Wind Over Marshdale

by Tracy Krauss

  “Hello?” Mrs. Beatry called from the upper landing.

  Rachel opened the door to see the elderly woman trundling down the steps. She’d obviously already seen the kitten, since it had been placed inside her apartment, so there was no use hiding it. Rachel wasn’t sure what Mrs. Beatry’s rules were about pets, though, so waited until her landlady was at eye level. “Looks like an early Christmas present,” she said, bouncing the kitten like a baby.

  “He was going to leave it outside on the step, but I insisted he put it in here,” Mrs. Beatry explained. “Of course, he asked my permission first about pets, and I said that I have two precious cats myself, which of course, he already knew. Oh isn’t he just so precious!” she said as she scratched the still struggling kitten under the chin. “Let him down, my dear! He won’t be able to go far.”

  Rachel set him on the floor and the cat promptly jumped up the two steps to Mrs. Beatry. She stooped to pick him up, with no ensuing struggle whatsoever. He seemed perfectly content to purr in her arms.

  “Who do you mean?” Rachel asked, Mrs. Beatry’s earlier words just now sinking in.

  The older woman ceased her ministrations and looked at Rachel as if she were daft. “Why Con McKinley, of course. Who else?”

  Rachel blinked, feeling a fresh wave of emotion about to overtake her. Of course Con had given her the kitten. He’d promised her one way back when her life was still intact. He’d asked her which one was her favorite, and here it was, only much larger than she remembered. “I’m not sure if I should keep him,” Rachel said. “I’m going away next week for the holidays.”

  “Nonsense! I’ll look after him. Won’t I, sweetums,” she directed at the kitten.

  It seemed it was settled. Several more minutes dragged by as Mrs. Beatry detailed the benefits of a cat, the proper brand and amount of food to feed it, and other bits of cat trivia which Rachel couldn’t even remember. She was finally able to retrieve the kitten and retreat back into the solitude of her apartment. Once inside, she let her guard down and began to weep, burying her face in the kitten’s soft fur.

  ****

  Todd let the smile he’d worn for most of the evening collapse. One more ordeal to check off his list. Not that he hated Christmas concerts per se. The children were sufficiently cute in their costumes, with enough unintentional comic relief to make it adorable. His closing message followed the standard mix of peace and goodwill with an invitation to accept Christ’s gift of salvation. What a hypocrite. He should be throwing himself down at the altar, begging the Almighty for forgiveness. As it was, admitting his addiction to God would undoubtedly require confession to others as well. He wasn’t ready for that quite yet.

  The other night, when Con McKinley had come to his office, had been a very close call. In a way he almost wished Con had walked right in on him and caught him in the act. Then it would all be out in the open and he could quit pretending. As it was, his nerves wouldn’t hold out much longer. Maybe after Christmas he’d seek help. Resign his post. Kill himself.

  That last thought jolted Todd beyond his usual state of self-pity. What was he thinking? He had a wife and two young children. He would never put them through that kind of trauma; no matter how much his own misery begged him to.

  He looked at the family picture sitting on top of his desk and his heart squeezed tightly. They looked so happy, so carefree. He loved his children with the unknowable love of a father, and he loved Carol, too. Maybe even more deeply. That was why it hurt so much.

  What could he really offer his family? They deserved better. The best gift he could probably offer was to release them. Set them free from the millstone he had become. But this was Christmas. Such things would have to wait for a more opportune time.

  Chapter Thirty

  Rachel took her seat by the window. Sherri was on her left and Dan had already fastened himself into his aisle seat on the other side of his wife.

  “I can hardly wait!” Sherri exclaimed. “It seems like ages since I’ve been home. I hope I don’t get airsick. I don’t usually, but then I’ve never flown pregnant before. Wait until they see how fat I am!”

  Sherri continued to chatter away as Dan nodded occasionally from the pages of his magazine. Finally the 737 was ready to take off from Regina’s International Airport on its nonstop flight to Toronto.

  Rachel did not share her friend’s enthusiasm. For her, visiting family for the Christmas holidays was a duty to be endured rather than a joyous reunion of loved ones.

  Rachel was the outcast. The ugly duckling who just didn’t measure up. “Why can’t you get better marks like Michelle?” or “Why are you so serious all the time? Loosen up a bit, like Tiffany.” One sister was smart and ambitious; the other was flamboyant and outgoing. But Rachel? Adjectives like reliable and average came to mind. And boring. Rachel sighed heavily.

  “Hey, girlfriend. You look positively glum,” Sherri noted, patting her friend’s knee. “It’s Christmas, remember? Season of good cheer and all that.”

  “Easy for you to say. You forget where I’m headed,” Rachel replied.

  “Oh come on, now. They’re not all that bad,” Sherri scolded. “And like I told you earlier, you can hang out with me and Dan lots. My mother loves you. She won’t mind.”

  “Thanks. But I can’t help feeling… apprehensive.”

  “If anyone should be feeling apprehensive it’s them. You just get your chin up and show them what you’re really made of. You’re strong. You’re making a new life for yourself.”

  “Some job I’m doing of it, too,” Rachel muttered.

  “Nonsense! There are more fish in the sea. Or should I say more gophers on the prairie?” Sherri teased.

  Rachel laughed in spite of herself. “True. I’m just not sure I want any other gophers at the moment.”

  “Hmm. He was an awfully nice gopher, wasn’t he?” Sherri mused. “Actually, he called Dan the other day.”

  “Really? What for?” Rachel asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

  “Oh, nothing about you. At least not directly, although I have my suspicions. He had a question about weather patterns.”

  “Weather patterns?”

  “I guess he remembered that Dan was a meteorologist, and he wanted to check out something to do with last year’s weather patterns and correlate it to crop selections or something. I didn’t really catch it all.”

  “Couldn’t he have done that on the internet?” Rachel asked.

  “I never thought of that. So he must have been phoning for other reasons! Dan, what else did Con have to say when he called you?” Sherri shook her husband.

  Dan looked up from his magazine. “What was that, honey?”

  “What else did Con have to say when he called you the other day?” Sherri reiterated, her voice impatient.

  “He was checking some weather patterns.”

  “No! Not that. What else did he have to say?”

  “Oh. Just that he hoped everything was okay and that we had a nice holiday. Oh yeah. And he said we should still come out to his place for New Year’s Eve, if we wanted to.” Dan promptly went back to his reading.

  “Did you hear that? He wants us to come out for New Year’s Eve!” Sherri repeated excitedly.

  “So?”

  “Don’t you get it? If he still considers us friends, then he must be planning to renew his relationship with you when you get back,” Sherri explained. “It’s perfectly logical.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “What makes you say so?”

  “You don’t know Con. His convictions are pretty strong. He’s not one to go back on his word that easily,” Rachel said. She realized it was one of the things she loved about him.

  ****

  The travelers arrived at Pearson International Airport in Toronto several hours after their departure from Regina. Sherri and Dan were soon whisked away by a barrage of bubbly relatives.

  Rachel sighed and scanned the waiting area for one of her own family members
. They all knew she was coming and had informed her that someone would be there to pick her up.

  “Rachel!” Rachel turned toward the sound of her name. Her sister Tiffany was approaching, followed by an unknown man.

  “Rachel!” Tiffany exclaimed, kissing her sister on both cheeks, European style. “How good to see you. You look just the same. Or maybe it’s just the coat. I think you wore it last year. Oh well! This is my friend Pierre,” Tiffany pointed to the man and he bowed slightly. “Pierre is from Paris. He’s here looking at some of my work. Aren’t you Pierre?” She touched his arm and leaned into him with a flirtatious giggle.

  Tiffany prattled on as she and Pierre led the way out of the terminal. Rachel followed along behind, pulling her own luggage.

  If the fact that Tiffany changed her clothing and hair styles as often as she changed her socks meant that she hadn’t changed, then she looked just the same as well. Her hair looked to be a new shade of maroon since the last time Rachel had seen her and was pulled on top of her head in a mass of perfectly arranged tangles. She wore a brightly printed dress with a dangerously low neckline under a black leather jacket and her boots had ridiculously high heels. It was no wonder she had to cling to her “friend” so tightly!

  Tiffany’s companion, though of slight build, had an air of self-assurance and boredom. His dark complexion spoke of much time spent in the tanning salon, while his black hair remained completely in place, even once they’d been hit by an icy gust of wind. Pierre took the keys to Tiffany’s sports car and got into the driver’s seat.

  “I thought I’d let Pierre drive, since we’ll have so much to catch up on,” Tiffany explained.

  “Your sister tells me you are a school teacher,” Pierre said in his distinctly Parisian accent. “How very… how do you say? Quaint.”

  “You have to see the latest piece I’ve been working on,” Tiffany turned the attention back to herself. “It’s fabulous, if I do say so myself. Isn’t it fabulous, Pierre? And there is this wonderful exhibition down by the waterfront. An installation. It’s just fabulous.”

  Rachel tuned Tiffany out, and simply nodded occasionally. As long as she had an audience, Tiffany seldom required a response. Things really hadn’t changed much.

  “Rachel?” Tiffany asked, apparently waiting for an answer this time.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. Yes?” Rachel responded, trying to appear interested.

  “You don’t mind if we just, you know… drop you off at Mother’s? Pierre and I had some other things to attend to.” Tiffany smiled suggestively at Pierre.

  “No. No, of course not. That would be fine,” Rachel answered.

  “Oh good. I won’t come in, then. You know how Mother is. She’ll have a lot of questions.”

  “Right. Don’t worry about it.”

  They pulled up in front of an elegant two-story home and Rachel retrieved her suitcase from the back of the car. She barely had time to shut the door properly before Pierre was pulling away. Rachel stood back, surveying the house for a few moments. It was a large detached home in an upper middle class suburb of the city. Well established trees lined the street. It was a neighborhood where success was measured in material possessions. With a sigh she hauled her suitcase up to the front door.

  She still owned a set of keys for the house and proceeded to let herself in. She closed the massive oak door behind her with a click. The dimness of the interior enveloped her like a cloud. Too many memories.

  Rachel was twelve when her parents divorced. Her mother got the house and the kids, her father the car and the child support payments. As time wore on, her father’s involvement with his daughters steadily decreased. His new wife had children and they seemed to replace his own offspring in his affections. Rachel’s mother had also remarried, but Rachel had never gotten on well with George. He always seemed too distant to really care about what was going on.

  Rachel headed for the spare bedroom to deposit her suitcase. Her own room had long since been turned into an office for George.

  “Is that you, George? Oh! Rachel! It’s you,” Rachel’s mother, Diane Townsend, exclaimed as they met in the hallway. As usual, she wore a stylish pantsuit and her hair was well groomed. At fifty-eight, she was still a very attractive woman.

  “Hello, Mother,” Rachel greeted her formally with a peck on the cheek.

  “Hello, dear. How did you get in?” her mother asked, her brow furrowed.

  “I still have my key. Tiffany just dropped me off,” Rachel explained.

  “It’s a good thing we haven’t changed the locks yet,” her mother mused. “There have been a few break-ins in the neighborhood and George has a locksmith scheduled to install a whole new security system after the holidays.” She paused. “Tiffany just dropped you off? Without coming in?”

  “I guess she had other plans,” Rachel offered.

  “How selfish! She knows I haven’t seen her in over a week. Oh well.” She sighed.

  And I haven’t seen you in over four months, Rachel thought, but she didn’t say it. Instead she said, “I’ll just put my bags in here.”

  “Actually,” her mother stopped her by placing a hand on her forearm, “You’ll be sleeping on the couch in the den. I knew you wouldn’t mind and I thought it would be better for Michelle to have this room since it has the double bed. Everyone will be sleeping over on Christmas Eve.”

  “Oh. I see,” Rachel replied. She felt like she had been slapped in the face. “I’ll just go on to the den, then.”

  “Just tuck your bags in that little closet across the hall. I hate to have a lot of clutter lying about the house,” she called as Rachel retreated toward the den.

  “Hi, George,” Rachel said upon entering the room.

  “Hm? Oh, hello Rachel,” her stepfather grunted. He nodded briefly over his reading glasses before focusing back on his copy of the Financial Post. George Townsend was in his mid-fifties. His steel gray hair was never out of place and he seemed to always wear a tie, even on weekends.

  Rachel sighed and sat down on the couch, which was soon to become her bed. Her mother entered with a pile of blankets and a pillow. “This should be enough,” she said setting her burden down on a chair. She joined Rachel on the couch, sitting forward with her ankles crossed primly. “So tell us, Rachel. When are you going to stop this nonsense and move back home?”

  “I don’t think what I’m doing is nonsense, Mother. I have a perfectly good job in my chosen profession.”

  “Oh, but you know what I mean. You’re halfway across the country. Out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Toronto’s not the only place on earth, you know.”

  “Of course not. But way out there in… what’s the name again? Mossville?”

  “Marshdale,” Rachel corrected.

  “Oh yes. And what does one do in Marshdale?” She offered a plastic smile and cocked her head to one side, as if she was actually interested.

  “Pretty much what one does anywhere,” Rachel responded. “Go to work. Spend time with friends. You know. Life.” She knew she sounded sharp. Snarky, even, but she’d just flown halfway across the country and didn’t feel like fielding her mother’s intrusive questions right now. Not to mention the fact that she had been relegated to the den.

  “You’re being awfully defensive. There’s no need to use that tone with me. I’m just concerned for your welfare. I want you to be happy. That’s always been your trouble. You’ve never been grateful to George and me for all we’ve tried to do.”

  Rachel realized this conversation was going nowhere. “I’m sorry, Mother. I guess I’m just tired after the flight.” She looked meaningfully toward George. “I’ll probably be more sociable after I get some rest.”

  “All right. George, dear, you’re going to have to read elsewhere. Rachel wants to go to bed now.”

  George rose and then stretched. “Good night, Rachel.”

  “See you in the morning,” Rachel called as both he and her mother retreated down the hall. It was qui
te the welcome, but then what had she expected?

  ****

  The twinkling lights on the designer Christmas tree seemed to mock the actual atmosphere in the tension-filled parlor. Christmas was supposed to be a time of peace and goodwill; a time to give unselfishly without the expectation of payment in return. However, at the Townsend residence, selfishness, greed, and back stabbing seemed to be the order of the day.

  “Is that what you’re wearing for the evening, dear?” her mother asked. “Oh, I thought something comfortable would be all right for just sitting around at home,” Rachel replied, looking down at her dark pants and blouse.

  “The Mitchells are coming over for drinks later. You remember the Mitchells?”

  “Yes. Since when did we start dressing for the Mitchells?”

  “Rachel, dear. It is Christmas Eve,” her mother explained with a weary sigh. “Please do put something more appropriate on. Oh, George. George!” She clicked down the hall in her high heels, in search of her husband.

  Rachel’s mouth tightened and she looked out the window. The pants and blouse were good enough for the Mitchells. She wasn’t changing.

  “Yoo hoo! Ah, there you are!” Tiffany whirled into the room. “Would you zip me up, please?”

  Rachel complied by zipping up the form fitting black lace bodice. The skirt was comprised of layers of red and black lace, giving the dress a distinctly flamenco flair.

  “How do I look?” Tiffany asked, posing.

  “Like you walked out of a magazine, as always,” Rachel replied. “Where’s Pierre this evening?”

  “Oh, he’s gone to Montreal for a few days,” Tiffany said, waving a hand. “Besides, I wouldn’t really want him around for the ‘family thing’ anyway. It can be so tedious.” She stopped and focused more fully on Rachel. “Is that what you’re planning to wear for the evening?”