Wind Over Marshdale

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Wind Over Marshdale Page 8

by Tracy Krauss


  Rachel looked over at her friend with a confused frown. “Ready for what?”

  “It’s Friday. We’re going to the hotel for a couple of coolers,” Grace explained. “I thought I told you.”

  “Oh. Right.” She had forgotten. “Um, isn’t it kind of awkward in such a small town? I mean, what if one of our students sees us?”

  “What? Teachers aren’t human?” Grace asked. “You worry too much. Besides it’s only for a couple.”

  Rachel packed the rest of her things into her school bag and slung it over her shoulder.

  “You planning on dropping that off at Mrs. Beatry’s on the way?” Grace asked, gesturing at the bag.

  “Um, I hadn’t planned on it,” Rachel said. “Should I?”

  “I’d say. Just in case one or two turn into three or four. You wouldn’t want to leave it behind.”

  “I hadn’t really planned on drinking that much,” Rachel explained.

  “Who does?” Grace laughed. “Anyway, your place is on the way. It’ll just take a second.”

  How could Rachel explain to Grace that every day this week Mrs. Beatry had accosted her at the door with just “one wee item” that she had forgotten to mention earlier? First it was the hot water, next it was the screen door, followed by the volume of the stereo during her piano lessons. She really didn’t want to be embarrassed in front of her new friend.

  “You’re worried about Mrs. Beatry, aren’t you?” Grace guessed.

  “How did you know?” Rachel asked in surprise.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll handle her. I’ll stop her outside the door and comment on her rose bushes. It works every time. You can slip in and out before she even notices.”

  Rachel laughed. “You really have this all figured out, don’t you?”

  “Pro,” Grace nodded. “I lived with Mrs. Beatry myself when I first moved here.”

  “Oh. Now I understand.”

  ****

  “So? How was your day?” Thomas asked as Ryder strolled into the kitchen. He gave the pot of spaghetti sauce one more stir then covered it with a lid.

  Ryder promptly took the lid off and took a deep whiff of the savory sauce. “Mmm. Smells good,” he breathed. He replaced the lid. “Can we eat now?”

  “What’s your rush?” Thomas asked. “I thought we’d hang out; watch a movie or something later.”

  “Oh,” Ryder looked down at his feet. “Well, see, I got invited to this youth group thing tonight. I kind of want to go and I didn’t think you’d mind since it is Christian.”

  “Oh?”

  Ryder continued in a rush. “They’re doing a bottle drive or something at six-thirty. We’re supposed to meet at the pastor’s house.”

  “Okay,” Thomas nodded. “That’s good to hear. I’m glad you’ve made some new friends.”

  “Great. So can we eat?”

  Thomas laughed. “Sure. Grab a plate and I’ll call Whisper.”

  The threesome dished up at the stove and settled themselves at the table. Ryder was about to take a bite when Thomas stopped him. “Hang on there, kid. We didn’t say grace yet.”

  Ryder gave a sheepish grin and set his fork back down on his plate.

  “Heavenly Father, I thank you for bringing us to this place. Thank you for our family and thank you for new friends. Help Ryder to have a great time tonight and help me to be patient with those people who have closed minds. Oh, and bless the food. Amen.” Thomas cleared his throat as he looked up. “I almost forgot to pray for the food,” he chuckled.

  “Something going on?” Ryder asked, taking a huge bite.

  “Oh, just a small roadblock from the Heritage Committee,” Thomas shrugged. “But nothing for you to worry about.” He changed the subject. “So tell me more about this youth group.”

  “I don’t know much,” Ryder said. “I guess I’ll tell you more about it later.”

  “You said it was a Christian group. Which church?”

  “That big one on the corner when you drive into town,” Ryder replied.

  Thomas nodded. “Good. I was wondering where we might go to church. I suppose we should try it out, since you already know some kids that go there.”

  “Will there be Sunday School?” Whisper asked.

  “We’ll check it out, Princess,” Thomas responded.

  “Goody!” she clapped her hands.

  “Now eat your supper,” Thomas reminded. “Looks like you and me are home alone tonight.

  ****

  “Come and join the staff meeting,” someone called as Grace and Rachel entered the dusky confines of the hotel bar. “You’re late,” the woman noted, raising her beer bottle. It was the sixth grade teacher, Cynthia Weatherington.

  “Where is everybody?” Grace asked, taking a seat.

  “You know how it is,” Cynthia quipped. “The rest of the world has a reason to go home.” She seemed to be joking, but Rachel couldn’t be sure. Cynthia was actually a very attractive woman, probably in her late thirties, with an athletic air and an outgoing “in-your-face” personality.

  There were only three other staff members present besides Grace and herself. Carl Binder, the proverbial “scattered genius” who taught the senior sciences; Hal Hollander, industrial arts; and Cynthia.

  “Sheila working nights?” Grace asked Hal.

  He nodded. “All week.” His eyelids, which always looked somewhat hooded, seemed especially droopy this evening. His longish hair and moustache gave him the look of a drunken desperado. He looked suspiciously reminiscent of a hippie from the seventies, but apparently ran a very well rounded shop program.

  “Hal’s wife is a nurse at the hospital in Silver Creek,” Grace informed Rachel.

  “I see.” The barmaid had come to take their order. “Um…a beer, I guess,” Rachel said. She didn’t really like beer all that much, but it seemed like the safest choice. She surveyed the room for any other familiar faces. There was Hudson Grey, the old farmer who had been complaining so profusely at Sonny’s Café the other day and with him… Rachel blinked and felt a quick flutter in her breast as she recognized his drinking partner. It was Bart, the town drunk, as Con McKinley had described him. She quickly turned back to her own group.

  “Anyone for pool?” Carl asked.

  “Not sure my ego can take it,” Hal joked.

  “Coward,” Cynthia teased, giving Hal a playful swat.

  “Are you kidding? Nobody beats Carl at pool.”

  “Pool is simply a game of physics,” Carl explained. “If you understand the principles, there’s nothing to it.”

  “Spoken like a true scientist,” Grace noted.

  “Okay, let’s go get it over with,” Hal said with a sigh as he stood up. He downed the rest of his beer and he and Carl made their way to the pool table in the far corner.

  “He’s a very talented man,” Cynthia commented, watching the men’s retreating figures.

  “Which one?” Rachel asked.

  “Hal. He’s an artist as well, you know.”

  “Oh? What kind of art?” Rachel asked.

  “Leather, pottery, wood – pretty much anything where you use your hands,” Cynthia explained. She took a swig of her beer. “You attached?” she asked abruptly.

  “No,” Rachel replied. “You?”

  Cynthia shook her head. “Not presently, no. Not that I wouldn’t like to be. It’s just hard to find a half decent guy, you know?”

  “Amen to that,” Grace put in.

  “Yeah, I was married once, but it didn’t work out,” Cynthia continued. “At least there were no kids involved. I always seem to pick ‘em, though. The last guy was a geologist. A real jerk.” She winced, remembering.

  “Speaking of jerks,” Grace gestured toward the door with her head. Steve Friest had just entered and was scanning the room.

  “I hear he’s available,” Rachel said with a grin.

  “Been there, done that,” Cynthia quipped. “And believe me, the anticipation is definitely better than the reward.”
>
  “Look the other way,” Grace advised. “He might not notice us.”

  “Hello. Mind if I join you?” another man said. He didn’t wait for an answer, but sat down beside Rachel. “Harley Dickson – not Davidson.” He laughed at his own joke and stuck out his hand for a shake.

  Rachel declined the offer. “Yes. We’ve met,” she said stiffly. She remembered the sleazy man from the grocery store quite well.

  He adjusted his ball cap and scrutinized Rachel for a few seconds, as if trying to remember. “Right,” he said slowly, a smile spreading across his face, showing off his chipped front tooth. He had obviously had a few drinks already, judging from his slightly slurred speech and silly grin. “What was your name?”

  “Where’s Connie this evening?” Grace interrupted. “At home with the children?”

  Harley frowned. “I guess.”

  “I have one of Harley’s beautiful children in my class,” Grace stated informatively, casting Harley a sidelong glare.

  “Huh?”

  “Sure. You know me, Mr. Dickson,” Grace replied, a pleasant smile in place. “I’m little Jenny’s teacher.”

  “Oh.” He sat in mute consideration for a few seconds. “Well, see ya,” he finally finished sheepishly and stood.

  They watched him amble away.

  “Pig,” Grace said under her breath.

  Hal had returned to the table while Carl had taken on another opponent.

  “Another round?” Cynthia suggested.

  “I think I’m gonna call it a night,” Hal replied.

  “So early?” she asked.

  “Yep. I’ve gotta get up early tomorrow.”

  “Actually, I should probably head home myself,” Cynthia reconsidered. She downed the rest of her drink and stood. Grace and Rachel watched as the two teachers left together.

  “Now that’s interesting,” Grace mused.

  “What do you mean?” Rachel asked.

  Grace shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Just the way they both suddenly decided to leave at the same time. He did say his wife was working nights…”

  Rachel frowned. “You think…?”

  “Who knows? Don’t imagine it’s the first extracurricular for either of them.”

  Rachel shook her head. “From the rumors I keep hearing, Marshdale sounds like a regular soap opera.”

  “Small towns are like that,” Grace said. “There’s not a lot to choose from, so people kind of pass each other around. It’s the same with the kids at the high school. Half the population has slept with the other half. Kind of like hot potato.”

  “That’s terrible!” Rachel exclaimed. “Is that all people think about out here? Sex?”

  “And they don’t where you’re from?” Grace asked.

  Rachel frowned. “Well, maybe, but it’s more discrete.” A pang of remembrance struck her heart and she shook it off. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  ****

  “I like that movie,” Whisper said, yawning widely as Thomas tucked her under her covers and switched off the bedside lamp.

  “I know you do,” Thomas chuckled. “You’ve only seen ‘Beauty and the Beast’ a hundred times.”

  “Belle looks like my teacher,” Whisper said, yawning again.

  “She’s pretty.” He bent to kiss his little daughter’s cheek one more time. “And so are you. Good night, Princess.”

  There was no response. Thomas smiled, rose carefully from the bed, and tip-toed from the room.

  She was pretty, Whisper’s teacher. He’d only seen her a couple of times, and of course he’d noticed, but he hadn’t really stopped to consider it much before now. Since his beloved wife’s death, he hadn’t thought much about other women. But now…maybe he’d have to start picking his daughter up from school himself more often. Give Ryder a break to spend time with his new friends. Yeah, that was it.

  With a satisfied smile, Thomas went to his computer. There was so much research to be done, but somehow he wondered if his mind would be able to focus.

  He clicked on the monitor and opened a file marked “Elders Remember.” It was a collection of interviews that had been done over the years with various elders, and which had recently been transcribed and archived. Sometimes the interviews had no relevance to his research, but sometimes there was a reference—even a slight one—that shed more light on the importance of the Old Man’s Lake site to the indigenous people of former times.

  He started reading the next document in line, focusing half his attention on the oral history presented while the other half was thinking about Whisper’s pretty teacher. Then he stopped, his body suddenly tingling with a thousand pins and needles. He backtracked, rereading the words with every ounce of his attention.

  “Back before the turn of the century, even before the days when the North West Mounted Police came to bring law and order to the plains, there was a powerful elder—a medicine man known as the ‘Wise One’. He held influence. People came from miles around to consult him, even sending envoys from tribes who were normally at war with the Cree nation, all to hear his wisdom. Their meeting place was a large, shallow lake that sometimes dried up into nothing but a salty, alkaline plain. It became known as Old Man’s Lake.”

  Thomas paused in his reading. This first part was nothing new, but it was the next half of the narrative that really caught his attention. He continued reading.

  “The Wise One frequently prayed to the Creator on top of the rounded hills surrounding the lake. When the great herds of bison began to diminish in number, he prayed, asking for the restoration of these life-giving animals. It is said that the Creator demanded a blood sacrifice, and so the man—the ‘Wise One’—took it upon himself to become that sacrifice, allowing the stampeding herd to trample him to death in exchange for sustenance for the people.”

  Sweat had broken out along Thomas’s forehead and he sat trembling. He could feel it—feel the old man’s determination and purpose as he prayed, beseeching the Creator to have mercy on the people. He could hear the rumbling sound that started low in the bass section of the earth’s core, gradually gaining in momentum: the thundering of a thousand hooves pounding the ground in unified timpani. He smelled the sweat of the giant robed bodies as they approached, bracing himself for the initial impact.

  It was as if he knew exactly what the elder was thinking—because he did. They had become one in his dream.

  ****

  “Who will be next?” Mirna Hyde asked, her gaze penetrating. Incense filled the air with its heady scent while the flickering light of several candles danced across the woman’s features. Two girls stood wide-eyed in the darkened shadows of the living room.

  “You go,” Shaylee giggled, pushing Bonita forward.

  Bonita hesitated, swallowing visibly.

  “Have a seat,” Mirna directed cryptically. Bonita did as she was told and perched on the edge of the chair that was in front of the small table where Mirna sat.

  “Now, let us see what the cards have to say,” Mirna said, laying the tarot cards down one by one.

  ****

  “Okay, let’s get a move on,” Con called to the group of teens piled into his pickup. Three boys jumped out of the back while the two girls present slid from the cab. The youth group had split up into groups to canvass the town for empty bottles and cans. His nephew, Tyson, and Billy Chang were among Con’s group and Billy had assured them that his parents had set aside a good number of empties at the restaurant for them to pick up. Sonny’s Café was their last stop.

  The fact that his niece Bonita was not present was a bit of a worry, but Tyson had said she was at volleyball practice. He just hoped he could believe it. He knew his niece.

  “Why don’t we try the hotel?” one of the girls suggested once they had congregated on the sidewalk in front of Sonny’s. “I mean, it is right next door.”

  “I don’t think so, Faye,” Con said with a shake of his head. “They weren’t too keen on it last time. Empties are probably an importan
t part of their revenue. As it is, it’s pretty nice of Billy’s folks to donate bottles like that. Okay, so why don’t you kids head into the café and maybe I’ll just drive around back. That would probably be less disruptive, eh, Billy?” Con suggested.

  “Sure,” Billy nodded. “Come on,” he said to the group.

  Con watched for a minute as they jostled one another at the door. Teenagers. He couldn’t help but smile. He turned back to the pickup and noticed two females just leaving the hotel. It was that new teacher, Rachel, and Grace Acken. He touched the brim of his hat politely. “Good evening, ladies.”

  “Hi, Con. Coming in for a cool one?” Grace asked, gesturing to the saloon.

  “Uh, nope. Looks like a nice evening, though,” he replied. “I’m out with some young people doing a bottle drive to raise money for a trip.”

  “Too bad,” Grace laughed. “We might decide to stick around if you did, eh, Rachel?”

  Con just smiled. What some people said when they’d had a few drinks! Grace Acken was fun, but he never thought of her in that way. Now Miss Bosworth, on the other hand… The other night when he’d picked her up out on the back road, he couldn’t help but notice her feminine curves. No wonder poor old Bart stopped! He probably thought an angel had landed right there in front of his truck. Her scent had lingered long after she’d disembarked, too.

  “Hi, Miss Bosworth. Miss Acken,” came a sarcastic voice from a small group of teenagers who had congregated near the entrance.

  Con squinted at the group. The street light beside the hotel was the local hang out for many of the town’s more rebellious kids. They came to share a cigarette, maybe score some liquor, or just generally chill and try to act cool. He recognized most of them. “Loitering outside the hotel is no place to be at this time of night,” he said. When nobody moved, he added, “Remember, I know most of your parents.” There was some general grumbling, but the group filtered off.

  “You two need a ride?” Con asked, turning back to the women.

  “A walk’ll do us good,” Grace laughed, shaking her head.

 

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