Wind Over Marshdale

by Tracy Krauss

  Thomas nodded. “Good. That’s all I needed to know.”

  ****

  Rachel sat outside the Lane residence, leaning on her steering wheel, willing some courage to come from somewhere. Mr. Roust wanted parental contact, so here she was—delivering parental contact. Home visits weren’t really the norm, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

  She hauled herself from the car, took a deep breath and walked up the sidewalk to the front door. With another intake of breath, she pushed the button for the doorbell, and then waited. There was no answer, but she could hear noisy movement inside. Perhaps the doorbell didn't work. She tried knocking. Still no answer.

  There was definite movement inside. She knocked again, louder and longer this time. Finally, someone came scurrying to the door. “Yes?” a strawberry blonde woman asked as she opened it a crack.

  “Hello. You must be Mrs. Lane,” Rachel began, smiling as pleasantly as she dared.

  “Yes. What would you like?” The other woman opened the door wider, and pulled the bathrobe she wore more tightly around her body. Her eyes looked hollow—haunted. Rachel could hear children fighting in the background.

  “I’m Rachel Bosworth, one of Brandi's teachers.”

  “She in some kind of trouble again?” Mrs. Lane asked, her voice low. She looked over her shoulder.

  “Well, I was wondering if I could discuss it with you. I've tried to contact you several times, but—”

  Brandi's mother cut Rachel off as she stepped further out onto the front step. “I’ll have a talk with her myself, Miss—what did you say your name was?”

  “Rachel Bosworth.”

  “Yes, Miss Bosworth.” She shut the door behind them completely. She didn’t seem to mind that she was standing on her front stoop in the middle of the afternoon in her bathrobe. “Um, you caught us at a bad time right now, but I'll be sure to have a talk with her.”

  “As I said, I have tried several times and—”

  “JANET!” A booming male voice interrupted them both. A string of profanity followed.

  “I’m afraid you're going to have to leave now,” Janet Lane said, almost pushing Rachel down the steps. Suddenly, the door flung wide and Rachel was face to face with a gruff-looking man wearing a stained undershirt.

  “Who are you?” he asked, his voice carrying into the far corners of the neighborhood.

  “It’s okay, Ralph. She was just leavin’,” Janet rushed. Her eyes seemed to be asking Rachel to leave immediately. Rachel nodded with a forced smile and turned.

  “Hey! Not so fast! I said, who are you?” Ralph growled. He swayed slightly. That and his distinctly sour breath told Rachel without a doubt that he was inebriated.

  “Rachel. I was just leaving,” Rachel nodded again.

  “Rachel. I don't know no Rachels. What d'ya want?”

  “It’s just one of Brandi's teachers,” Janet explained, her voice soothing.

  “Why? That little brat in trouble at school again?” Ralph asked, voice rising.

  “Absolutely not,” Rachel replied, not quite sure why she lied, but knowing it was essential that she do so. “I like to set up parental visits with all my students, that's all.” Ralph squinted at Rachel suspiciously, but she continued in her most business-like manner. “It was nice to meet both of you and I will look forward to our next meeting.” With a forced smile, Rachel received the thank you that she saw mirrored in Janet Lane's eyes. The moment the door was closed she heard a string of obscenities coming from the drunken man of the house.

  Rachel found herself shaking as she forced wobbly legs to move toward her waiting car. What must it be like to live under those conditions? No wonder Brandi had so many behavioral problems at school. Rachel wasn't sure how, but she knew a totally new and different approach would be necessary from now on. Somehow she had to gain the trust of Brandi Lane and try to draw the unfortunate girl out of the defensive shell she had built around herself. Somehow she needed to make a difference. The hunted look in Janet Lane's eyes gave her no choice.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Another week rolled by and with it another Friday afternoon. A light rapping on the doorframe took Rachel’s eyes from her computer screen. “Oh, hello, Thomas,” she said, a smile touching her lips. The familiar butterflies in herstomach were now so commonplace that she all but ignored them. “Today’s not a kindergarten day.”

  “I know,” he nodded. “I’d be a fine parent if I didn’t even know when my own daughter is at the sitter.”

  “Oh. Of course.” She flushed slightly. “So what brings you here?”

  “Actually,” Thomas said, clearing his throat, “I’d like to talk to you about Whisper.”

  “Anything in particular?”

  “Oh, just some things in general. Nothing too serious, just some concerns.”

  “Really?” Rachel asked. “She seems to be doing fine. She’s a well-adjusted, happy little girl. You’ve done a fine job of raising her.”

  “Thanks. I’m just wondering if you’ve noticed any kind of racial slurs. Ryder has been hearing a few comments here and there, and he was concerned for her.”

  “I haven’t noticed anything,” Rachel replied. “Prejudice is a learned behavior, and children in kindergarten have had less time to take it on. Unless, of course, they’re learning it from home. I’ll definitely keep my ears open.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” Thomas nodded. He hesitated, and looked down at the floor before returning his eyes to hers. “Um, are you free for a coffee? Maybe we could talk a little bit more.”

  “Oh.” Rachel blinked. This was unexpected and caught her totally off guard. She was going out to Con McKinley’s farm tomorrow, but that was tomorrow. She was, in fact, free at this moment.

  “If you’re busy, that’s fine,” Thomas rushed on. “I know these small towns can be brutal for rumors, and I’m not the most popular person around these days.”

  “No, I’d like to,” Rachel said.

  “I’d understand,” Thomas continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. “People might get the wrong idea, which could be awkward, since Whisper is in your class.”

  “I said, I’d like to,” Rachel repeated. “Really. So quit worrying.”

  “Oh.” Thomas nodded. “Okay. What time works for you?”

  “Anytime,” Rachel replied. “In fact, I was planning on leaving right now. Before Grace and the others accost me to go to the bar.”

  “If you wanted to go to the bar…”

  Rachel cut him off. “No, not really. I’m kind of glad to get out of it.”

  “Great. I’ll just call the sitter and tell her I might be late. Ryder should be home soon, anyway.”

  Rachel gathered up her things as Thomas made the call. She locked up her classroom as quietly as possible, trying not to draw any attention to the fact that she was leaving earlier than usual. She knew Grace and Rhoda would grill her about it later, but she didn’t feel like explaining herself at the moment. Especially not to Rhoda.

  Besides, there was no reason to feel guilty. She was just going out for coffee with an acquaintance. A parent of one of her students. Big deal. The fact that she was seeing another man tomorrow night meant nothing. Nobody owned her and she could do what she pleased.

  Thomas seemed cognizant of the fact that relative quiet was called for. Once inside his vehicle, as he was pulling out of the parking lot, he spoke up for the first time. “So, Sonny’s?” he asked.

  “Where else?” Rachel laughed.

  “Unless you’d like to go somewhere else?” he offered, giving her a sideways glance.

  “Like where?”

  “Silver Creek is only twenty minutes away.”

  “Sure, why not?” Rachel nodded. “I’ve never been there.”

  Thomas seemed to visibly relax as he pulled onto the main street, which led out of town. A more neutral location would be best. For both of them.

  ****

  Ivor McKinley bent to kiss his wife Betty on the cheek
before sitting down to the evening meal. Gathered around the table were their children, Bonita, Tyson, and Lisa, as well as Con.

  “Thanks for having me over, Betty,” Con said. “Smells great.”

  “No problem,” Betty replied. “It’s the least I can do on a busy night when you’re off to help with Youth.”

  “Let’s pray, shall we?” Ivor asked. He bent his head as everyone closed their eyes. “Heavenly Father, we thank you for this wonderful day that you’ve given us. For the bounty of the harvest and for providing for all our needs. We thank you for family and good health and ask that You would bless this good food to our bodies now. Amen.”

  A chorus of ‘amens’ followed as the clanking of spoons began almost immediately afterward.

  Betty turned to her son Tyson with a frown. “Tyson Carl McKinley! Swallow one bite before shoveling in another. You’d think you were starving or something. I hope I’ve raised you with more manners than that.”

  The gangly fifteen-year-old swallowed purposefully, his Adams apple bobbing. He washed it down with a large gulp of milk.

  “Leave him be, Betty,” Ivor advised. “He needs lots of food. He’s a growing boy. Look at the size of the feet on him!”

  “By the look of it you’ll be the tallest one in the family,” Betty agreed with a nod to her son. He frowned, obviously not enjoying his role as the center of the conversation, and took another bite of food.

  “Um, Shaylee and a couple of others are going to the show in Silver Creek tonight,” Bonita informed. “I was wondering if I could go. I can catch a ride to town with Uncle Con and we’ll be back before youth group is over. Promise.”

  “Absolutely not,” Ivor answered in no uncertain terms.

  “But why?” Bonita protested, her voice rising in pitch.

  “After last time?” Ivor snorted. “I’m surprised you’d even ask.”

  “But Dad!”

  “No, my mind is made up,” Ivor reiterated.

  “Mom!” Bonita turned to her mother. “Come on, just this once? Everyone is going and I haven’t been to a show in months!”

  “Your father already said no, honey,” Betty answered.

  “We’ve got a scavenger hunt planned for tonight,” Con said. “It should be fun.”

  Bonita just scowled.

  “I don’t want my daughter driving all over the countryside with a bunch of irresponsible teenagers after dark,” Ivor continued. “Besides, you know the rules. This family supports church related activities. You’re not going anywhere on a Friday night when there’s youth group.”

  “But Dad!” Bonita protested again.

  “You’ve always enjoyed youth group,” Betty reminded, her voice coaxing. “Especially since Pastor Todd arrived. He does such fun things with you young people.”

  Bonita rolled her eyes. “But I’m practically the only one my age still going,” she complained. “It’s all Tyson’s friends and they’re such geeks!” She flipped a piece of her long blonde hair back off her shoulder.

  “Better than your loser friends,” Tyson muttered.

  “None of that,” Ivor warned. “There’s no need to start belittling one another. I said you’re not going to the movies and I meant it.”

  “This is so unfair!”

  Betty tried to soothe her daughter. “What about the Changs? Billy’s your age, isn’t he? And that other girl…what’s her name? Helen Rowan’s girl.”

  “You mean Faye,” Bonita supplied with a heavy sigh as she rolled her eyes again.

  “Right. Faye Rowan. She seems like a nice girl and she’s at least your age if not older.”

  “She’s a whole year younger, Mom,” Bonita informed, as if that made all the difference.

  “Oh really? She seems so mature.”

  “You mean a goody-goody,” Bonita corrected.

  “There’s nothing wrong with moral standards,” Ivor put in.

  “But none of those people are my friends!” Bonita persisted.

  “Maybe it’s time you made some new friends,” Ivor clipped.

  Bonita let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay, fine. I won’t go to the show in Silver Creek, but I don’t want to go to stupid youth group either.” She turned to her uncle as an afterthought. “No offense, Uncle Con, but…”

  Con shrugged. “It’s not my decision.”

  “You’re all so old-fashioned!” Bonita cried, scraping her chair back from the table. She threw down her napkin and stomped from the dining room.

  “Let her go,” Betty advised quietly when her husband was about to get up and follow her. “I’ll go talk to her later. She’ll be fine.”

  The family ate in silence for a few moments. Finally Con spoke. “So, you might as well know, I invited someone out tomorrow evening.”

  “Oh? Who?” Betty asked.

  Con looked over at Lisa and smiled. “Lisa’s teacher, Miss Bosworth.”

  Lisa’s eyes widened. “Hooray! My teacher is coming for a visit!”

  “Now hold on,” Con cautioned. “I never said she was coming here for a visit. I invited her to my place, although I’ll probably show her around the farm so we’ll stop by and see you, too.”

  “Well, isn’t that interesting,” Betty chirped. “Are you cooking her dinner?”

  “I thought I might,” Con grinned. “It’s been a while since I had a guest, but I think I remember how.”

  Ivor seemed deep in thought, his eyebrows forming a furrowed line above his eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Anyway, I just wanted to give you the heads up so that you weren’t surprised tomorrow,” Con said.

  “Well, I think it’s lovely,” Betty stated.

  ****

  Coffee somehow turned into dinner, and Thomas had to make another call to the babysitter. He and Rachel found themselves at the Sizzle T Steak and Spaghetti House, a dimly lit restaurant whose Spanish country theme reeked of decades past. Dark paneling, crushed red velvet, factory tapestries depicting bullfights, and stuccoed alcoves with flickering wall lanterns. The retro décor didn’t seem to stem the conversation as they chatted about school, the excavation, and their first impressions of Marshdale.

  “I’m surprised we have so much in common. Who knew?”

  “Why does that surprise you?” Thomas asked.

  Rachel shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know.”

  “Because I’m an Indian?” he asked, the smile never leaving his lips but his eyes candid and searching.

  “No!” Rachel denied, her response quick and defensive. “The thought never crossed my mind.”

  Thomas shook his head. “Sorry. That was rude. We were having such a good time, too. I guess I just can’t help it. Always keeping my defenses up, you know. Trying not to get hurt.”

  “If that’s what you think of me, then I’m the one who’s hurt.”

  “Sorry. Rewind that,” Thomas said. “I was probably just thinking about our earlier conversation. Ryder’s concerns and all that.”

  “I pride myself on being color blind,” Rachel informed him.

  Thomas nodded. “Okay. That’s one way to look at it, I suppose. I mean, I know you mean well by that statement, but it’s not exactly where people should be headed either.”

  Rachel blinked. “What do you mean?”

  Thomas sighed. Why was he getting into this conversation with her? They’d been having a really nice time together. Just like he’d hoped they would. But this topic was always under the surface, poking up like an iceberg to sabotage him when he least expected it. “Forget it,” he smiled. “I’m just too defensive when it comes to that topic.”

  “Well, now that you brought it up, I want to know what you mean,” Rachel urged.

  “You really want to go there?”

  She nodded. “Yes. If it’s something that offends people then I want to know.”

  “Okay,” Thomas said, tilting his head to one side as he thought for a moment. “It’s like this. Being color blind implies that you don’t see any differences at al
l. Like they’re not even there.”

  Rachel shrugged her shoulders. “And that’s not a good thing?”

  “On the surface, yes. In that it means everyone is equal—all humans have value. But,” Thomas paused for emphasis, “it also implies that culture doesn’t matter. That the things that make each culture, and even each individual unique aren’t worthy of recognition. Respect.”

  “Oh, I see,” Rachel nodded slowly.

  “It’s what I’m trying to do with the excavation and the culture center. I’m proud of my heritage and I want to showcase it—celebrate it with the rest of the community and even the world. Rather than color blindness, I want to see a rainbow of colors, where everyone is respected for their own uniqueness and beauty.”

  “Quite a convincing argument,” Rachel said. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “Thanks. And don’t worry about it too much. I know you meant well.”

  “Now back to your original question, I’m more surprised that such an influential person as yourself would even bother with a nobody like me,” Rachel teased.

  Thomas laughed. “Ah. Now you’re trying for brownie points.”

  “Trying to save face,” Rachel rejoined.

  “I see. Don’t sweat it, like I said. Besides, I still like you, so not to worry.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  Thomas smiled, not sure if the friendly banter was going anywhere beyond surface chatter. He hoped so, but didn’t want to come on too strong, either. Rachel Bosworth was pretty, smart, engaging, and there was no doubt he was attracted to her. But he wasn’t ready to move too fast, either. He needed time and he sensed she did, too. “So, now that we got that established, do you feel like going to a movie?” Thomas asked.

  He could tell by the way Rachel’s eyebrows shot up that she was surprised.

  “Um, I suppose,” she answered. “What’s playing?”

  “Not sure.” Thomas shrugged. “Let’s drive by and see. Probably something the rest of the world has seen months ago.”

  “As long as it’s not too mushy.”