Wind Over Marshdale (6 page)

****

Conrad McKinley drove down the gravel road toward his farm, his small niece Lisa strapped in beside him in his pickup. A cloud of dust rose out from behind the vehicle as he maneuvered the truck over the familiar, hilly road.

“So how was your first day?” Con asked, eyeing her small frame with a twinkle in his eye.

“It was fun,” Lisa exclaimed.

“Yeah? Tell me about it,” Con urged.

It didn't take much. Lisa went into a play by play account of her first day in kindergarten.

“Your teacher seems nice,” Con commented.

“Yes. She's the best-est,” Lisa agreed with a nod.

“The best-est, eh?” Con repeated and chuckled. “She's kind of pretty, too, wouldn't you say?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Lisa nodded her head firmly up and down. “Uncle Con?”

“Yes, what is it, my little Mona Lisa?” Con replied.

“Can I come over to your house and watch a movie?”

“Sure. Which one? A ‘Veggie Tale'?” he suggested.

She nodded again in the affirmative.

“I won't be able to watch it with you,” Con cautioned. “I'll be out in the yard doing a little fixing on a piece of the machinery.”

“Can't Shelley do it?” Lisa asked, referring to their hired man, Bill Shelley.

“Sorry, babe,” Con shook his head. “Shelley's got his own work to take care of.”

There was silence for a few minutes. Lisa spoke up again. “Uncle Con?”

“Yes, Pumpkin?”

“Do you have any pop and chips?”

He smiled widely. “Sure. I think I just might have some stashed away somewhere, just waiting for your next visit.”

Lisa smiled and swung her feet happily.

 

Mayor Gesler glanced up briefly as a sharp rap sounded on the door to his office. “Come on in,” he called, his eyes reverting back to the papers in his hands.

“Excuse me, Mayor Gesler, but I've heard a very disturbing rumor and I knew I needed to hear it directly from your own mouth.”

“Marni,” he greeted, rising slightly from his chair. “Have a seat, won't you?”

“I prefer to stand, thank you,” the woman said, her eyes riveted to where the mayor hovered in a half standing position behind his desk. “I heard you were considering opening a center for Indians here in Marshdale—a very disturbing rumor, I might add—without even discussing it with the Heritage Committee. I rushed right over.”

Mayor Gesler stood to his full height as he cleared his throat into a clenched fist. “Um, Miss Hyde, may I introduce you to Mr. Lone Wolf?” He gestured to where Thomas sat in one of the chairs opposite.

The woman swung to the right, her eyes wide.

“Miss Hyde,” Thomas extended a hand as he stood. She surveyed his outstretched hand for a moment before inhaling with deliberateness, her nostrils flaring. She turned back to the Mayor, straightening herself with dignity on the exhale.

“This is Marni Hyde, chair of our Heritage Committee,” Mayor Gesler rushed to fill the awkwardness that now permeated the small office. “Marni, this is the person in charge of the proposal you've been hearing about. Perhaps this is the perfect opportunity to hear it from the horse's mouth, so to speak.”

Marni Hyde's eyes narrowed. “What was his name again?” she asked the mayor, as if Thomas wasn't even in the room.

Thomas could feel his ire rising, but he forced himself to keep it in check. “Thomas Lone Wolf,” he supplied before the mayor could answer. The last thing he needed was another racist snob hiding in the guise of a community minded citizen. Miss Marni Hyde had puggish features and frizzy red hair which was somewhat constrained in a top knot on her head. Her clothing was decidedly conservative. Old fashioned even. A snort of disdain escaped her at the sound of his name.

“Nothing has been decided for sure,” Mayor Gesler flustered. “Nothing.”

“This—this Indian Center,” Marni directed at Thomas, surveying all six foot four of him with a haughty gaze. “What business do you people have coming here? You have your own land, not to mention all the other handouts. We've worked hard for what we have here and we're not about to start handing it over just because we get a bit of pressure from the government.”

“Now Marni—a” Mayor Gesler tried to interject again.

“Frank, I won't be silenced just because you want to appear politically correct!” she cut him off. “Now, you,” she pointed at Thomas. “What do you have to say for yourself? What does some Indian Center have to do with the people of Marshdale?”

Thomas's jaw was working in an attempt to remain in control. He took a deep, searing breath. “You're a member of the Heritage Committee?” he asked with forced congeniality. It wasn't easy.

“Yes, I most certainly am. The chairperson, in fact.” She tilted her head proudly.

“May I point out to you then, that the history of this area goes far beyond the first homestead or the first sod that was turned? What we have discovered at Old Man's Lake is considered one of the richest sites for Early Plains Cree culture to date—settled long before the first Caucasian set foot on the East Coast, let alone moved inland along the rivers in search of furs. The impact from this could be nothing less than a cultural renaissance.”

“A cultural renaissance?” Marni scoffed. “A few bones and arrowheads hardly constitute a cultural renaissance, now, do they?”

Thomas fumed. This time he didn't trust himself to speak. What did this woman know about anything? And she was the chairperson of the Heritage Committee?

“Good day, Mayor. I'll be e-mailing everyone on my list,” Marni Hyde warned, turning on her heel.

“Well, there you have it,” Gesler laughed nervously after Marni clicked the door shut. “Your first taste of the Heritage Committee. Now maybe you have an idea of what we're up against.” He sank down into his chair.

“This project will go ahead,” Thomas stated. “I'll make sure of it. We've got the green light from every other level of government—federal, provincial, indigenous.”

“Of course, of course,” Gesler nodded. “The rest of the Committee is much more reasonable. As long as they feel we've consulted them, you understand. Keep everyone happy.”

“Consultation is fine, but in the end, who's really running this town?” Thomas captured the other man with his eyes and wouldn't let go.

Gesler's eyes narrowed. “Keep in mind I do make the final decisions around here. I'll do what I think is best. For everyone. Don't you worry about that.”

Thomas frowned. Maybe he'd gone too far with his last comment. No matter. It had been said. The sting of Miss Hyde's racial slurs brought up far too much baggage that he thought had been laid to rest. He could see things were not going to run as smoothly as he'd hoped.

****

Con McKinley looked across the desk at his friend. Pastor Todd Bryant was a man about the same age as himself. They had a lot of other things in common, too. They both liked sports, watching and playing, and had a burden for the youth of the community. Well, it appeared that way, anyway. Sometimes, Con wondered if Todd just did it out of a sense of obligation. He quickly put the thought out of his mind. Being a pastor wasn't easy, and Todd needed all the support he could get. Especially around Marshdale.

Marshdale Community Church had been having some trouble keeping a pastor in the last few years. It seemed they only lasted a few months before someone in the congregation found fault or the minister himself decided God was “leading him elsewhere.” Todd Bryant seemed more content than most to allow the board and the membership to navigate. He just stood at the wheel and followed directions.

Not that he was a wimp, either. It was just that he seemed happy to keep everyone smiling and maintain the status quo. For the most part, Con hadn't thought it was a negative thing. The church needed some stability and keeping a pastor for any length of time was one way of doing it. But sometimes he wondered if Todd was a bit too ready to agree with everything the board suggested.

“So let me get this straight,” Con restated. “The Church board doesn't want to fund the youth group trip to Edmonton so we're going to have to step up our own fundraising efforts.”

“That seems to be the basic gist of the conversation I had with them last night,” Todd nodded. “Unless we just drop the idea altogether and not go to this particular conference.”

“Hmm. It seems to me the congregation has been pretty supportive of the youth group up until now. What's changed?”

“I don't think much has changed,” Todd explained. “I think they'd just prefer we go to one of the other events. One they used to go to. Something tried and true.”

“Nothing wrong with any of those youth events, that's for sure,” Con agreed, “but this conference in Edmonton is huge. It's one of a kind and I think our youth deserve to see something different for a change.”

“It's just that the youth conference in Edmonton has been touted as a little bit too charismatic for some of the board members' tastes,” Todd explained.

“And do you agree with that?” Con asked, raising his brows.

Pastor Todd just shrugged. “No use rocking the boat…”

“How about stepping out of the boat?” Con asked. Pastor Todd didn't respond. Con sighed and tried a different angle. “There's been a lot of interest from some of the other churches in town, including the Catholics and the Anglicans. This might be a great opportunity to show some solidarity.”

Todd's eyebrows came together in thought. “Is that so?”

Con nodded, building on this small success. “Sure. I say we spearhead the thing. There's nothing to be afraid of.”

“Some people are a bit nervous,” Pastor Todd said. “We don't want to be seen as relying on emotionalism.”

“But if the other churches are willing…” Con countered.

“I'll bring it up at the next board meeting again,” Todd said.

“Good,” Con agreed. “In any case, we're still going to do a bottle drive next Friday night, right?”

“Right,” Todd affirmed. “By the way, did I tell you that Marni Hyde gave the youth group a very generous donation last Sunday?”

“Oh?” Con asked. Inwardly he was frowning. He didn't like that woman. She seemed artificial and she never missed a chance to voice her opinions—on everything. And her sister… now that lady really gave him the creeps.

****

“Ryder, wait up!” Whisper called to her big brother.

“Quit your dawdling, then,” he replied, but allowed a small indulgent smile to play upon his lips as he waited in the middle of the dirt street. Whisper had stopped to pick some “wildflowers” – a beautiful yellow dandelion bouquet. She was the dreamy sort of child, and it was difficult to keep her from going off on a tangent.

Unfortunately, however, the sidewalks had run out about two blocks before and they now had to walk in the middle of the gravel street. There were plenty of dandelions to pick, though, which was presently making their progress home rather slow.

“Enough, already,” Ryder called out. “You don't have to pick them all. Save some for tomorrow.”

“Coming,” Whisper called back as she added one more flower to her already stuffed fist. She skipped up to where her brother stood waiting, adjusted her backpack with a heaving shrug of her shoulders and divided the bunch of flowers into two. “Here. You take one and I'll take one.”

“Thanks.” Ryder took the weeds with good humor and they set off walking once again.

“Is your teacher nice at the big school?” Whisper asked.

“I have lots of teachers,” he replied.

“My teacher is nice,” Whisper continued.

“You told me.”

“We get a pizza party if we're good,” Whisper informed.

“You told me that, too.”

“Oh. Well, I got to help pass out crayons today. Everybody gets a turn being the teacher's helper.”

“That's nice.”

“Teacher says I have a pretty name.”

Ryder nodded, only half listening to his sister's chatter. “Mmm-hmm.”

“One boy laughed at my name, but teacher said to stop it. She said it sounds like a poem.”

“Right.”

“Ryder? What's a squaw?” Whisper cocked her head to one side.

Ryder narrowed his eyes. “Who said that?”

“A boy. The same boy who laughed. He said Whisper was a silly name. Do you think it's a silly name?”

“No, of course not. It's pretty, like poetry. Just like your teacher said.”

Whisper nodded. “I think so, too.”

“Um…so did you make any friends yet?” Ryder prodded. “Who do you play with at recess?”

Whisper thought for a minute. “I forget. I saw a little gopher, though. He was running along the fence and I tried to chase him. Then he just popped right under and I couldn't see him anymore.”

Ryder could just picture it in his mind. Whisper was more likely to get sidetracked with Mother Nature than with trying to make friends with people. Maybe it was just as well. She was sensitive, and he didn't want to see her get her feelings hurt.

Just then, a bicycle came whizzing by, nearly sideswiping Whisper as the wheels crunched past on the gravel. “Get off the road, Indian!” the freckle-faced rider called over his shoulder.

Ryder grabbed Whisper by the arm and pulled her aside as a second bicycle spun past. “Yeah! Go back to the reserve!” The two young males, both about twelve, polished off their insults with a string of war whoops which echoed back through the open prairie. They turned a corner and rode out of sight.

“Come on,” Ryder said gruffly, taking Whisper by the hand. It was starting. “We'd better get home.”