Wind Over Marshdale

by Tracy Krauss

  Con cleared his throat. “I was thinking, maybe you’d like to come out to the farm sometime. It might help you relate to your students if you see firsthand where many of them are coming from.”

  “Um, sure. That sounds like a good idea,” Rachel replied. She ventured a smile.

  “Great. How about this weekend? You busy?”

  “Not that I know of,” Rachel said.

  Rhoda and Jerry interrupted the conversation with a carton of ice cream, an angel food cake, and some frozen strawberries.

  “I slaved all afternoon,” Jerry sighed, setting the cake down.

  “Really?” Rachel asked.

  “Of course not,” Rhoda laughed, punching Jerry in the arm. “I buy these angel food cakes in the city and keep them on hand in the freezer just in case.”

  Rachel stole a glance at Con. Their alone time had been very brief. She wanted to ask him more about going out to his farm, but there was no way she was bringing it up in front of Rhoda.

  ****

  After dessert, the foursome played some cards and Rachel found herself relaxing more in Con’s presence. She could get used to this kind of camaraderie. When it was time to go home, Rhoda cornered her by the door.

  “So? You mad at me or what?” Rhoda asked.

  Rachel gave her a withering look, but smiled despite herself. “For what? Trying to set me up?”

  Rhoda shrugged. “Well? You can’t blame me for trying. It looked like you two were getting along.”

  Rachel nodded. “I concede. But please let me take it from here, okay?”

  “Oh?” Rhoda’s eyebrows rose in question. “And what does that mean?”

  “None of your business.” Rachel flipped her hair behind her shoulders.

  They said their final good-byes and Rachel headed outside to her car. It was now quite dark and she picked her way along the driveway, shoes crunching on the gravel. When she stopped to open her door, the distinctly plaintive yelp of several coyotes sent shivers up her spine.

  “See what I mean?”

  With a little yelp of her own, Rachel spun around, hand over her mouth and heart hammering in her chest. “You startled me!” she blurted.

  Con laughed—a pleasant rumbling sound. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Well, you did. Lurking out here in the dark!” The corners of her mouth had begun to turn up.

  “I was just listening,” he explained. “I love the night sounds. Plus, I wanted to ask you about this weekend. I have to come into town Saturday, so I thought maybe I could pick you up in the afternoon and we could drive out together. It would save me giving directions and I’d hate for you to get lost on your first trip. It’s kind of complicated if you don’t know the roads.”

  “Oh. Sure.”

  “I’ll pick you up about four, then. That all right?”

  “That would be fine.”

  “Lisa will be real excited,” Con said.

  Rachel paused, frowning. “Lisa?”

  “Yeah. I thought you knew. Me and my brother Ivor live on the same farm. There’s actually three houses on the place, but our hired man lives in one of them.”

  “Oh.”

  “I mean, it’ll be kind of hard for them to not know you’re there,” he continued. “Not that we’d be doing anything we shouldn’t be…” He stopped abruptly.

  Heat had suffused her face, and Rachel was glad for the cover of darkness. “Right,” she said, striving for lightness. Her accompanying chuckle sounded forced. “Well, see you Saturday then.” She slid into the car.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean it that way,” Con said, bending to peer into the open window. “Man, talk about embarrassing! I’ll call you before I pick you up.”

  Rachel nodded and started backing up. She caught a glimpse of Con waving as he stepped away from the vehicle. Maybe he didn’t mean it that way, but she certainly wished he had.

  Chapter Twelve

  Waiting, listening…he tried to calm his breathing, but the sound of his own heartbeat pounded in his ears. The sacrifice was necessary, but still no easier to face. This he knew, because he had faced it before. Yet hadn’t. He was at one and the same time watching from the outside while experiencing it firsthand—another great mystery known only to the Creator.

  How had it come to such a crossroads? The People—descendants after the great flood who’d found safe passage over the waters and the marshes far away from the cradle of their birthplace—had lost the true revelation of their Creator; had strayed from “The Way.”

  It had happened gradually over many seasons. Stories had turned to legend and legend to myth and myth to folly. Yet he remembered. Once a proud people, rulers of the vast prairie, they had followed the buffalo and survived, giving back to the Creator as they took what was needed from the land He had provided.

  Now his people relied on the traders for blankets, food, and clothing. The whiskey runners promised provision, but in truth, many were now enslaved by the fiery liquid that brought only destruction. Could the earth not be kept from the strife and violence that accompanied the ambitions of the human soul? No. Even here, in a rich and bountiful land, man would turn to his own wicked ways. Not until the time of the fulfillment—the restoration of man with God, could there ever really be peace.

  The now familiar rumbling began, signaling the arrival of the great bovines. He turned his face upward, beseeching heaven with his eyes. The people sought Him but did not find Him. They had turned to other gods instead. In their own pagan ceremonies they had opened up a gateway for immorality and lust that would linger here for generations. Somehow the curse must be broken. He would spill his own blood in preparation for one who would come after.

  Because one had come before. Had already broken the bonds of slavery. One who could redeem the people and the land, if they would only turn from their wicked ways…

  Thomas awoke just as the thundering herd had almost descended upon him, their red eyes challenging him to move; to jump to safety. He allowed himself to bask in the afterglow, teetering between reality and fantasy. He was no longer afraid of the dream, yet still in awe of what it might represent.

  Some of the newer details he knew had come from his conversation with Dennis Johns, the elder who had visited him earlier in the week. But some of the other things—things that he had not known or heard before—these were cause for reflection. That God could speak to him through dreams, he had already decided. But if this were the case, what was He trying to say?

  Even more troublesome was another thought that kept popping into his mind, uninvited. What if it was the spirit of his dead ancestor that was speaking? When he was in the dream he was The Wise One. He could see what he saw, feel what he felt. This was more in line with the ancient teachings of his people. And his relative had been a powerful medicine man…

  Thomas shook his head. Of course not! He didn’t believe in ghosts but he did believe in the spirit realm. Either these dreams were from God or they were from the devil. There was only one way to sort out the difference and that was through prayer.

  He sat up, but instead of standing, he got down on his knees beside the bed and began to pray. Just when he thought he was getting somewhere with God, another thought popped into his mind. It was a picture of Whisper’s kindergarten teacher.

  ****

  It was “coffee row” at Sonny’s Café. Lily Chang brought the coffee pot around and filled several waiting cups. Now that the harvest was mostly in, farmers of all shapes and ages began to congregate to catch up on the district’s happenings.

  Con didn’t often frequent the place, but today he was waiting for someone and it seemed like the logical place to meet. He and Ivor had just finished their own harvesting for the year, and he’d come into town to do some banking, so it made sense. He listened to the conversation around him, content to just take it in as he cradled his steaming mug. Hudson and Amil, the café’s steadiest patrons, sat together as usual, along with a few others. Hudson pushed his grease stained
ball cap onto the back of his forehead. “Early winter comin’. Record snow falls,” he predicted.

  “Can’t trust the weather reports,” his buddy Amil observed. “They said we was having a cool fall and look how the weather held out.”

  “Good thing, too,” someone else put in. “Would have been a shame to lose a bumper crop like what we had this year.”

  “Listen, Fred. Bumper crop only as good as the market price,” Hudson countered, always the pessimist.

  “Things are looking good, so I hear,” Amil offered.

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” Hudson scowled. “A man can hardly make a living these days with the cost of transportation and fuel.”

  “That’s why the young folks are trying to diversify,” Amil said. “Like the McKinley boys, eh, Con?” He nodded in Con’s general direction.

  “I hear they’re a couple of smart farmers,” Con grinned.

  “Smart?” Hudson scoffed. “Lucky is all. If yer old man hadn’t left ya everything when he did, them old aunts would be swoopin’ down to take it all—lock, stock and barrel.”

  “Haven’t heard much of the old bats recently,” Amil said. “You ever hear from them old aunties a yours, Con?”

  Con shook his head. “Not much, I’m afraid.”

  “Well, that’s no skin off my nose,” Hudson declared. “Nothing but a couple of old bi—”

  Amil cut him off. “They were very civil last time I remember.”

  “What?” Hudson contradicted. “Them old biddies walk around with their noses in the air and their fingers up their—”

  “Hey now!” Amil interjected again. “Mind your manners.” He turned to Con. “Don’t mind him. He left his manners in his other jeans. How’s about that dig over at Old Man’s Lake? You been to see it?”

  “A couple of times. Going there later today,” Con replied. “You?”

  “Not yet, but I hear it’s quite a big discovery,” Amil ventured.

  “Big discovery my foot!” Hudson blustered. “We’ve already given away half the country to them savages and now they come around wantin’ more. Nothing but hand outs! I’ll be dang blasted if I let ‘em on my land.”

  “I don’t know,” Amil disagreed. “I hear it could turn out to be a real good thing for the area. Bring tourists.”

  “Lord knows we could use the extra dollars it would bring into the community,” nodded another.

  “You boys would sell your souls to the devil,” Hudson argued. “This is one time when me and that busybody Marni Hyde see eye to eye. She’s leading quite a campaign against the whole thing and I, for one, think she’s right on the money. Once you let them bloodsuckers in, there’s no telling what’ll be next.”

  “Not everybody sees things your way,” Con offered. “I hear the mayor’s in favor.”

  “He won’t get my vote again,” Hudson stated.

  The door to the café opened and there was a brief lull in the conversation as all eyes turned to the newcomer.

  Thomas nodded in the direction of several farmers. A few, including Amil, nodded back.

  “Coffee, please,” Thomas said to Lily as he headed toward Con’s table.

  “Could a guessed as much,” Hudson mumbled under his breath.

  ****

  Old Man’s Lake was one of the largest bodies of water in the southern quarter of the province, but its shallow marshes and high alkaline content kept it from being utilized for recreation. Its silvery grey water was cradled in among the rolling hills, filling the bowl shaped depression with rippling waves. Most visitors driving through the province had the mistaken notion that Saskatchewan was nothing more than a table flat expanse, but here, off the beaten track, were some of the highest rises east of the Rocky foothills.

  There were no trees, but an abundance of dry grasses and cacti covered the surface of the land, while reeds and cattails graced the edges of the sparkling water. Everything had a greenish silver tinge, due to the alkali in the soil. It was a mystic place; silent yet full of life.

  Con and Thomas parked their vehicles on the nearest approach coming off the gravel road. It was a short hike from there through some pasture land to the lake itself.

  The site of the excavation was clearly roped off. Artifacts of importance had been removed already, and the work crews had already vacated for the winter. Except for those obvious signs of recent activity, there was an aura about the place that whispered “ancient.”

  Con was struck with an odd sense of reverence. “I was here a couple of times before,” he said. “If you hike up to the top of that hill there, you can see for miles.”

  Thomas nodded. “I know. At night you can actually see Regina’s glow.”

  “That’s pretty far.”

  “They say sentinels would stand guard at the top of that hill, looking out for visitors. People came from miles around. It was an important meeting spot as well as a place for religious ceremonies.”

  “I came here duck hunting once in the fall,” Con offered with a grin.

  “That’s been a bit of a sore spot with some,” Thomas admitted. “There are a few restrictions in place because of the excavating.”

  Con nodded. “That one time I was here hunting, I couldn’t shoot anything anyway. I don’t know why exactly. I’m no tree-hugger, but it just didn’t seem right somehow.”

  “I know what you mean.” Thomas gazed out across the lake. “There is something about this place.”

  “It’s so quiet.”

  “Sometimes I think I could just stay here. Camp out all night and just listen. It’s a good place to pray, I think,” Thomas mused.

  “It really makes you think, doesn’t it?” Con asked. “I mean, to think of people from long ago congregating right here at this very spot. It kind of sends shivers up your spine.”

  Thomas was silent for a moment. When he spoke it was with reverence. “My own great-grandfather was here. He was a medicine man, or so I’m told.”

  “Really?” Con eyed his friend with renewed interest. “So this is more than just an interesting job site for you. It’s personal.”

  “Yeah, I guess it is.” Thomas let out a gust of breath. “I just found out myself. I mean, I kind of knew in general terms that my ancestors may have been from the area, but…”

  “So how did you find out?”

  “An elder came to see me not long ago. He remembers coming here as a child and his father passed on the story of ‘The Wise One’—the great medicine man that resided here. I remember my mother mentioning once that we came from a line of medicine men, but I had no idea it was this important.”

  “How did he know? The elder, I mean. How did he know you were a descendant of this Wise One?”

  “It used to be that oral history—keeping culture alive by passing it to the next generation—was pretty important. Unfortunately, most of it is lost now, but there are some people—people like Dennis Johns—who still take it pretty seriously. It’s something that should be passed down, from father to son. My own dad wasn’t much of a father, I’m afraid. The effects of residential school pretty much did him in. He drank a lot.”

  “Oh. That’s too bad.”

  “I’m not sure why I said that.” Thomas shook his head. “It’s old news and you didn’t need to know.”

  They were silent for a moment, letting the sound of the wind in the dry grass and the songs of the crickets fill the void.

  “I guess it still hurts, though,” Con finally offered. “Time might be the best healer, but some things never go away.”

  “It’s a common story, I’m afraid. I might have headed down that same path if I hadn’t met the Lord.”

  “So how did you become a Christian?” Con asked.

  “It’s rather complicated,” Thomas said with a grin.

  “As most testimonies are.”

  “The short version is I met Jesus at a camp meeting. I was into some pretty heavy drinking and drug use for a while and was living with a woman. Then she kicked me out so
I went to this camp meeting, looking for a way to vent my frustrations. ”

  “Nice!” Con laughed.

  “I ended up meeting my wife, Rhea, and God at the same time.”

  “And your wife? What happened to her?”

  “Died two years ago of cancer.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Con offered. “Terrible disease. I lost my mother to breast cancer.”

  “Like you said, some things never go away. It’s been hard, but I finally feel like we’re on the up-swing.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  Thomas nodded in agreement and looked out over the vastness of the prairie landscape. “Do you know that my great-grandfather was actually a believer?”

  Con’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really? How do you know? Was there missionary contact of some kind?”

  Thomas shook his head, continuing to survey the land in front of him. “Not that I know of. But he did tell stories—according to Dennis Johns—about a great flood. God saw the wickedness of mankind and sent his punishment. Only a small remnant survived by building a giant canoe.”

  “Sounds a lot like Noah’s story,” Con said.

  “Yes. And Dennis was not the only source for this,” Thomas continued, “although he is the only one that attributes the stories directly to my great grandfather. Then, after the flood, as people started to repopulate the earth, the climate started to change. Snow and ice came and it became more and more difficult to find food. Some tribes traveled far to the northeast, over mountains and deserts and even through a great corridor that separated the huge mountains of ice. The legends are full of stories of mammoths and tigers…”

  “The first indigenous people crossing over the Bering Strait into North America,” Con interjected with wonder. “I’ve read about that.”

  Thomas nodded. “Beringia. A small corridor of land that cuts through Alaska and the Yukon where glaciation never took place. Of course, the timeline is a bit off according to most, but in any case, a remnant remembered and kept the story of Noah and the true Creator alive as they crossed over the Bering land bridge from Asia and made their way to the Great Plains.”