Wind Over Marshdale

by Tracy Krauss

“Sit here and wait,” Mr. Roust ordered, pointing to the vinyl sofa in the outer office. Ryder did as he was told, watching through hooded lids as Mr. Roust ushered Trent into the inner sanctum. He glanced at the secretary, Mrs. Miller. She barely even nodded in his direction, but kept right on typing away at her computer.

  Ryder slouched farther down on the sofa. The minutes crawled forward. What had come over him? It wasn’t the first time he’d had to endure racial slurs. He’d almost grown used to it—expected it, even. But that comment about the rock. Now that had triggered something. A protective instinct. Just the thought of Whisper’s frightened crying from the night before brought a sense of justification.

  “Mr. Lone Wolf,” Mr. Roust called from the doorway of his office. Ryder rose from the sofa, apprehension clenching in his stomach. Trent glared daggers as he stalked past. This time, Ryder kept his own gaze steady. Nobody threatened his family.

  ****

  “Thanks for your help,” Thomas said. Con had come back late the previous night to help board up the gaping hole in the front room and today he stopped by to take measurements for the new window. “The landlord says he’ll pay me back for whatever it costs, but I won’t get my damage deposit back.”

  “I see.” Con nodded. “It could take weeks if the hardware store has to special order the window, so I’ll make a few calls and next time I go into the city I’ll pick it up for you.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Thomas stated.

  Con shrugged. “What are friends for?”

  Con gathered up the remainder of his tools while Thomas wound the vacuum cleaner cord into place. “Have you got time for coffee?” Thomas asked.

  “Sure,” Con nodded.

  “It’s already on, so help yourself. Cups are in the cupboard right above. I’ll just go put this thing away.”

  Thomas lugged the heavy shop-vac into the adjacent porch while Con poured himself a cup of coffee. He moved near the table and stood sipping as he glanced out the dining room window, straight across to Mirna Hyde’s ramshackle house. He could see her face framed plainly in the opposite window, making no bones about staring directly at him through the distance and the glass. He looked away uncomfortably. Thomas had returned. “I know it’s not very Christian, but that woman gives me the creeps.”

  Thomas laughed. “She is a queer one,” he agreed.

  Con glanced her way again, just in time to see her jerk the drapes closed. “You’ve got to wonder what she’s up to,” he mused, sitting down at the table with Thomas.

  “No good?” Thomas suggested, and laughed.

  “There are lots of rumors, that’s for sure. About her being a witch and all that. I try not to judge, but sometimes I am curious,” Con admitted. “You ever see anything strange?”

  Thomas shifted in his seat. “She’s up and about at the strangest hours, if that means anything.”

  “And you know that because…?”

  “Trouble sleeping sometimes.”

  Con nodded. “Oh right. The dreams.”

  “Yeah,” Thomas cleared his throat. “How long has she been here in Marshdale?” he asked.

  “Six, maybe seven years,” Con estimated. He surveyed his friend for a moment. The other man was clearly uncomfortable. Like he was hiding something. “The Hyde sisters were from Marshdale originally but moved away after they left school. Marni came back first about ten years ago and then Mirna followed. Even Marni seemed upset by her sister’s occultish ways, but now people ignore her mostly. She’s become a fixture—an oddity.”

  Thomas nodded his head, taking another gulp of coffee. “People don’t understand the power of the spirit realm.”

  “Is there something bothering you?” Con asked. “Other than the obvious,” he clarified, gesturing at the living room. “I’ve been thinking about that conversation we had a while back. About repenting on behalf of your ancestors. Have you done that yet? ‘Cause the offer is still open if you want me to come alongside.”

  Thomas hesitated. Just when it looked as if he might speak, an unexpected knock sounded on the outer door. “Wonder who that could be?” Thomas asked, pushing back from the table and going to the door.

  Pastor Todd Bryant was on the other side. “Hello, Pastor,” Thomas greeted.

  “May I come in?” Todd asked.

  “Certainly,” Thomas said, waving him indoors. “Coffee?”

  At Todd’s nod, Thomas went to pour the coffee. Con offered a stiff hello.

  “Hope I’m not too late to help out,” Todd said.

  “The window’s on order,” Con said. “We could use a hand when it’s time to install it, though.”

  “Certainly, certainly.” Todd’s head bobbed up and down. He took the mug Thomas offered and glanced around the small room. “Um… this is cozy,” he offered.

  Thomas just sat down when the telephone rang. “Excuse me,” he said, rising again.

  “This place is like Grand Central,” Con joked.

  He felt bad about the argument he and Todd had earlier. Pastor Todd was still his pastor and that fact alone made him worthy of his respect. Con tried to engage him in small talk about the weather in an effort to not listen in on the conversation Thomas was having on the phone. It was mostly monosyllables on Thomas’s part anyway, and Con didn’t have much to say to his pastor at the moment. What could he say? Sorry would be a start.

  “Okay. Thank you. I’ll be there right away,” Thomas finished, hanging up the receiver.

  “Trouble?” Con asked.

  “I just have to run over to the school for a minute,” Thomas replied. “Sorry.”

  “I need to get going anyway,” Con said, gulping down the rest of his coffee and standing.

  “Yes, me too,” Todd echoed. He had barely touched his.

  “Um, sorry about earlier,” Con offered once they’d hit the sidewalk.

  Todd grunted his acknowledgement, but the cold look in his eyes sent shivers up Con’s spine. I suppose even men of God have trouble forgiving sometimes.

  ****

  Thomas pulled up in front of the school. The last thing he needed was for Ryder to start fighting at school. It would justify people’s assumptions about his heritage and could also have detrimental effects on the new proposal going forward. Despite these facts, there was also a satisfying sense of pride growing in Thomas’s chest. His son wasn’t afraid to stand up for himself and that would help him weather many storms in this life.

  He got out of the SUV and walked around to the sidewalk. It was recess time for the elementary school students. The air was filled with the tinkle of children at play.

  “Daddy!”

  Thomas turned his head in the direction of the familiar voice. Whisper was waving at him from across the school grounds where her upper body had emerged from a climbing contraption made of old tires. He waved back and watched as she jumped to the ground and came running in his direction. She was followed, at a much slower pace, by a girl who was obviously mentally handicapped. His heart clenched. Was this the best that his daughter could do for friends?

  “Hi Princess,” he said when she reached him.

  Whisper threw her arms around his legs and squeezed, then turned to introduce her friend. “This is my daddy,” she stated.

  The only response from the other little girl was to stare. Thomas couldn’t help but smile. She had probably never seen a First Nations man in person before—certainly not someone as tall, anyway.

  “Hi,” Thomas said, holding out his hand. Her demeanor didn’t change. She continued to stare, mouth slightly open.

  “Laura doesn’t talk much,” Whisper informed.

  “Sorry, but we ask that children not leave the playground during recess.” Thomas turned to the woman who had appeared out of nowhere. Rachel. She kept her gaze focused on Whisper, avoiding his. “It’s not safe for the children to be in the parking lot,” she added.

  “Of course,” Thomas agreed. “You and your friend better go back now,” he said to Whisper.


  Whisper threw him a kiss before running back toward the playground and to his surprise her friend mimicked her actions. He couldn’t help letting a slight laugh escape his lips as he watched her lumber after Whisper.

  “Whisper is very good with Laura,” Rachel offered, watching them also. “She has real motherly instincts.”

  Thomas snorted. “The retard and the Indian. Beautiful.” His voice was laced with sarcasm.

  “Excuse me?” Rachel clipped, turning to look right at his face for the first time. “All the children take turns as Laura’s buddy. She needs the extra attention and it’s helping the others learn responsibility. And they enjoy it. They like to be needed.”

  He surveyed her face from beneath his dark glasses. She had passion, he could see that. In fact, he’d felt it once too, when she was in his arms. He was sorry for the way it had turned out. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.” When she didn’t respond he added, “And I’m sorry for the other thing, too.”

  “Um, thank you.” Her eyes were once again focused downward. “I’m on duty so I need to get back now.” She turned and walked back toward where the children were playing. He watched the movement of her hips and then with a sigh turned toward the front doors of the building. He was here for other reasons than to stare at a pretty woman’s assets.

  Inside the school, the halls were devoid of all but a few people. His boots resounded on the tiled floor as he headed for the office. He could see Ryder through the office window, slouched into a corner of the couch. It was probably about time he got suspended for something. Lord knew Thomas himself had been kicked out of school enough times by that age for the very same thing. It was almost a rite of passage.

  ****

  Rachel was thankful to see the end of the school day. Most of the children were so wired from too much candy that it was hard to keep any of them focused on academics of any kind. Not that her own sense of focus was all that great right at the moment.

  Last night when Con had dropped her off, his kiss good night was long and delicious. When she’d closed the door behind her after his departure, she’d felt light headed and giddy. He seemed to have enjoyed it, and she certainly did. Maybe the curse of the ice queen was coming to an end after all. Maybe it was a matter of chemistry—the correct blending of the elements. Whatever it was, she liked it, and for those few moments she believed she could be happy.

  But then this morning’s brief encounter with Thomas had changed that. It left her feeling vulnerable; uncertain. She thought she’d been attracted to him, too. In fact, upon seeing him—his proud stance and well-proportioned build—even the way his eyes hid behind the dark glasses so mysteriously… well, her stomach had done that familiar flip flop.

  Was she really that fickle? How could she be sure she felt something more than just sexual attraction for Con McKinley when her emotions betrayed her with so little effort? All she’d ended up with from Thomas was humiliation. What if the same thing happened with Con? What if she turned into the ice queen again in Con’s embrace? She didn’t know if she could handle that. It might not be worth the risk.

  With a sigh, Rachel locked up her classroom, and headed in the direction of the staff room to pick up her boots and jacket. On her way past, she heard some low talking coming from the open door of the gymnasium. That was funny. She didn’t think there were any practices scheduled for today. Steve was very particular about outside user groups in the gym without permission. Maybe she should just stop in and take a quick look.

  Confusion was followed by shock; and shock by a rush of anger as understanding dawned. In one corner, Steve Friest stood behind a female student—much too close to be appropriate—his arms wrapped around hers, apparently “guiding” her in a proper badminton swing. Rachel cleared her throat.

  Steve looked up, startled, jumping back from the girl.

  “Hi, there, Rachel,” he said, his voice a little too loud. “I was just giving Vanessa a little extra help with her badminton swing.”

  “As I see,” Rachel said. She hoped her voice sounded cool. She was burning up on the inside. “Vanessa? Could you excuse us for just a minute?”

  “Actually, that’s probably enough for today,” Steve cut in. “Why don’t you go and get changed?” The well-endowed sixteen-year-old bounced off to the dressing room.

  “Just what are you doing?” Rachel asked as soon as the teenager was out of earshot.

  “What are you talking about?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised.

  “You know what I’m talking about. You also know it’s against the law.” Her gaze didn’t waver from his face.

  “What? Coaching one of my athletes?” Steve defended. His words were laced with sarcasm, but his eyes darted away.

  “That was more than coaching,” Rachel countered.

  “Your imagination is a bit overactive, I would say,” Steve quipped. He started walking toward his office, a small room off the gym.

  Rachel followed. “I saw you—”

  “Saw what?” He spun around. His eyes blazed into her now as he leaned forward. Rachel took a step back. “Me giving some extra practice to my top badminton player, who, by the way, happens to be going to regionals next week.”

  “Well, you were awfully close,” Rachel began to falter. “It looked like—”

  Steve was all friendliness now. Smiling and placating, as if to a child. “It looked like I was correcting a problem with her serve. Like this.” He came around behind Rachel and demonstrated, using the racket he still had in his hand. “No other way to do it, see?” he laughed, but somehow the merriment didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “Oh. Well…” She felt embarrassed now. Maybe she had been out of line.

  “No hard feelings,” he continued. “I’m glad to see teachers looking out for the students. You can’t be too careful these days.” He had escorted her to the gymnasium door.

  Rachel made a hasty retreat to the staff room and then out the doors of the school. She noticed Vanessa’s parents waiting in the parking lot. If they knew about their daughter’s private practice session, then there was no problem, right? Her heightened awareness of the male species was probably transferring onto everything else. She’d have to watch out for that.

  ****

  Okay. So he’d gone for a pastoral visit. It was the least he could do—after all, they did attend the church. It was too bad about the condition of the housing they were in, though. He was sure there had been other options available just before they moved to town. But it seemed the run down trailer beside Mirna Hyde was the only thing open once they’d actually come looking.

  Who was he trying to kid? He knew the way people thought around here. Nobody wanted to rent to “those” kind. The place might get trashed and people had a right to look after their own interests. He grimaced. Whatever happened to “love thy neighbor?” Maybe he’d preach on that next Sunday. Maybe there was still hope.

  No. Hope had died, along with any real emotion. Except for fear, maybe. Fear of discovery. It was always there, lurking, taunting him at every turn. It had him by the neck—a noose of his own design.

  Carol would be calling soon, asking him to come home to dinner. His children would want his attention. Want him to be the perfect daddy. He wasn’t sure he could do it anymore. Face another evening of lies.

  As if guided by the hands of an automaton, he opened his laptop. With a few deft clicks the images flooded the screen and his senses. He ogled for a moment and then slammed the lid shut. With an oath no pastor should utter he took the offending device and threw it with all his might against the bookcase. The computer landed relatively unscathed on the floor, dislodging a few books in the process.

  With a heart wrenching sigh, Pastor Todd laid his head on his desk and wept.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Excuse me, my dear,” the high pitched British voice on the other side of the door called.

  “Mrs. Beatry,” Rachel greeted. Her smile was mechanical as she opened the door to her l
andlady.

  “Oh, please do excuse me,” Mrs. Beatry said bustling past, leaving Rachel with no alternative but to close the door and follow her to the table.

  “Um, I’m not sure I have time for tea,” Rachel said. “I’m going out very shortly.”

  “No problem. You don’t make a very good cup of tea anyway,” Mrs. Beatry prattled. “I just wanted to pop by and see if you heard the latest news.”

  “Well, there has been quite a bit of excitement these days. Why don’t you tell me?” Rachel said.

  “Well,” Mrs. Beatry began, leaning in, barely containing her delight. “It seems Halloween night was even busier than we originally knew. Of course you heard about the young Henry boy getting hurt at Benwick’s. But there were some other happenings that went unnoticed until this afternoon.”

  “Yes, I heard,” Rachel nodded. “It’s just terrible. I hope it wasn’t racially motivated.”

  “Pardon me?” Mrs. Beatry asked, blinking.

  “The vandals that threw a rock at the Lone Wolf’s?” Rachel supplied. “It broke a window…?”

  “Oh, that!” Mrs. Beatry dismissed it with a slight wave. “No, no. I mean the other shenanigans.”

  Rachel frowned. “What other shenanigans?”

  “Well, someone broke into the Senior’s Corner.” Mrs. Beatry leaned back in her chair with satisfaction as if she’d just revealed the scoop of the century.

  “Really? And no one noticed until this afternoon?”

  “Why, whoever did it was very cagey about it, indeed. Someone picked the lock and let themselves in as nice as you please! Stole the money out of the quilt raffle fund, which is such a shame because that quilt was being raffled to help buy a new set of snooker balls for the boys. The old ones they play with now are so old.” She shook her head before continuing. “And they also took the money from the coffee jar. Not that that amounted to much, I don’t suppose. But every little bit helps. As well, there were several boxes of cookies taken from the back room, and a box of sugar cubes, and some hard candies. Mrs. McDonald likes those so much. What a shame!”