by Tracy Krauss
****
The bell rang, signaling the end of the day. Thank goodness! Rachel kept watch as her charges scrambled for the door, hurrying those along that needed to catch the bus.
“Wow. This is a busy place.”
Rachel looked up, recognizing the male timbre. There it was. That ridiculous giddy feeling again. “Hello, Mr. Lone Wolf. Ryder’s not free to pick Whisper up today?”
Thomas shrugged, smiling. “I just thought I should do it once in a while. It’s good to stay in touch with what’s happening at school. Parent-teacher relations and all that. And it’s Thomas, remember? Mr. ‘anything’ is a bit too formal.”
“Okay… Thomas. Whisper is adjusting very well, I think,” Rachel said.
“Good. And how about you?” Thomas asked.
“Surviving,” Rachel laughed.
Thomas smiled. “Good, good.” He looked down at his daughter. “Ready?”
Whisper nodded.
Thomas gave a slight wave, and then turned all his attention to the little girl, taking her hand in his as they walked out the door. What was it about him that she found so intriguing? Obviously, he was tall, well-built, and good-looking. But there was more to it than that. Charisma; a sense of mystery—some exotic charm that he seemed to exude. It would be good to find out more. Maybe she was ready for a relationship after all.
“How are things going?” Rhoda popped her head into the doorway. “Ready to quit yet?”
“Not yet,” Rachel laughed. “Although today had me thinking about it. Mrs. Wilmott walked in during the middle of a ruckus between a couple of boys.”
“Oh, not good.”
“Oh well. Not much I can do about it now.”
“Listen, about earlier. I’m sorry for making you feel uncomfortable. Sometimes Grace and I just get going and we don’t know when to quit.”
“Forget it.” Rachel waved a dismissive hand.
“Anyway, I thought maybe you’d like to come out to our place for supper tonight. We could talk more about the special ed kids you were wondering about, and you could meet Jerry and the boys.”
“That would be great. Robbie Nordick really has me stumped. Are you sure?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t invite you if I didn’t want to. Besides, we’re just going to throw some steaks on the barbeque. Jerry loves his barbeque, and the season is almost over. ”
“Can I bring anything?"
“How about a salad? Jerry just likes his meat and usually forgets to make anything to go with it. I’ll throw on some potatoes.”
“Sounds good.”
****
Rachel Bosworth was pretty. No, she was attractive. No, she was sexy in a naïve sort of way. He never thought he’d be interested in another woman again. Not after Rhea. But now that his mind had turned that corner, Thomas was surprised at how quickly he was ready to move forward. He’d pick Whisper up a few more times from school and then he’d ask the teacher out for coffee.
As soon as Thomas pulled onto his street, he noticed the unfamiliar Jeep sitting in front of his house. Technically, it was a “double-wide,” but house sounded better than trailer. The unfamiliar vehicle was empty. He parked in the driveway, waited for Whisper to get out, and walked with her up to the house. The door was already unlocked. Ryder must be home.
“Ryder?” he called.
“In here, Dad.” He heard his son’s muffled voice coming from the recesses of the trailer, probably from the back room which had become his “office” and where he kept the computer.
He strode down the long paneled hallway, coming to an abrupt halt when he entered the makeshift workspace. “Oh. Hello. That your Jeep out front?”
Sitting in one of two comfortable chairs was an elderly native man. His face was a leather mask of wrinkles and his thick hair, which was pulled into a scruffy ponytail, was a salt and pepper grey. The man nodded.
“Dad, this is Dennis Johns. He came all the way from Manitoba to talk to you about your project,” Ryder informed.
“Welcome,” Thomas nodded a greeting.
“He was sitting out front when I got home,” Ryder supplied.
“I was here a few days ago,” the elder spoke, his voice crackly with a thick accent. “But you were out.”
“You must have just missed me,” Thomas replied.
“That lady. She showed me where to go so I could see it.” The elder coughed into his hand, a thick phlegm sound that didn’t seem to clear.
“What lady? And what did you want to see?”
Dennis gestured with his arm; a large sweeping arc. “The meeting place.”
“You went to see the archeological site?” Thomas asked in surprise.
The elder nodded. “Just like I remember.”
Thomas’s eyebrows rose even further. “You were here before? When? As a child?”
The man nodded again.
“Well, this is—it’s extraordinary!” Thomas exclaimed. “A firsthand account. I mean, the oral traditions have been passed down, but a real firsthand account? Well! I’m almost speechless. Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Ryder, go put the kettle on. Why don’t you stay for supper?”
Ryder left the room as Thomas continued to survey the elderly gentleman. He wanted to know everything, but like many First Nations elders, he knew the man would unfold the story in due time, in a roundabout way as he chose to tell it. It didn’t matter. He wanted it all. Every bit.
“Do you mind if I record our conversation?” Thomas asked, already reaching for his recording device.
The man grunted his assent. As Thomas busied himself with a small power cord, the man added. “I met your great-grandfather.”
Thomas blinked and turned his full attention to Dennis Johns with new respect. “Really. You were quite young?”
“Yes, very young,” Dennis nodded.
“Tell me more.”
“He was a great medicine man. A shaman with great power. The people came from everywhere.” Dennis gestured in a wide arc.
Thomas’s hands became still, his breath stopping and then resuming in shallow spurts. “And is that why you came? To meet with my great-grandfather?”
Dennis nodded.
Somehow he knew the rest. Back in the recesses of his mind he remembered hearing a rumor once, perhaps a passing mention that his mother made about there being medicine men in their lineage. But he’d never dreamed…he hadn’t known…the old man in his dreams was his own great-grandfather. Maybe the old bat next door was right. He was connected to the land.
The thought made him tingle all over, a feeling he wasn’t sure was good or bad.
Chapter Eleven
The little bell tinkled over the door as Rachel entered the grocery store. She glanced toward the cash register to see if Harley Dickson was working the till. With a sigh of relief she noted it was a middle-aged woman. Thank goodness for small mercies. She picked up a basket and nodded to several other shoppers on her way toward the produce. She passed Hudson Grey, Bart the drunk—no longer the sinister individual she had imagined now that she was used to seeing him around, and Miss Miller, the school secretary.
“Hello, Miss Bosworth,” a young girl said as she came around the next corner.
“Oh hello, Jane. How are you?”
“Fine,” Jane said, smiling. Her brother Robbie and their mother came around the corner next.
“Well, hello there, Robbie,” Rachel greeted him pleasantly. “Nice to see you.” He grinned widely and nodded. “Mrs. Nordick,” she added with a nod of her own to the woman.
Robbie started to grunt and pull his mother by the hand. “What is it?” she asked, frowning. He continued to grunt, pull and point with the other hand.
“You want this?” his sister asked, pointing at a row of chocolate. She used a pseudo-baby tone of voice, as if talking to an infant. He shook his head. “This?” she tried again, picking up another.
He grunted some more, this time louder and in a more agitated fashion.
&nb
sp; “This one? Is it this?” Both sister and mother went through a series of pointing at various items in an attempt to discover what it was he wanted. He began to squeal and even hit his mother once.
Rachel couldn’t stand by and watch anymore. Hadn’t she just discussed the importance of not giving into his tantrums with the family? “I’ve got to go. See you,” she said.
Robbie’s mother gave an embarrassed wave and went back to trying to figure out what her son wanted.
“That’s disgusting,” Steve Friest said for Rachel’s ears only as he joined her in picking through the tomatoes.
“He doesn’t know how to speak,” Rachel replied, suddenly defending the boy when moments ago she’d felt the same way.
Rachel beat a hasty retreat to the checkout. In front of her, Mrs. Nordick had the counter loaded with several kinds of candy and chocolate. Robbie was happily sucking on a lollipop. “You might as well go ahead,” Mrs. Nordick said. “You’ve only got a couple of things.”
Rachel thanked her and did just that. After paying for her items, she was glad to get away. The whole situation was very disheartening. Robbie Nordick needed help and he needed it quick.
****
Rachel pulled into Rhoda and Jerry’s driveway, and put her car in park. Their acreage was just a few miles out of town, within easy driving distance, yet still affording the country lifestyle that they enjoyed. The lawn was well manicured and the flower beds were still stubbornly blooming despite the autumn weather. Rhoda insisted that Jerry had the green thumb in the family, but Rachel knew they both enjoyed working outdoors together during the warm weather.
A black lab came bounding down the long driveway. He was closely followed by two boys.
“Hi Tanner, Brandon, “ Rachel greeted Rhoda’s boys as she emerged from the driver's side. They were ten and twelve, respectively, and she’d met them at the school already.
“Dad's going to let us get a pet goat!” Tanner exclaimed before his brother could spill the good news first.
“Really?” Rachel replied, trying to match their enthusiasm.
“I know what you're really thinking,” Rhoda said, joining them as they walked around to the back of the house where the patio overlooked the garden. “What in heaven’s name would anyone want with a goat? I think so myself, but Jerry promised.”
“It'll be good for milk and cheese,” Brandon offered.
“And if we breed her we can sell the kids and make money,” Tanner added.
“Can't grow up on a farm and not know the facts of life,” Rhoda said wryly at Rachel's raised eyebrow.
“I hope you ladies are hungry,” Jerry called from the barbecue. “How do you like your steak, Rachel?” Rhoda's husband Jerry looked to be about forty, had thinning brown hair and a moustache, and was about six feet in height.
“Medium to medium well,” Rachel answered.
“Rachel brought the salad,” Rhoda informed her husband. “So you know what you’ll be eating.” She patted his belly.
“Hey! A man's gotta have his meat!”
“Forget it, pal. You need to watch your waistline.”
To the west, the sun was just beginning to drop toward the horizon, the wisps of cloud taking on a soft pink glow against a mauve backdrop. Rachel and Rhoda settled down on the patio to enjoy the spectacle while Jerry cooked and the boys wrestled on the lawn.
“So what is it you wanted to know?” Rhoda asked. At Rachel’s puzzled look, she clarified. “About the special ed kids.”
“Oh, that,” Rachel nodded. “I think I just needed to bounce my frustrations off of someone more than anything. I saw Robbie and his mother in the store before coming out here and it was pathetic. He cried and fussed until they bought him all kinds of chocolate and candy.”
Rhoda shook her head. “So things haven’t changed much.”
“It’s terrible!” Rachel exclaimed. “And then there's Brandi. I just haven't been able to get past her armor yet. She seems so hostile. I had hoped she’d at least tolerate me by now, if not respect me.”
“Give it time,” Rhoda advised.
Rachel sighed. “You’re right, of course. I’m expecting too much too soon. On Friday she actually seemed to flinch when I came near her and she started yelling obscenities!”
“Oh, dear. You can't put up with that. Have you discussed it with Mr. Roust?”
“I’m trying to handle it on my own for now. I don’t want to seem incompetent,” Rachel admitted. “I hate to go running to the principal for every little thing.”
“He rarely takes action anyway,” Rhoda said. “I’d try calling home.”
“I did that and it sounded like World War Three was going on in the background.”
“Brandi's home life isn’t the best.”
“So I've gathered,” Rachel nodded. “In fact, she was hanging out with a bunch of older kids in front of the hotel on Friday night.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“Grace and I saw her and then Con McKinley came along and told them to go home.”
“Oh? So that’s what Grace was referring to,” Rhoda grinned.
“Don’t start again, okay?” Rachel pleaded. “I’m not up to it.”
“Okay. Sorry,” Rhoda agreed. “But getting back to Brandi, both her parents drink. Brandi is the eldest of…let me see…six, the last time I counted. And there have been rumors that her dad can get violent. Social Services tries to keep in fairly close touch with the family. But there’s a lot of pride there, too. It's pretty hard to help people when they won't accept it. Have you considered speaking with the counselor next time she comes through town?”
“That's probably a good idea,” Rachel agreed.
“And how’s our Laura doing?” Rhoda asked.
“You were right. She is a sweetheart. All the children are really good with her and she’s just so happy most of the time. I’ve been ‘buddying’ her with a different child for each half of the day and they all actually look forward to it. I think it’s good for them and her.”
“Told ya.” Rhoda grinned.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel behind the patio. Both women swiveled in their seats to see who was approaching.
“Hey, Con!” Jerry called out. “Just in time. Steaks are ready.”
“Good. I was afraid I’d be late,” Con said. He turned to the ladies. “Hi, Rhoda. Miss Bosworth.”
Con joined Jerry by the grill and Rachel turned her dagger-like gaze toward Rhoda. “Did you…?” she mouthed the question.
Rhoda’s eyed widened in mock innocence as she jumped from her chair. “I’ll go get the drinks.”
Rachel looked over at the grill and her stomach did a little flip flop. It was the first time that she’d seen Con McKinley without a cowboy hat on. His hair was thick and curly, brushing the nape of his neck. How could she be feeling this attracted to him when earlier today she was thinking about another man? She was a pathetic mess.
Rhoda returned with a tray of drinks while Jerry called the boys over. “Come and get it!” Everyone gathered around the picnic table, filled their plates and then tucked into the meal. Conversation centered mostly on farming and the progress of this season’s harvest.
“So are you all finished harvesting?” Jerry asked.
“About ninety-nine percent finished. We have a small field of canary seed that isn't off yet,” Con replied.
“Canary seed?” Rachel asked, joining the conversation.
“Sure,” Con replied with ease. “Somebody has to grow it. Where else did you think it came from?”
“I guess I never really thought about it,” Rachel said honestly.
“Most people grow wheat around these parts; some barley, oats, canola, flax—all the usual stuff.” Con explained. “My brother and I like to experiment with some of the less popular crops, though, just for fun. We don't put a lot of acreage in, just in case it doesn't work out. We've tried sunflowers, lentils, and this is our second year with canary seed. So if all goes well, w
e should have that off and ready for market soon.”
“It must be a relief when all your work is done,” Rachel said. “Then you get the winter off.”
Con shook his head and laughed. “Lady, you really do have a lot to learn!” Rhoda and Jerry joined in.
Rachel’s eyes widened. “What did I say?”
“It’s kind of like saying a teacher only works until the bell rings,” Rhoda explained. “We both know that isn’t the case.”
“Oh. Sorry. I guess my ignorance is showing.”
“No harm done,” Con said. “If you stick around, you’ll learn.”
“Well, I’m going to go in and get the dessert,” Rhoda said, standing. “Jerry? Wanna help me?” When Jerry didn’t move, she pinned him with her gaze. “Please? And you boys can bring in some of these dishes.”
“I can help,” Rachel offered.
“You stay put,” Rhoda ordered. “It doesn’t hurt these guys to help out once in a while.”
Rachel watched as Rhoda and crew cleared away the dirty dishes and headed for the house. She was acutely aware of Conrad McKinley sitting across from her and the fact that they were now alone—by design, no doubt. That Rhoda! She was going to get an earful tomorrow at school.
“Been for any more late night walks?” Con asked.
“After what you said about the coyotes?” Rachel chuckled and shook her head. “Not likely.”
“I didn't mean to scare you,” Con said. “I love listening to the sound of coyotes howling. It's mournful…lonely…and yet kind of comforting at the same time.”
“Comforting?”
“Homey. It's the sound of the prairie. I love going outside at night and listening. It's a peaceful feeling.”
“More like frightening,” Rachel mused.
“You'll have to try it sometime,” Con suggested. “But maybe not alone.”
Rachel dared herself to look at him but found her eyelashes fluttering downward in confusion after only a few seconds. She thought about what his little niece had said that day. That her uncle thought she was pretty. She felt the color rising in her cheeks.