Wind Over Marshdale (24 page)

****

“Come on,” Tyson said as he led his little sister Lisa up the walkway to the next house. Lisa was a pirate. “I don't know how I got stuck doing this,” he mumbled under his breath.

“What'd'ya mean? Don't you like candy?” Lisa asked.

“Of course I like candy,” Tyson replied. “But I'm too old for this. Besides, I was going to hang out with my friends.”

“I'll share some with you,” Lisa offered.

They rang the bell. “Trick or treat!” Lisa sang out when the elderly man opened the door.

“Well, what have we here?” he said. “Argh, matey! Shiver me timbers, it's a wee pirate!”

Lisa nodded, her grin from ear to ear. She held her bag out and the elderly gentleman dropped several suckers inside. “Thanks,” she called out, ready to move on as expediently as possible to the next house.

The old man chuckled as he closed the door.

“Slow down,” Tyson grumbled.

“Hurry up,” Lisa countered.

“No. If I'm taking you, you'll go my pace.”

“Tyson!” Lisa whined.

“Oh, all right,” he conceded and walked more briskly to catch up. Lisa was already heading up the next sidewalk. “This was supposed to be Bonita's job,” he reminded.

“I know, but she went with Bob,” Lisa finished, ringing the bell. “And you said that already.”

“Well, it isn't fair—”

“Trick or treat!” Lisa interrupted as soon as the door opened.

The middle-aged woman dropped a large candy bar into her bag. “And here's one for your escort,” she said with a wink, handing Tyson another bar.

“Thanks,” Tyson and Lisa chimed in unison.

“See? It's not so bad.”

Tyson shrugged, chewing on the chocolate bar. Somehow he didn't feel quite as disgruntled. “Still not fair,” he said.

****

Thomas sat on the back stoop. He had taken to sitting out here, looking out over the vastness of the rolling prairie. It used to be a good spot for prayer. Now he just used it for thinking. Of course, it was dark now, the sun having set already. But he could still see the dark shape of the hills, still hear the stillness that beckoned and called to him—an inner voice or the voice of the Majestic. He didn't know which.

He'd been thinking a lot lately about the state of confusion his life seemed to be in. He missed Rhea terribly. If she had still been with him, none of this would have happened. She had been the stabilizing force in his life. Her faith had been so strong. He thought his was, too, but now he wondered. In less than a month he felt like he had drifted far away from God and he wasn't sure how he was going to find his way back. Wasn't sure if he wanted to.

He'd thought, too, about the conversation he'd had with Con McKinley about repenting on behalf of your ancestors. It had seemed so urgent then. Like he'd heard the voice of God and he needed to obey. Now he wasn't sure about anything anymore. Sometimes he felt God's presence. Sometimes he felt another pull, perhaps from the spirit of his ancestors, and sometimes he felt nothing, like he was completely numb and there was no feeling left.

One thing was certain, though. He needed to pull himself together for the sake of his children. He'd even felt the urge to buy a bottle once, just to experience the forgetfulness that getting drunk afforded, if only for a few hours. But he'd managed to control the urge. That was one road he didn't want to travel ever again.

He looked over at Mirna Hyde's small bungalow. It was no more than a cottage really, with a low four sided roof and cracked plaster on the outside walls. The basement windows were like slits next to the ground. It was probably a dirt basement; maybe no more than a crawl space. He could see some low light flickering in the one window. An orange glow, warm and mysterious. God only knew what a woman like her was doing on this night. He shivered to think of it. That was when most of his troubles had begun. When he went into her yard and participated in the smudge.

Ryder had taken Whisper out earlier, but they were home already. He'd wanted them home before dark just in case. One never knew what could happen on a dark night in a strange town. He'd made up some candy bags just in case some kids came by and they were sitting by the door, ready for the taking. Very few children had ventured this far to the outskirts of town, though. It was kind of far on foot and off the beaten path. At least that was how he had explained it to Whisper. An exchanged look between himself and Ryder confirmed that his son knew the truth. Marshdale was a white town full of white folks. There was little room or encouragement for others—even if they were actually here first.

He hadn't noticed any ‘trick-or-treaters' at Mirna Hyde's place either. The kids of the community had a legitimate reason for staying clear of her house. Her spookiness was a little too real, even on Halloween night.

****

“The Changs are one hardworking family,” Con commented as he and Rachel left the restaurant. “Everyone pulls their weight and pitches in.”

“Seems like I've seen a lot of that out here,” Rachel said, hoisting herself into the passenger seat before Con could help. She waited until he was in the driver's seat before continuing, “Rhoda's boys do their share of chores, and from what I've seen, so do Ivor and Betty's children.”

“True,” Con agreed. “But I don't think things are quite the way they used to be.” He backed up onto the street.

“So what does one do while on patrol?” Rachel asked as they drove slowly down Main Street. They passed several groups of children. Many of them wore masks, but because of the cold temperatures, most costumes were covered by a winter jacket. Some sported capes or sheets which hid the bulky clothing underneath. Those bent on collecting the most candy hauled pillowcases slung over their shoulders.

“Mostly we just drive around,” Con said. “The fact that somebody is watching keeps most pranks to a minimum.”

“I never liked Halloween much,” Rachel mused.

“No? Why not?” Con gave her a sidelong glance.

“Oh, I don't know, really,” Rachel hedged. She had very clear recollections of always having to wear the witch outfit while her sisters got to be fairy princesses.

“I don't care for it much, myself,” Con said.

“Too commercial?”

“No. The whole concept of celebrating evil has me more than a little uncomfortable, I guess.”

“But it's all just in fun,” Rachel replied, trying to sound reasonable. She'd heard this already once today.

“Oh, sure. I wouldn't want to spoil everything for the kids. Ivor and Betty allow their kids to participate. But there's nothing fun about hell or the devil, if you really stop to think about it. I can't help wondering what the Lord would say if He came back tonight.”

“So if you don't agree on religious grounds, why are you out patrolling?”

“Because I care about kids, and I don't like to see anybody get hurt,” Con explained.

“Are you talking about the problems they had here a few years ago?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Con nodded his head in the affirmative.

“I heard something about it.”

“I was one of the volunteer firefighters called to the scene. What started out as a prank turned into a disaster. We lost a kid in that fire. Almost lost one of our firemen, too.”

They rode quietly for a while, surveying the streets. They drove past some teenagers loitering outside the bar. “Hmm. I see we have quite a group congregating outside the hotel tonight,” Con observed.

Rachel glanced out her window and frowned. “That looks like Brandi Lane hanging with those teenagers at the hotel again. She hasn't been coming to school and she's much too young to be hanging around with that group.”

Con slowed the vehicle as they turned the corner by the hotel. Brandi appeared to be puffing on a cigarette.

“I can't believe that even her parents would allow her to be loitering outside the hotel like that—and she's smoking!” Rachel exclaimed.

“They probably don't know,” Con suggested.

“They wouldn't know where their own daughter was after dark?” Rachel asked, raising her brows.

“It is Halloween. They probably think she's out getting candy, like most of the other kids her age. Besides, Brandi's home life leaves a lot to be desired.”

“You know her parents?” Rachel asked.

The corner of Con's mouth turned up as he gave Rachel a slightly withering look. “This is Marshdale, remember?”

“Oh, right. Of course.”

“It's no secret that Ralph Lane has an alcohol problem. It's also no secret that his wife, Janet, has some problems in that department as well. The poor kid's home life probably stinks. Add to that the responsibility of several younger siblings, and it's no wonder she's angry. I've seen her in the store a few times with the whole pack. Runny noses, dirty faces and all, counting out enough change for a couple of cans of food.”

“That's terrible! Someone should report this to social services.”

“Oh, I think they're involved already. But just what are they expected to do? Sometimes it's harder on the kids if they get too involved. In this case, if the kids got sent to a foster home, they would probably be separated. Some of them may even have to go to a different town. I don't think breaking up families is the answer. They need help in learning how to deal with their problems. Not create new ones.”

“So what are we supposed to do?”

“I'm not sure. Pray, maybe?” Con glanced at Rachel before turning his attention back to the street. “It makes you uncomfortable, doesn't it? When I talk like that. About my faith.”

Rachel shrugged, “Maybe. I guess I just don't really understand it. You make it sound very simplistic.”

“It is.”

“So you've said before.”

“Why don't you come out to church sometime and see for yourself?”

“Oh, I'm not sure…”

“Why not? Are you afraid?”

“Afraid? Of course not.”

“Then there shouldn't be any problem. Listen. I'll even pick you up if you like, so you don't feel awkward about walking in alone.”

“Well…”

“Great! And I'll tell you what else. As part of the bargain, I won't talk about God again—not until after church.”

“How can I refuse? You've got a—Oh my gosh!” Rachel was cut off in mid-sentence as Con swerved to miss a child who suddenly came running out onto the street. He pulled over and both he and Rachel jumped out of the truck. The child, dressed as a miniature Dracula, seemed disoriented and was crying hysterically.

“Hey, little fella,” Con tried to steady the child, “What seems to be the problem?”

The little vampire made some unintelligible screeches while pointing wildly in one direction.

“Robbie? Robbie Nordick, is that you?” Rachel asked, kneeling down to the little boy's level. He nodded. Calmly she said, “Now just slow down. What's going on? You need to tell us what's going on.”

Robbie grabbed Rachel's hand and started dragging her down the street. He pulled her through a narrow space in an overgrown carragana hedge, past the front stoop of a ramshackle bungalow, and into the back yard. It looked more like a salvage dump than a residence. There were old cars, pieces of washing machines and who knew what else lying in twisted piles all over the place. An unpainted board fence leaned drunkenly in spots, enclosing the yard. Robbie started whimpering and making other ineffectual noises as he tugged Rachel toward the shell of a rusted '72 Cadillac.

“What were you kids doing in old Benwick's yard, anyway?” Con asked sternly, not far behind Rachel and her little guide.

Robbie let out a shrill grunt as he pointed to the interior of the car. Con switched on the flashlight he'd brought and both he and Rachel peered inside.

“Oh no! It's Tanner!” Rachel exclaimed. Rhoda's ten-year-old son let out a moan. He was lying on the floor where the seats had once been. One leg seemed to be out of sight.

“Looks as though he's broken through the rusty floorboards. His leg seems to be caught. Tanner? Can you hear me, son?” Con asked gently as he examined the damage to both the leg and the car.

The only response was another low moan.

“It looks as though part of this metal is jamming right into his leg. We'll have to cut the metal back before we try to move him.” Con said. “Rachel, I think you should go and find some more help.”

“Right,” Rachel agreed, standing up. She felt slightly disoriented—light headed, even.

“Now!” Con cut sharply into her thoughts.

She turned and tripped her way back to the opening in the carragana hedge. Suddenly, someone else came rushing through the trees, almost crashing right into her. It was Brandon, Tanner's twelve-year-old brother, followed by Rhoda, her husband Jerry and a couple of other men.

“My baby! My baby!” Rhoda cried, her voice reaching hysteria. “Is he all right? Con! Thank God you're here!”

“I think he'll be okay,” Con assured. “Jerry, we're going to need to cut part of this metal out of the way. Bill, maybe you could see if you can get old man Benwick to open up. He might have some tools handy. Wade, why don't you contact the RCMP?”

“You mean there's been someone in the house all the time?” Rachel asked, her own voice rising.

“Benwick doesn't open his door. Kind of a hermit. He especially keeps all his lights off on Halloween night,” Con explained.

Rhoda started to howl. Jerry tried to shush her, but she batted him away. Con looked at Rachel. “Rachel, why don't you take Rhoda back a ways? We can handle things.”

Rachel put her arm around her friend and led her a few paces off. Her own strength was returning. “I knew I shouldn't have let them go off on their own,” Rhoda wailed. “But they didn't want their mother tagging along anymore. And Jerry agreed with them. The jerk!”

“Now, now,” Rachel chided. “You can't go blaming Jerry.”

“Oh, I know!” Rhoda agreed with a dramatic sigh. “It felt good for a second, though. Sorry I freaked out back there. I hate it when people freak out. I don't know what got into me. It's really disgusting.”

“Forget it. It's natural. You were worried about your son.”

A small crowd of ghosts and various other creatures of the night had gathered. Two police officers had also arrived.

Brandon came to stand by his mother. “What were you boys doing in Benwick's yard, anyway?” Rhoda demanded, her voice rising dangerously high again.

Brandon shrugged, tears very close to brimming over. Rachel laid a hand on Rhoda's arm. “There'll be time for questions later. Look. I think they've got Tanner's leg free.”

Rhoda rushed forward as two of the men lifted Tanner from the car. His jeans were torn and there was a lot of dark wetness on his leg.

“Dead?” The question came from a small and unfamiliar voice. Rachel looked down at Robbie Nordick, who had stayed close by her side.

“Robbie? Did you just say something?” Rachel knelt down and looked the little boy in the eyes. “Robbie? Did you just speak?”

He just looked at her with unflinching eyes, but didn't open his mouth again. Rachel gave him a huge hug and released him when she heard one of his older sisters calling his name. “Over here,” Rachel called out in response.

“Robbie! What'd ya go an' take off like that for? We've been hunting for you everywhere! Mom'll be mad if she finds out we lost you. Now, come on!” The bigger girl bustled the little boy off in a motherly fashion. He acquiesced in silent submission.

Rachel looked around at the disbursing crowd. Con came to join her. “The RCMP is looking after the details. We've got a pressure bandage on Tanner's leg and Rhoda and Jerry are taking him to the hospital in Silver Creek.”

“They're not taking him in an ambulance?” Rachel asked as they maneuvered their way back through the maze of Benwick's yard.

“The ambulance would have to come all the way from Silver Creek. And on a night like this they could be busy. It's faster just to take Tanner in by car.”

“That seems like an awfully big strain on Jerry and Rhoda.”

“That's life in a small town. Besides, Bill is following them in his truck, just in case.”

They had reached Con's pickup.

“Now I see the merits of this patrol,” Rachel mused as she climbed in.

“Yeah. Stupid kids. Should have known better. Maybe now that someone's been hurt, they'll listen for a while.”

“Only a while?”

“You know kids. The effects of the last scare that took place on Benwick's property only lasted about… oh, ten years. A kid fell through the roof of one of his sheds. And the time before that… let's see. That maybe kept the kids away for a good seven or eight years. He came after the trespassers with a shotgun.”

“What? You're just kidding me.”

“Nope. I've got the scars on my behind to prove it!” Con grinned.