Wind Over Marshdale

by Tracy Krauss

  “And your research brought you here,” Con stated.

  “It’s been especially hard since the thread was broken when the first treaties were signed and the people were parceled off to reserves. The land in this area was considered too productive to be given away as reserve land, so the host tribes from the area were sent elsewhere.”

  “So how did anyone pick up the thread again?” Con asked.

  “Records did survive, despite bureaucratic mix ups.”

  “Really? How?”

  “Mostly oral, but there are also some written records. Petroglyphs and such.”

  “Really? Around here?”

  “Just south of Silver Creek. Quite a few locations around the province, actually—all referring to a large salt lake. So once all the data was gathered and compared, we zeroed in on Old Man’s Lake. Some of the stories are quite amazing.”

  “No wonder you want to build an interpretive center.” Con said.

  “Marshdale does seem like the logical place if we can just convince people there’s nothing to be afraid of.” Thomas cleared his throat and glanced in Marni Hyde’s direction.

  Con looked to where Thomas’s gaze had strayed. “Some people like to stir up trouble where there isn’t any. It’s great to have you come to church, though.”

  “Thanks. I hear you spent some time with the youth group the other night. I was glad that Ryder met some friends.”

  “Your son seems like a nice kid,” Con commented.

  “So does yours,” Thomas reiterated. “At least, according to Ryder.”

  “Oh, Tyson isn’t my son. He’s my nephew. That’s my brother Ivor over there,” Con pointed to where Ivor and another man were deep in conversation about crop rotations. “I’ll introduce you to him later. I’m glad that Tyson has another believer to hang out with, though. It can be tough when you’re young.”

  “Or not so young,” Thomas laughed.

  “Looks like my niece and your daughter are getting along, too.” They watched for a moment as Lisa and Whisper ran past, giggling.

  “I’m glad,” Thomas said. “I was worried about them making friends, but I guess I shouldn’t have. I always tell the kids that God takes care of us and I guess He has.”

  Just then, Marni Hyde swept past. Her icy glare, followed by a mumbled, “The nerve of some people,” was not lost on the two men.

  “Hope you won’t be scared away in future,” Con commented.

  “I’m a little too stubborn for that,” Thomas laughed.

  “Good. Say, you should bring your family out to the farm,” Con suggested. “The kids would love it and I’m totally intrigued. Do you have any photos or anything?”

  “Do I have photos?” Thomas repeated with a grin. “You might be sorry.”

  “Seriously,” Con went on. “The kids would probably enjoy themselves, and this whole excavation sounds really interesting.”

  ****

  Pastor Todd took a deep breath and steeled himself for the onslaught that he knew was coming. Marni Hyde was waiting in his office this very moment. She had insisted on a private conference before she left the building. The parishioners had been particularly slow in leaving after the service today, and now his stomach was grumbling in protest. He hoped Carol was preparing something good for lunch today. He needed comfort food.

  “As a man of God, you are obligated to do something,” Marni began without preamble as soon as he opened the door.

  “Excuse me?” Todd asked in bewilderment.

  “As Christians it is our job to spread God’s enlightenment—not be infiltrated by—by the heathen!”

  Todd blinked. His sermon today had been a very uplifting treatise on the feeding of the five thousand. No mention had been made of finding converts, heathen or otherwise. “If you’re referring to the passage from Matthew, I can assure you—”

  “No, no, no!” Miss Hyde blustered. “I’m not talking about your sermon! Although, you did go past twelve today, just in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  Todd coughed slightly. “Yes. Well, if you could start again at the beginning…?” He trailed off, still stretching his mind backward. Did he say something on Wednesday night that could have been offensive? Or last week perhaps? His frown deepened.

  Miss Hyde sighed with exasperation. “You did notice the Native family in church today?”

  “Yes. I spoke with the fellow briefly. He seemed nice.”

  “Of course he did,” she affirmed with a knowing nod of her head. “Don’t you see he’s trying to infiltrate?”

  “Infiltrate? Hold on just a minute, Miss Hyde. You’ve lost me somewhere.”

  “I see I’m going to have to spell it out for you,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension.

  “Please do,” Todd stated. He was starting to get a headache from lack of food. Miss Marni Hyde was becoming a little bit more than merely tiresome.

  “This—this Mr. ‘Lone Wolf’ as he calls himself—imagine using such a name!”

  “Paul preached diversity…” Todd tried to interject.

  “Of course, I know that,” Marni interrupted. “But this is different. He’s just trying to intimidate us!”

  “Intimidate us,” Todd stated, not following.

  “Yes, intimidate us. He thinks he can come here with some kind of retroactive land claim based on some great, great ancestor.” She stopped for effect and leaned forward. “Who, by the way, was apparently a medicine man! What do you think of that?”

  “Um. He said that?”

  “It’s no secret that he comes from a long line of medicine men, gurus—whatever! And now he’s come back to try to claim his ancestral home and build some kind of Indian Culture Center and the next thing you know we’ll be overrun with them. Heathens pretending to be civilized, when all they want is to take everything away that our fathers and grandfathers worked so hard for. Next they’ll be holding pow-wows and protests and who knows what. Murdering us in our beds, that’s what’ll be next!”

  “Calm down,” Todd interjected. “I’m sure you’re blowing things all out of proportion.”

  “Oh, you would think that. No offense, Pastor, but it has come to my attention that you’re becoming rather liberal these days.”

  “Liberal?”

  “This Mr. Lone Wolf is just that—a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He’s come to take over the town, he and his kind! Why look at how they just moved right in!”

  “I don’t see anything wrong with—”

  She cut him off again. “And naturally, he’s been very persuasive with the mayor and council. It’s been up to the Heritage Committee to try to put a stop to this outrage. But I never would have dreamt that they would try to infiltrate the church, too!”

  “Miss Hyde.” Todd tried to sound reasonable. “Perhaps he just wants to find a place to fellowship—”

  “Stop!” She put her hand up to signal that she would not listen to any more. “I can see you are far too naïve. You only see the good in people. Now, I admit, that is a characteristic that’s preferred in a pastor, but you must listen to the voice of experience. One who has been in these parts much longer than you.”

  “I’m listening,” Todd replied tightly.

  “Did you notice, for instance, that today he went straight for the ear of Conrad McKinley? Hmm?” She raised her brows as if her point had been made.

  “And…?”

  “Surely you’ve noticed that the McKinleys think they run the church. Or they’d like to anyway—always sticking their noses into everything. Oh yes, that Wolf person knew exactly who to sidle up to. They could be planning a coup.”

  “I don’t think that’s a fair—”

  “Of course, I shouldn’t expect that you’d notice such a thing,” she continued. “I’ve seen how you’ve cuddled up to the McKinley faction yourself.”

  “Pardon me?” Todd asked, eyes wide.

  “I see I’m barking up the wrong tree,” she said, lifting her chest with dignity. “You’re probably in on
the conspiracy.”

  “Miss Hyde—”

  “Good day, Pastor,” she said, turning to leave. “I’ll be writing a letter to the board. You can be sure of that.” She swept from the office, leaving the door open behind her.

  Todd waited until he heard the front doors shut with a thud. He had been holding his breath, he realized, and let the air out of his lungs with a rush. What was he doing in this place, anyway? God? What exactly do You want? One thing was for sure—he’d lost his appetite.

  Chapter Ten

  “Teacher!” a desperate sounding voice called. Rachel looked up from the oversized storybook she was reading aloud from. All the children were sitting cross-legged on the story time mat except one. The poor little fellow was dancing from foot to foot, holding himself with both hands.

  “You may go to the washroom, Travis.” Rachel turned back to the adventures of Chatterer the Squirrel.

  “Teacher, Travis piddled on the floor,” another boy called out. He pointed to a yellow puddle where the unfortunate little boy had been standing. A chorus of squeals rose up from the class as each one moved farther away from the telltale liquid.

  “Everyone sit quietly, please,” Rachel commanded. She went to the sink and got the necessary supplies to clean up the mess.

  “Only babies pee thurselves,” one girl observed smugly.

  “Franny, we don't use that word, remember?” Rachel reminded.

  “Well, my daddy said so. He said only babies pee thurselves,” Franny reiterated, her eyes wide with innocence.

  “Everyone has accidents sometimes,” Rachel explained. “What I meant was, please don't use that particular word for going to the bathroom.”

  “Okay. Teacher, why not?”

  “Well, because it isn't polite. And we want to be polite in kindergarten. Isn't that right?”

  “S'pose.”

  “Teacher,” another little girl with freckles and braids called out. “One time my brother went pee-pee on the floor at my house. My momma gave him a lickin’.”

  “Is that so? Oh well, we aren't going to do that today,” Rachel said as she finished her task and came back to the story circle. “Now, shall we finish our story?” By this time Travis had returned and was about to sit down by one of his classmates.

  “Ewww!” squealed the girl next to him. “His pants is all wet!”

  “Travis, remember where we keep your extra change of clothing? In your cubby?” Rachel asked. The little boy shook his head miserably. “Come with me. We'll find it together,” she said as she took his hand.

  They found the extra clothing, but Travis seemed reluctant to go to the bathroom alone to change. “Class, I think we will finish our story about Chatterer tomorrow. Right now, I would like you to listen quietly to an audio book I'm going to put on.” After cueing up the CD, Rachel took Travis by the hand and left the room.

  They returned a few minutes later to what could have rivaled a professional wrestling match. Two little boys were battling it out on the story mat. Most of the other children had scattered. One little girl sat crying at the top of her lungs; others just stood back wide-eyed. Rachel jumped into action and tried to separate the boys. Arms and legs were flailing everywhere. Just when she thought she was getting the better of the situation a loud tapping silenced the entire classroom.

  All eyes turned to the doorway where Mrs. Wilmott, the grade one teacher, stood ramrod straight, a disapproving glint in her eagle eyes.

  “Is there a problem, Miss Bosworth?” the older woman queried.

  “Mrs. Wilmott,” Rachel said rather breathlessly. “I just stepped out of the room for a moment. Travis had an—”

  “Miss Bosworth,” the elder teacher cut her off. “I would advise you to take control of your pupils. Before they take control of you.” She turned on her heel, her orthopedic shoes clicking soundly on the linoleum.

  Rachel was mortified. With more harshness than usual, she ordered the offenders to separate time out chairs. Of all people to come to her classroom during such a disturbance! Mrs. Wilmott was renowned for her militaristic style. She must have considered Rachel the most inexperienced of fools after such a display. But there was little time for reflection. All eyes were now on her with expectancy.

  “Children,” Rachel announced with forced brightness. “I think it is time for some free play.”

  A chorus of “yeahs” rose from the children as they scattered to the various play stations. They had already established a routine of sharing and cooperation, and knew exactly how many people were allowed in each area. If only Mrs. Wilmott could see that, Rachel mused. Now she must interrogate the boys.

  “Robert,” Rachel began, “I would like to hear your side of the story.”

  Danny, the other boy, blurted out, “He was —”

  Rachel cut him off, calmly, but firmly, “Danny, I was speaking to Robert. You will get your turn.”

  “But—”

  “Danny, you know the rules.”

  “Okay, teacher,” Danny conceded, “But—” One more look from Rachel silenced him.

  “All right, Robert. What happened?” Robert stared at the floor. “Robert, I'm speaking to you. Please tell me why you and Danny were fighting.” The only answer was a definitive shake of the head. “Robert, now is your chance to tell me your side of the story.” Another shake. Rachel sighed. “All right. Danny, since Robert has nothing to say on the matter, you may now have your turn.”

  Danny sat up straight and reported in a matter-of-fact tone, “He said 'Teacher is a dummy.’”

  “Oh, I see. And?”

  “And I said ‘No she's not.’”

  “And that led to the fight?”

  “Well, kinda…”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He said, ‘Yes she is and she’s ugly too!’ And I said, ‘No she ain't, she's purdy.’ And he said—”

  “And who hit the other first?” Rachel interrupted.

  Danny looked down at his feet, which were swinging back and forth beneath the chair. “Me, I guess,” he mumbled.

  “Should we solve our problems by hitting others?” Rachel asked.

  “No.”

  “And is it nice for us to say mean things about other people?” Rachel directed at Robert. He shook his head. “Now, I want you both to apologize to one another, and after two minutes you may play.” Each boy mumbled an apology, and after the allotted time they ran off together, once again the best of friends.

  “Teacher,” a shy voice approached Rachel.

  “Yes, Lisa?” Rachel asked.

  “I think you're pretty, too,” Lisa smiled, looking down at her feet.

  “Thank you, Lisa.”

  “My Uncle says so, too.”

  “Pardon?” Rachel asked.

  “My Uncle Con. He thinks you're pretty, too. He said so.”

  ****

  Rachel helped the last, straggling, little boy with his zipper before heading down the corridor to the staff room for lunch. Unfortunately, Steve Friest was already occupying one of the comfortable armchairs. At least he wasn’t at the table. After a cool nod in his direction, she sat down across from Rhoda and Grace.

  “How was your weekend?” Rhoda asked.

  “Fine. I went into Regina on Saturday to see my friends Sherri and Dan.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Mmm-hmm. They’re the ones who convinced me to come to Saskatchewan. Sherri is pregnant,” Rachel confided.

  “Hope it’s not catching!” Grace laughed.

  Rhoda surveyed the other woman down the length of her nose. “A steady boyfriend might be in order first,” she teased.

  “I think I’ll just spoil other people’s kids,” Grace said. “I don’t think I’m mother material. Besides, the gene pool in Marshdale is rather shallow.”

  “I always say, Marshdale is a great place to come if you're looking for a husband—as long as you don't care about things like looks, age, or IQ!” Rhoda countered.

  “Hey, look who�
��s talking,” Grace pointed out. “You came to Marshdale and ended up getting married yourself.”

  “See? My point exactly!” Rhoda laughed. She noted Rachel's guarded expression and patted her arm. “You look way too worried. I’m only kidding. Truth is, Jerry was the only good-looking man under thirty with any brains at all when I moved here fifteen years ago. So naturally I had to snap him up quickly before he changed his mind. Unfortunately for you, there has never been another man, before or since, who possesses any one of the aforementioned qualities. They're all overweight, lazy, middle-aged couch potatoes with mush for brains.”

  “Good thing I’m not looking,” Rachel quipped.

  “Every woman is looking,” Rhoda protested.

  “Not me,” Rachel reaffirmed.

  Grace shrugged. “Sounds like she’s made up her mind to me.”

  “Wait until those cold prairie winds start to blow. She might change her tune,” Rhoda teased. “Who knows?” She lowered her voice and leaned in, making a slight gesture toward Steve Friest with her head. “Stevie-boy might not look so bad after all.”

  “I don’t know.” Grace surveyed Rachel. “She says she’s not interested, but I saw the way you and Con McKinley looked at each other the other night.”

  “What?” Rachel spouted. “You’re delusional.”

  “Oh really?” Grace countered, brows raised. “So you deny that he is one hot cowboy?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Rachel laughed. “I mean, of course, I noticed…”

  “Uh-huh?” Grace smirked, nodding. “And?”

  “But I’m not interested in a relationship right now,” Rachel repeated.

  “So you keep saying.” Grace didn’t sound convinced.

  “I think you and Con would make a cute couple,” Rhoda offered.

  “For the last time, I’m not interested!” Rachel cried. Steve looked up from his post. The heat of humiliation filled her face. What was the use? “I’ve actually got some marking to do. I’ll see you later.” She stood up from the table and stalked out of the room. Let them talk about her behind her back if they wanted. She couldn’t take any more references to her love life. Not when her libido was denying everything she’d just said.