” She was lying. She didn’t really see at all, but she didn’t want to seem dense. He obviously had strong convictions on the topic.

  “Have you ever been to church before?”

  “Not much. I went with my grandmother once on my father’s side. She went to mass every Sunday and one time when I stayed with her we went together.”

  “So she was Catholic?”

  “Is that a problem?” Rachel asked, raising her brows in question.

  “Not at all. I have some good friends that go to the Catholic Church. Like I said, it’s not about the building or even the name above the door. I believe there are true believers in every denomination. No one church has a monopoly.”

  “What do you mean ‘true believers?’” she asked. “I mean, I would assume that anyone who bothered to go must believe.”

  “I guess that’s ultimately for God to decide. What I do know is that Christ says we must be ‘born again.’ It's a free gift. No strings attached. But like any gift, we need to accept it. I could buy you a new car, for instance, but unless you accept the gift from me—actually take the keys and get in and drive it—it doesn’t do you much good, does it?”

  “Right…”

  “It's the same with God's gift of salvation. He offers it to all people. Just attending church isn’t enough. You need to accept the gift—take him up on it—or you'll still be lost in your sin.”

  “What do you mean exactly by accepting it? How do you do that?”

  “You can just pray a simple prayer. Admit that you need a savior, believe that Christ is the only one who can do it, confess your sins and ask Him to become Lord of your life.”

  “And?”

  “That's it.”

  “That's it?”

  “That's it.”

  “That sounds almost too simple. Anybody could do that, but I still don't see how they could really know for sure if it was true or not.”

  “Believe me. If you are sincere and pray, you'll know for sure.”

  Rachel shook her head. “I still don't see how.”

  “Well, I guess there is no way of knowing until you try it.” Con looked over at her. She could feel his gaze, willing her to look at him. She didn’t know what to say, so she kept her eyes fixed on the faint shimmer of the lake. "Sorry,” Con continued. “I get the feeling I’m coming on too strong.”

  “Of course not,” she tried to sound light. “I asked.”

  “It's just that for me, my faith is more than just religion. It's a true and awesome relationship with the creator of the universe—which is pretty mind blowing when you think about it. And how do I know that it's for real? I just do. In here.” He tapped on his chest again. “So please forgive me for wanting to share it with you.”

  “It's okay,” Rachel said quietly and then laughed. “It's not every day that you run into some one who actually believes so strongly in something. It's kind of refreshing.”

  “Will you at least think about what I said?” Con asked, hope in his voice.

  She finally looked at him and nodded. “Sure. If it’s important to you.”

  “It’s important.”

  Rachel stood up, brushing some stray grass from her jeans. “I should probably get you to take me back to town, though. I have a ton of work to do before tomorrow.”

  “So soon?” Con asked.

  She just nodded.

  He sighed heavily. “I freaked you out, didn’t I?”

  “No—” she began to protest.

  He interrupted. “Yes I did. And I’m sorry.”

  “Well… maybe just a little freaked out.” She covered her mouth with her hand, suppressing a giggle.

  Con took a step to stand right in front of her. “It’s not the way I wanted to do it. But if there is going to be anything between us, it’s an important topic.”

  “I would never stop you from believing whatever you want,” she whispered, her voice husky. She stared at his lips and licked her own, suddenly feeling parched. His closeness and memories of their kissing from the night before superseded anything else he may have said. Who cared what he believed? She wouldn’t stop him. If only he would kiss her right now.

  For a moment she thought he was going to, his head hovering ever closer. She closed her eyes and tilted her own head up. When she opened them again he was bending to pick up the discarded sandwich wrappers that were on the blanket. He seemed suddenly distracted and eager to go.

  “Thanks for the picnic,” she said brightly. “It’s nice out here.” Hiding her embarrassment in activity seemed safest and she bent to scoop up the blanket.

  “I’ll just shake it out a bit first,” Con said, taking it from her hands and giving it a few deft shakes to get the dry grass off.

  What on earth had just happened? One moment they were having a deep theological discussion, the next they were almost in each other arms, and now they were acting like friendly acquaintances.

  Con McKinley might be a religious man, but she’d seen the passion in his eyes. Maybe it was her job to free him from these self-imposed restrictions.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thomas stood on the hilltop overlooking Old Man’s Lake. The place was serene; silent. Yet beneath the surface he could feel the pull of unseen forces. It was a sacred place. A place where his ancestors had come to commune with the Creator; where many tribes had come to seek the wisdom and advice of The Wise One.

  How had his great-grandfather known so much about the Creator? He had no Bible and no missionaries to teach him about God, and yet, it seemed he had an inside track into the mind of God. Thomas had long ago renounced the teachings of Native spirituality as pagan and ungodly, but now he was beginning to wonder. Could there be a connection? A bridge to bring the two together? What if he was that bridge? He was a direct descendant, next in line as medicine man and “Wise One.
” Perhaps it was his destiny.

  He began to pray, but his mind was cloudy. He had felt the urge—quite strong—this morning when he awoke, to repent on behalf of his ancestors. Much bloodshed and vileness had taken place here. Human trafficking, slaughter of the enemy, and even sacrifice had been part of the culture. But even the people of Israel had done these things, had they not? How was the history of his people any different? Certainly, they had respected the land more than their colonial counterparts.

  The image of thousands of buffalo tumbling to their deaths over a ravine came to mind. It was not exactly a sustainable practice, but nothing in comparison to what the whites had done. Whiskey trading, debauchery, wife swapping, residential schools, rape and abuse all rose before him like a moving picture. But most of this was a direct result of the colonial invasion of an otherwise peaceful life. He felt anger toward the perpetrators, not a sense of guilt for his own ancestors.

  “Why did you bring me here?” he asked aloud. When no answer came he said it again, louder this time, “Why did you bring me here?” This time, his own voice echoed back at him, taunting him with the question.

  “You haven’t figured that out yet?”

  Thomas spun around, heart hammering in his chest. Mirna Hyde stood several feet away, a basket full of dried plants and grasses over one arm. The long, brightly colored wraparound skirt she wore flapped to one side like a sail, plastering itself to the fronts of her legs. Tendrils of loose hair also whipped about, with the majority of it frizzling out in a halo of red that was backlit by the setting sun.

  “I didn’t know anyone else was out here,” Thomas sputtered, embarrassed by his outburst.

  “Obviously,” Mirna quipped.

  “Where’s your car?”

  “I don’t drive a car,” Mirna replied with just the right amount of superiority. “My bicycle is right there in the brush.”

  Thomas squinted in the direction she pointed and sure enough he saw the form of a well-worn touring bike tucked in with some tall grass. No wonder he hadn’t seen her.

  “The spirits of your ancestors are very strong here,” Mirna commented, looking out over the lake.