Wind Over Marshdale

by Tracy Krauss

  “Incredible. And your great-grandfather was one of them. A keeper of the stories.”

  Thomas nodded.

  “Good thing that Dennis Johns fellow found you. So what does that story—the flood story—have to do with this site, exactly?”

  Thomas shrugged. “Nothing really. It’s just good to know. As far as most people are concerned, any correlation between the biblical account and anything else is pure fantasy. I’m just glad to know for my own sake. That ‘The Wise One’ was more than just a shaman—that he actually knew something about the true Creator of the universe and wanted to serve Him.”

  “Dennis tell you that, too?”

  “Not exactly.” Thomas scrutinized his friend for a few seconds. “What’s your take on dreams?”

  “Dreams?”

  “Yeah, dreams,” Thomas repeated.

  “Well, I’m not sure exactly,” Con responded cautiously, cocking his head to one side. “What are we talking about?”

  Thomas took a deep breath, then plunged in. “I’ve been having a lot of dreams lately. Since coming here to Marshdale. At first I thought they were, well…you know, just dreams. Then I started to see a connection to the archeological findings and all the legends and stories from the area.”

  “Coincidence?” Con offered. “I mean, it makes sense if that’s what you’re thinking about all day that they’d show up in your dreams at night, too.”

  “That’s what I thought, too, at first. But then I realized that many of the things I was dreaming about I didn’t know before. Things that would be verified later. The dreams are really vivid, too. Down to the smallest detail. It’s like God is trying to tell me something…or someone is.”

  Con’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Or someone?”

  Thomas laughed. “Okay, I’m pretty sure it’s God, but I just want to make sure I’m not listening to another voice that I shouldn’t be.”

  “Have you prayed about it?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, then, I’m sure you’ll get your answer soon enough. So tell me about some of these dreams. What kinds of things are you seeing?”

  “There’s a lot about my great-grandfather,” Thomas replied. “That’s how I know he was a believer. When I’m dreaming, he and I are the same person. I can see and feel what he saw and felt, and I know his thoughts. There is a lot of sorrow on his part, for the people. The fact that they’ve turned from the Creator. From God. He allows himself to be trampled by a herd of buffalo, as an atoning sacrifice. This I dreamed even before I heard that he did, in fact, get killed this way. The legend says he gave his life willingly, even though he knew it might not be enough.”

  “Kind of a type of Christ,” Con observed.

  “Yes, that’s what I was thinking,” Thomas agreed. “Of course, he wouldn’t have known about Christ, but somehow he did know that an atoning sacrifice was needed.”

  “Because he—or you—know this in your dream,” Con stated.

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm,” Con mused, looking out over the landscape.

  “What do you think?”

  “God can choose to reveal Himself to men any way He wants to. I’d never say otherwise, so who am I to judge whether this is from Him or not? The Bible does say He reveals Himself through His own creation—through nature itself. So why not to your great-grandfather and why not to you, now?”

  “It’s one of the reasons I feel so strongly about this project,” Thomas said. “Not only because it’s important on an historical level, but because I feel like it’s bigger than that. That somehow this whole thing has deep spiritual significance, and it’s my job to make sure it happens. Maybe that’s why I seem to be facing so much opposition.”

  “Don’t worry. I think the people around here will come around. Not everyone in Marshdale is susceptible to fear mongering.”

  “On the one hand, I’m excited—a chance to show the world that our history is rich and deep—that we come from more than a bunch of backward savages. But on the other hand, I am cautious—maybe even skeptical. People don’t always want to hear the truth.”

  “But God is on your side,” Con reminded.

  “Something I have to keep reminding myself. Although, I must say, when I first saw Marni Hyde at church, I had to wonder.”

  They both chuckled.

  “Maybe somebody needs to put Miss Hyde in her place,” Con said.

  “Are you kidding?” Thomas scoffed. “I’m in enough hot water as it is.”

  Con just smiled and conceded. On his way home, however, he thought about it again. Marni Hyde thought she ran the town. What she failed to consider was that the McKinleys were also known for their stubborn streak. If he decided to back Thomas Lone Wolf, she would have a force to contend with.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Let's try this equation one more time, shall we?” Rachel said, striving for patience.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” was the sullen response.

  Rachel sighed. “Brandi, I'm not going to play this game today. You already used it just fifteen minutes ago. Right now, we need to do some math.”

  “I need to go again,” the girl said, and just under her breath added an especially descriptive name for her teacher.

  “Pardon me?” Rachel asked.

  “What?” Brandi pouted, keeping her gaze fixed on her desk.

  “You know exactly what I mean,” Rachel responded. “We have already discussed your use of foul language at school, and in particular, calling other people bad names. There is no use lying about it because I heard you plainly.”

  “If you heard, then why ask me to repeat it?” Brandi asked with a slight sneer.

  “So, you’re admitting it then?”

  “No. I saw you at the bar on Friday night,” Brandi changed the subject.

  “Yes? And I saw you, too,” Rachel replied. “Not the best place for someone your age to be hanging around.”

  “You should talk.”

  Rachel sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m an adult. You on the other hand are not.”

  “So? What difference does that make?"

  Rachel closed her eyes and counted to ten. Brandi was doing it again. Engaging her in a no-win match of wits. A power struggle that would only end badly. It had to stop. “Enough. Now let’s get back to math, shall we?”

  “I still have to go to the bathroom,” Brandi said. “You’re mean.”

  Rachel tried to remain calm and forced a smile. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Brandi. But like it or not, I am here to help you with your school work. Let’s do this one last equation and then I’ll let you go. Okay?”

  Brandi sat there for a moment, as if she were considering it. Suddenly she jumped up from the table and swept all the books onto the floor. She stood with her arms folded, daring Rachel to make the next move.

  Rachel rose slowly to her feet, a muscle twitching in her cheek as she strained to remain in control of the situation. “Brandi, that kind of an outburst is unacceptable. Please pick up the books,” she said in a tightly controlled voice.

  The two combatants locked stares for a minute. Then, with the quickness of a rabbit being pursued by a predator, Brandi turned and fled from the classroom. In the seconds it took for Rachel to gather her wits and follow, Brandi had already gained a considerable lead. She reached the outside doors and went crashing through them into the open air.

  Rachel followed and was greeted with a gust of wind that nearly took her breath away. Half a block away, she could see Brandi running at full tilt. “Brandi!” Rachel called after her. There was no use. Brandi was long gone and there was no way she was going to try to run after her. Not in heels! Besides, when the bell rang she had other students to attend to.

  With a weary sigh, Rachel retreated into the warmth of the school building. She walked directly to the principal’s office to report the incident.

  “Is Mr. Roust in his office?” she asked Miss Miller.

  “Yes, go on in,
” the middle-aged secretary replied, not looking up from her computer screen.

  Rachel knocked lightly on the door and entered upon hearing his invitation.

  “Excuse me, but I just had an incident with Brandi Lane a few minutes ago,” Rachel began.

  “Hmm? What’s that?” Mr. Roust said, poking with two fingers on his keyboard as his head bobbed from screen back down to keys.

  “It’s about Brandi Lane,” Rachel tried again. “She just ran out of my classroom and left the building.”

  “Have you written something up?” he asked, still not stopping to look at Rachel.

  “Not yet. It just—”

  “Have you contacted her parents?”

  “Well, no, not yet,” Rachel explained. “The incident just happened and I thought you should be aware—”

  This time, Mr. Roust paused in his typing and looked at Rachel over the tops of his glasses. “You know that we have a policy of first contact with parents, Miss Bosworth. Very important to keep the lines of communication open between home and school.”

  “Well, naturally,” Rachel defended herself, “I agree totally. But we have a case where a student has just left without warning and—”

  “Parental contact,” he clucked, returning to his work. “And I need something in writing.”

  “Yes, but I really must speak to you about this particular case, Mr. Roust. Brandi Lane is a very disturbed little girl, and I don't believe we’ll get much support from home. In fact, I have tried contacting her parents on several occasions and—”

  “Miss Bosworth,” Mr. Roust interrupted, leaning back in his chair and looking up and over his glasses at her. “Perhaps you should sit down for a moment. I've been meaning to have a chat with you about classroom management. I did hear about something last week from Mrs. Wilmott.” he raised his eyebrows expectantly.

  The injustice of the situation tightened into a knot in her chest. “Well, just the once there was a little scrap between—”

  “I also heard that you left your students unattended.” He raised his eyebrows even higher and laced his fingers together on top of his desk.

  “It was only for a moment. You see, one of—” Her explanation was again cut short.

  “You do realize that my first evaluation of new teachers is coming up?”

  “Yes, but if I could just explain.”

  “Of course I realize, having taught for many years myself, that things do not always run smoothly. But when one classroom starts disturbing others…”

  Rachel felt her ire rising. How could he question her ability to run her classroom in light of his own incompetence running the school? “It was hardly that bad—” Suddenly the bell sounded.

  “I’m sure you'll work things out,” Mr. Roust said dismissively, turning back to his computer. “Young teachers always have a few bumps at first.”

  “It's not like I'm completely inexperienced.” Rachel stood to her feet.

  “Hmm. Yes, I see,” he said. His mind was obviously already elsewhere. “We'll discuss it later. You do have a class to get to?”

  She left the office seething inside. It looked like she would have to take matters into her own hands.

  ****

  “Hello, Con,” Pastor Todd greeted from behind his desk. “Come on in. It’s been awhile since you’ve stopped for a visit.”

  Con removed his cowboy hat. “Thanks,” he said, sitting down on one of the seats provided in Todd’s office. “Been pretty busy. I had some errands in town so I thought I’d stop by for a quick visit before heading back home.”

  Todd nodded. There was a brief silence. “So?”

  “Uh… actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Okay.”

  “Well, I don’t quite know how to say it,” Con began, running his fingers over the brim of the hat which he was clutching in his lap. “I’m a little embarrassed.”

  “No need. I’m your pastor—and your friend, I hope.”

  “Right. Okay. So here goes.” Con took a breath. “I’m concerned about the campaign Marni Hyde has going against Thomas Lone Wolf.”

  Todd blinked and hesitated before speaking. “There are some members that have concerns—for the good of the church. Even the town.” He looked directly at Con.

  “We both know exactly what members. I can’t believe you’re bowing to her pressure! Did you know she is singlehandedly trying to put a stop to the project?”

  “I do know I’m not completely comfortable with any mixing of Christian and traditional native spirituality,” Todd countered.

  “Who said anything about that?” Con asked. “You’d better get your facts straight. Thomas is as solid in his belief as anyone I know. Maybe even more so.”

  “I have noticed that you two have become good friends,” Todd noted. Was that a hint of sarcasm? Jealousy?

  Con surveyed his friend closely. Did he really even know this man? “Is that a problem?”

  “I believe in diversity,” Todd said. “But I don’t believe in compromise when it comes to the gospel.”

  “Who is compromising the gospel?” Con asked in exasperation. How could he sit there and allow a gossip like Marni Hyde to dictate? “Just what kind of poison is she feeding you?”

  “What about this connection to a medicine man?” Todd asked.

  “You heard about that?” Con asked. “Wow. News travels fast. Thomas told me he just found out about it himself. Besides, what difference does it make? How would you like to be judged based on your ancestors? Man! I can’t believe she’d even point that finger when her own sister is—”

  “All right, all right,” Todd put up his hands in surrender. “So maybe Miss Hyde is a little bit too suspicious.”

  “Paranoid would be more accurate,” Con said under his breath.

  “Okay, I concede,” Todd said. “But you must admit she has a lot of influence in this town. She runs the Heritage Committee. And from what I understand, without their approval, this project of Thomas’s isn’t going to fly anyway. We don’t want to end up on the wrong side once the dust settles.”

  “So it’s not really about doing the right thing, it’s about what makes us look good,” Con said, his voice flat.

  “Well, not exactly,” Todd hedged.

  “No? Could have fooled me.”

  “Look, Con. I appreciate your concerns and they are duly noted. But I have to consider the broader issue. What’s best for this church as a whole, not just one individual.”

  “Jesus left the ninety-nine to find the one,” Con reminded quietly.

  “Jesus didn’t have to live in Marshdale.”

  ****

  “Dad?” Ryder asked as he raked leaves into a pile. Several yellow mounds had already accumulated.

  “Yeah?” Thomas responded, continuing to make his own pile.

  “Why do so many people hate us?”

  Thomas stopped and leaned on his rake. “Do they?”

  “Well, not everybody, I guess. I mean there are the McKinleys, and the Changs. But I hear things sometimes, you know?”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Oh, like ‘lazy Indian’—stuff like that,” Ryder shrugged. He glanced to where Whisper was playing to see if she heard. There didn’t seem to be any response.

  “That’s one reason we try to make sure our own home—rented or otherwise, looks neat. We don’t want to give people a reason to say that about us,” Thomas explained.

  “But they shouldn’t anyway,” Ryder reasoned.

  “You’re right,” Thomas agreed. “But it still happens. It hurts and we could get really bitter about it. But we’re Christians and we want to set a good example. When people look at us, we want them to see Christ first, before the fact that we are Cree, male, female, young, old—whatever.”

  They worked for a few moments longer before Ryder spoke again. “When I was helping Mr. Hollander with his leaves the other day, I thought he smelled like pot.”

  “Oh? Who’s M
r. Hollander?”

  “The shop teacher. He looked pretty mellow, too, although it’s kind of hard to tell with him,” Ryder noted. “All the kids laugh about what a pothead he is, so it’s probably true.”

  “We need to be careful about believing everything we hear,” Thomas cautioned. “Just because someone says it, doesn’t make it so.”

  “I guess.” Ryder lowered his voice to a whisper. “Look, there’s our crazy neighbor coming out of her house.”

  They continued to work, half watching as Mirna Hyde emerged from her bungalow and went into the small greenhouse near the garden.

  “Take her, for instance. I had an interesting conversation with her a while back,” Thomas commented.

  “Really? You met her?”

  Thomas nodded. “She’s not as scary as you might think. Misguided, maybe, but she’s no dummy.”

  “I don’t know,” Ryder said, frowning skeptically. “She gives me the creeps.”

  “Just as well, I guess. I don’t want you fooling around with fortune telling or anything.”

  “Dad! I wouldn’t do that,” Ryder protested.

  “Sometimes darkness seems like light. It’s easy to get fooled,” Thomas cautioned. He wondered if the warning was more for his own benefit. Sometimes it felt like he was walking a very thin line between truth and error.

  He surveyed his son, thinking about the conversation he’d had with Con McKinley the other day. The other man seemed understanding and nonjudgmental. Like they were on the same page spiritually and intellectually. He liked Con and he needed a friend in this town right about now.

  “So, I was thinking,” Thomas picked up the conversational thread. “How do you feel about me going on a date?”

  “A date?” Ryder frowned. “With who?”

  “Nobody in particular,” Thomas shrugged. “Not yet, anyway. I just wondered how you would feel about it. If you think it’s too soon, or if you would mind. That’s all.”

  Ryder shook his head. “No, I think it’s okay. It might be kind of weird, but, yeah. I think you should.”