Wind Over Marshdale (14 page)

 

“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 Mr. 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.”

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.