Wind Over Marshdale

by Tracy Krauss

  “So let me get this straight,” Con restated. “The Church board doesn’t want to fund the youth group trip to Edmonton so we’re going to have to step up our own fundraising efforts.”

  “That seems to be the basic gist of the conversation I had with them last night,” Todd nodded. “Unless we just drop the idea altogether and not go to this particular conference.”

  “Hmm. It seems to me the congregation has been pretty supportive of the youth group up until now. What’s changed?”

  “I don’t think much has changed,” Todd explained. “I think they’d just prefer we go to one of the other events. One they used to go to. Something tried and true.”

  “Nothing wrong with any of those youth events, that’s for sure,” Con agreed, “but this conference in Edmonton is huge. It’s one of a kind and I think our youth deserve to see something different for a change.”

  “It’s just that the youth conference in Edmonton has been touted as a little bit too charismatic for some of the board members’ tastes,” Todd explained.

  “And do you agree with that?” Con asked, raising his brows.

  Pastor Todd just shrugged. “No use rocking the boat…”

  “How about stepping out of the boat?” Con asked. Pastor Todd didn’t respond. Con sighed and tried a different angle. “There’s been a lot of interest from some of the other churches in town, including the Catholics and the Anglicans. This might be a great opportunity to show some solidarity.”

  Todd’s eyebrows came together in thought. “Is that so?”

  Con nodded, building on this small success. “Sure. I say we spearhead the thing. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “Some people are a bit nervous,” Pastor Todd said. “We don’t want to be seen as relying on emotionalism.”

  “But if the other churches are willing…” Con countered.

  “I’ll bring it up at the next board meeting again,” Todd said.

  “Good,” Con agreed. “In any case, we’re still going to do a bottle drive next Friday night, right?”

  “Right,” Todd affirmed. “By the way, did I tell you that Marni Hyde gave the youth group a very generous donation last Sunday?”

  “Oh?” Con asked. Inwardly he was frowning. He didn’t like that woman. She seemed artificial and she never missed a chance to voice her opinions—on everything. And her sister… now that lady really gave him the creeps.

  ****

  “Ryder, wait up!” Whisper called to her big brother.

  “Quit your dawdling, then,” he replied, but allowed a small indulgent smile to play upon his lips as he waited in the middle of the dirt street. Whisper had stopped to pick some “wildflowers” – a beautiful yellow dandelion bouquet. She was the dreamy sort of child, and it was difficult to keep her from going off on a tangent.

  Unfortunately, however, the sidewalks had run out about two blocks before and they now had to walk in the middle of the gravel street. There were plenty of dandelions to pick, though, which was presently making their progress home rather slow.

  “Enough, already,” Ryder called out. “You don’t have to pick them all. Save some for tomorrow.”

  “Coming,” Whisper called back as she added one more flower to her already stuffed fist. She skipped up to where her brother stood waiting, adjusted her backpack with a heaving shrug of her shoulders and divided the bunch of flowers into two. “Here. You take one and I’ll take one.”

  “Thanks.” Ryder took the weeds with good humor and they set off walking once again.

  “Is your teacher nice at the big school?” Whisper asked.

  “I have lots of teachers,” he replied.

  “My teacher is nice,” Whisper continued.

  “You told me.”

  “We get a pizza party if we’re good,” Whisper informed.

  “You told me that, too.”

  “Oh. Well, I got to help pass out crayons today. Everybody gets a turn being the teacher’s helper.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Teacher says I have a pretty name.”

  Ryder nodded, only half listening to his sister’s chatter. “Mmm-hmm.”

  “One boy laughed at my name, but teacher said to stop it. She said it sounds like a poem.”

  “Right.”

  “Ryder? What’s a squaw?” Whisper cocked her head to one side.

  Ryder narrowed his eyes. “Who said that?”

  “A boy. The same boy who laughed. He said Whisper was a silly name. Do you think it’s a silly name?”

  “No, of course not. It’s pretty, like poetry. Just like your teacher said.”

  Whisper nodded. “I think so, too.”

  “Um…so did you make any friends yet?” Ryder prodded. “Who do you play with at recess?”

  Whisper thought for a minute. “I forget. I saw a little gopher, though. He was running along the fence and I tried to chase him. Then he just popped right under and I couldn’t see him anymore.”

  Ryder could just picture it in his mind. Whisper was more likely to get sidetracked with Mother Nature than with trying to make friends with people. Maybe it was just as well. She was sensitive, and he didn’t want to see her get her feelings hurt.

  Just then, a bicycle came whizzing by, nearly sideswiping Whisper as the wheels crunched past on the gravel. “Get off the road, Indian!” the freckle-faced rider called over his shoulder.

  Ryder grabbed Whisper by the arm and pulled her aside as a second bicycle spun past. “Yeah! Go back to the reserve!” The two young males, both about twelve, polished off their insults with a string of war whoops which echoed back through the open prairie. They turned a corner and rode out of sight.

  “Come on,” Ryder said gruffly, taking Whisper by the hand. It was starting. “We’d better get home.”

  Chapter Six

  Rhoda strolled into Rachel’s classroom just as she was putting the last of her files away. “So? Surviving?”

  “It’s hard to tell,” Rachel replied with a laugh. “Kindergarten, fine. Special ed? Not so much.”

  “This system takes some getting used to,” Rhoda agreed. “Alternating between kindergarten one day and special ed the next can get confusing at times. Small schools…we do what we need to do.”

  In small rural towns like Marshdale, the kindergarten students only went to school every other day. It was a long bus ride for some of them, and they stayed for the entire day as opposed to only half days like in some other places. Rachel’s “off” days were devoted to kids with special needs, and although she had training in the area, she’d never really had to focus on it much before now.

  “I feel a little bit overwhelmed. There’s an awful lot of paperwork to be done. Assessments, referrals, not to mention all the reading up I need to do on these kids.”

  “Definitely not my favorite part of the job,” Rhoda agreed. “I almost feel guilty for dumping it on you.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply you left things in disarray. Everything seems to be in order. I just need time to sort through it all.”

  Rhoda chuckled. “I said ‘almost guilty.’ I’m really enjoying grade five. Most of them can actually read and they don’t need help in the bathroom!”

  “Lucky you!” Rachel laughed.

  “Anything I can help you with?” Rhoda asked. “I can spare a few minutes right now if you like.”

  “Really? I don’t want to be a bother.”

  “No bother. I remember what it was like. Let me guess. The big three?”

  “The big three?” Rachel repeated.

  “Sure. Laura Wilson, Robbie Nordick, and Brandi Lane. Besides those three there’s nothing too drastic. A little reading remediation here and there, maybe, but…”

  “Actually, you’re absolutely right.”

  “Of course I am,” Rhoda grinned.

  “Of course,” Rachel smiled back. “Okay, shoot.”

  “Okay. Let’s start with Laura. Down syndrome, sweet as pie—just keep her worker focused on life skil
ls, integrate her into the classroom as much as possible, and that’s about it. She’s doing pretty well with the alphabet and last year she learned to spell her own name. Just keep on with the program. On kindergarten days I found she’s actually an asset with the younger kids, so you might want to let her alternate between the K’s and her own age mates. Just my suggestion, though. You’re in charge, now. Her worker, Rose, is a gem, so you really don’t have to worry.”

  “Okay. I’ve had more time to focus on her file, so I pretty much have her covered anyway, but thanks. What about Brandi Lane? I’m not sure where I’m supposed to be going with her.”

  “Behavioral. ODD – Oppositional Defiance Disorder.”

  “But her file said she has a definite learning disability, too,” Rachel noted.

  “When you’re so far behind your age mates, you’re bound to start acting out. It’s the only way she knows how to save face. Add to that the fact that she doesn’t have a very stable home life, and…” Rhoda trailed off with a shrug.

  “What do you suggest?” Rachel asked.

  “Start with some positive attention. Try to make friends; establish a relationship,” Rhoda offered. “Don’t be too disappointed if she doesn’t respond right away. Brandi has made a science out of being uncooperative.” At Rachel’s look of dismay she added, “Not that I’m trying to scare you or anything, but we might as well be honest. Last but not least, there is that little enigma, Robbie Nordick.”

  “Now, his file was actually some interesting reading,” Rachel noted, “but I must admit, I feel a little bit like Annie Sullivan. I’m not a miracle worker!”

  “Robbie never learned to talk because he was in the hospital with some kind of rare bone marrow disease when he was two. Even though he recovered, he somehow missed the learning to talk stage. He’s perfectly capable, but he just never learned how.” Rhoda leaned a little closer. “Between you and me, it’s more like he never had to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s my humble opinion that Robbie’s biggest problem is his own family,” Rhoda stated.

  Rachel frowned. “Really? According to his file, his own sister donated bone marrow which helped him to recover.”

  “True. But because of the trauma, the child has been totally spoiled ever since. He’s had to do nothing but grunt, cry or scream and his family all rushes to do whatever he wants.”

  “Wow.”

  “Sure. It’s a common syndrome in near death cases like his. The family feels such guilt, sympathy, whatever it is, that they give in to absolutely anything.”

  “But to not learn to talk?” Rachel asked skeptically.

  “Check the records. No hearing loss, no vocal cord damage, he’s smart as a whip—nothing wrong with the kid but an interruption during those developmental months. Followed, of course, by several years of pampering ‘extraordinaire.’ He’s six years old, for crying in the sink! But they still treat him like he’s a china doll ready to break at any minute!”

  “I suppose it is only natural,” Rachel offered, trying to be sympathetic.

  “Except they aren’t doing the kid any favors. Just watch for yourself and see if I’m not right.”

  “Hmm. So what should I do?”

  “My best advice is to take the hard line. The Annie Sullivan approach, like you said. Make him talk whenever he’s with you.”

  “What if the family gets upset?”

  “Oh, they will. Don’t you worry,” Rhoda laughed. She surveyed her younger colleague for a moment. “Have I been sufficiently pessimistic yet?”

  “I’ll say,” Rachel chuckled.

  “Good. You’ve got to be tough around this place. People will walk all over you if you give them the chance.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Just kidding,” Rhoda said with another laugh. “Don’t take everything so seriously. I didn’t mean to burst your bubble, but you’ve got to be prepared for the worst. That way, when the little triumphs do come, you’ll be that much more appreciative.”

  “I see,” Rachel nodded with a smile. Her friend’s philosophy might leave something to be desired, but at least she was honest.

  “Well, I better get home,” Rhoda sighed. “Dinner never seems to cook itself.”

  Rachel had time to think about what Rhoda had said as she finished up the last of her paperwork and locked her classroom. Not that she wasn’t confident in her abilities, but these three cases did create some extra stress and she was beginning to feel the burden. Whatever happened to the simple days of teaching kindergarten only?

  Tonight she was going to treat herself to something quick and easy from the grocery store. It had been a long week so far and she deserved a break of sorts.

  She walked at a brisk pace to the store on Main Street. So far, she’d observed a certain stark reality to life here on the prairies that she sensed was missing back home in the city. Here, people depended on their own sweat and hard work in order to make their living. For the most part, people looked her square in the eye like she was a real person with something to offer, not just another number in a lineup, or another body in a milling crowd of bodies. It was a philosophy of life that was natural and honest. Truthful.

  It was this search for truth that had driven Rachel out west to the small prairie town in the first place. Finding answers was difficult, however, when one wasn’t sure of the questions. Nevertheless, she clutched at her own growing need to find out what the true meaning of life—her life—was. Perhaps this place, stripped bare as it was, was the place to begin.

  It didn’t help that her treacherous hormones seemed on high alert since being here. What was that she’d been claiming, not only to Sherri but to her new friends as well? “Not interested in a relationship right now…” She could think of a couple of examples that just might make her into a liar.

  Upon entering the store, she was greeted by a distinct drop in temperature; a pleasant change from the relative heat of the harvest weather outside. The store was not new by any means. The floorboards creaked underfoot, even waving unevenly in places, but the establishment was clean and well-stocked for such a small place. Maybe from now on she’d do all her shopping here—try to support the local businesses as much as possible.

  She found a plastic grocery basket near the door and started down one aisle and then up another, surveying the items on the shelf for future reference. She pondered for a moment over a can of chunky soup, finally dropping it into the basket. She turned and almost ran headlong into another shopper.

  “Oh, pardon me!” she exclaimed. Much to her chagrin, it was the disdainful Miss Eleanor Thompson, the senior English teacher.

  Miss Thompson looked down her nose at Rachel for a moment and shrugged. “No harm done.” She moved on.

  Rachel frowned, feeling somewhat dampened in spirits. What was wrong with that woman, anyway? Didn’t she know how to smile?

  “You look puzzled,” a comment came from just up the aisle. It was the science teacher, Carl Binder. His hair was sticking out in all directions and she noticed that his shirt was buttoned up wrong.

  “Oh, hi,” Rachel said with a little wave. “Carl, right? I was just deciding what to buy for dinner.”

  “Hmm. May I suggest the frozen foods section? I often find many items to tempt the palette there. And since I don’t really cook much, as a rule, I can just pop whatever takes my fancy into the oven.”

  “Or the microwave,” Rachel added, trying to be conversational.

  “Oh, no! I don’t own a microwave. Did you know that microwaves actually change the molecular structure of the food?” He blinked quite sincerely behind his large glasses.

  “Um… I didn’t know that. Thanks.” Rachel tried to smile. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”

  “Oh, I highly doubt that,” he replied. “I rarely venture into the staff room.” He nodded and proceeded down the aisle with his full sized cart, which so far had only one banana in it.

  She looked down at her own basket
, the soup rolling around the bottom forlornly. Maybe she’d try the frozen foods as Carl had suggested. After another few minutes of shopping, Rachel brought her basket to the one cash register. A thirty-something man with a moustache and the standard ball cap was ringing in Miss Thompson’s purchases. Rachel avoided any eye contact, opting to busy herself at a rack of magazines instead.

  “You gonna buy one of those?” the man asked. He was gesturing at a minute sign that read “If you read it you buy it.”

  “Oh, yes,” she fumbled, setting the magazine down on the counter. She really wasn’t interested in the latest Hollywood gossip, but it was her turn at the till now anyway.

  “So you must be new in town,” he commented, surveying her several times as he rang in her items.

  “Ah, yes. I’m the new teacher,” she supplied. She felt decidedly uncomfortable under his intense scrutiny.

  “That’ll be twenty-four seventy-five.”

  Rachel raised her eye brows in surprise. She hadn’t expected it to be that much. He waited patiently while she dug in her wallet for the exact change.

  “Thanks,” he said as he took the money. He grinned suddenly, his eyes straying several times below the neck. One of his front teeth was chipped off. “Probably be seeing you around.”

  With a prim nod, Rachel went to grab the bag of groceries. He still had it firmly in his grasp.

  “The name’s Harley, by the way. Harley Dickson, not Harley Davidson.” He winked and handed over the grocery bag.

  Rachel bolted from the confines of the store. She just might be doing all her shopping in the city from now on.

  ****

  “Yoo-hoo,” Mrs. Beatry called, rapping on the door with her knuckles.

  Rachel considered pretending she wasn’t home, but knew Mrs. Beatry had seen her enter with her groceries earlier. Despite her landlady’s assurances that she didn't often “pop in on her tenants,” she seemed to find ample excuses for almost daily visits.