Wind Over Marshdale (26 page)

****

Thomas pulled up in front of the school. The last thing he needed was for Ryder to start fighting at school. It would justify people's assumptions about his heritage and could also have detrimental effects on the new proposal going forward. Despite these facts, there was also a satisfying sense of pride growing in Thomas's chest. His son wasn't afraid to stand up for himself and that would help him weather many storms in this life.

He got out of the SUV and walked around to the sidewalk. It was recess time for the elementary school students. The air was filled with the tinkle of children at play.

“Daddy!”

Thomas turned his head in the direction of the familiar voice. Whisper was waving at him from across the school grounds where her upper body had emerged from a climbing contraption made of old tires. He waved back and watched as she jumped to the ground and came running in his direction. She was followed, at a much slower pace, by a girl who was obviously mentally handicapped. His heart clenched. Was this the best that his daughter could do for friends?

“Hi Princess,” he said when she reached him.

Whisper threw her arms around his legs and squeezed, then turned to introduce her friend. “This is my daddy,” she stated.

The only response from the other little girl was to stare. Thomas couldn't help but smile. She had probably never seen a First Nations man in person before—certainly not someone as tall, anyway.

“Hi,” Thomas said, holding out his hand. Her demeanor didn't change. She continued to stare, mouth slightly open.

“Laura doesn't talk much,” Whisper informed.

“Sorry, but we ask that children not leave the playground during recess.” Thomas turned to the woman who had appeared out of nowhere. Rachel. She kept her gaze focused on Whisper, avoiding his. “It's not safe for the children to be in the parking lot,” she added.

“Of course,” Thomas agreed. “You and your friend better go back now,” he said to Whisper.

Whisper threw him a kiss before running back toward the playground and to his surprise her friend mimicked her actions. He couldn't help letting a slight laugh escape his lips as he watched her lumber after Whisper.

“Whisper is very good with Laura,” Rachel offered, watching them also. “She has real motherly instincts.”

Thomas snorted. “The retard and the Indian. Beautiful.” His voice was laced with sarcasm.

“Excuse me?” Rachel clipped, turning to look right at his face for the first time. “All the children take turns as Laura's buddy. She needs the extra attention and it's helping the others learn responsibility. And they enjoy it. They like to be needed.”

He surveyed her face from beneath his dark glasses. She had passion, he could see that. In fact, he'd felt it once too, when she was in his arms. He was sorry for the way it had turned out. “I'm sorry. That was rude of me.” When she didn't respond he added, “And I'm sorry for the other thing, too.”

“Um, thank you.” Her eyes were once again focused downward. “I'm on duty so I need to get back now.” She turned and walked back toward where the children were playing. He watched the movement of her hips and then with a sigh turned toward the front doors of the building. He was here for other reasons than to stare at a pretty woman's assets.

Inside the school, the halls were devoid of all but a few people. His boots resounded on the tiled floor as he headed for the office. He could see Ryder through the office window, slouched into a corner of the couch. It was probably about time he got suspended for something. Lord knew Thomas himself had been kicked out of school enough times by that age for the very same thing. It was almost a rite of passage.

****

Rachel was thankful to see the end of the school day. Most of the children were so wired from too much candy that it was hard to keep any of them focused on academics of any kind. Not that her own sense of focus was all that great right at the moment.

Last night when Con had dropped her off, his kiss good night was long and delicious. When she'd closed the door behind her after his departure, she'd felt light headed and giddy. He seemed to have enjoyed it, and she certainly did. Maybe the curse of the ice queen was coming to an end after all. Maybe it was a matter of chemistry—the correct blending of the elements. Whatever it was, she liked it, and for those few moments she believed she could be happy.

But then this morning's brief encounter with Thomas had changed that. It left her feeling vulnerable; uncertain. She thought she'd been attracted to him, too. In fact, upon seeing him—his proud stance and well-proportioned build—even the way his eyes hid behind the dark glasses so mysteriously… well, her stomach had done that familiar flip flop.

Was she really that fickle? How could she be sure she felt something more than just sexual attraction for Con McKinley when her emotions betrayed her with so little effort? All she'd ended up with from Thomas was humiliation. What if the same thing happened with Con? What if she turned into the ice queen again in Con's embrace? She didn't know if she could handle that. It might not be worth the risk.

With a sigh, Rachel locked up her classroom, and headed in the direction of the staff room to pick up her boots and jacket. On her way past, she heard some low talking coming from the open door of the gymnasium. That was funny. She didn't think there were any practices scheduled for today. Steve was very particular about outside user groups in the gym without permission. Maybe she should just stop in and take a quick look.

Confusion was followed by shock; and shock by a rush of anger as understanding dawned. In one corner, Steve Friest stood behind a female student—much too close to be appropriate—his arms wrapped around hers, apparently “guiding” her in a proper badminton swing. Rachel cleared her throat.

Steve looked up, startled, jumping back from the girl.

“Hi, there, Rachel,” he said, his voice a little too loud. “I was just giving Vanessa a little extra help with her badminton swing.”

“As I see,” Rachel said. She hoped her voice sounded cool. She was burning up on the inside. “Vanessa? Could you excuse us for just a minute?”

“Actually, that's probably enough for today,” Steve cut in. “Why don't you go and get changed?” The well-endowed sixteen-year-old bounced off to the dressing room.

“Just what are you doing?” Rachel asked as soon as the teenager was out of earshot.

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised.

“You know what I'm talking about. You also know it's against the law.” Her gaze didn't waver from his face.

“What? Coaching one of my athletes?” Steve defended. His words were laced with sarcasm, but his eyes darted away.

“That was more than coaching,” Rachel countered.

“Your imagination is a bit overactive, I would say,” Steve quipped. He started walking toward his office, a small room off the gym.

Rachel followed. “I saw you—”

“Saw what?” He spun around. His eyes blazed into her now as he leaned forward. Rachel took a step back. “Me giving some extra practice to my top badminton player, who, by the way, happens to be going to regionals next week.”

“Well, you were awfully close,” Rachel began to falter. “It looked like—”

Steve was all friendliness now. Smiling and placating, as if to a child. “It looked like I was correcting a problem with her serve. Like this.” He came around behind Rachel and demonstrated, using the racket he still had in his hand. “No other way to do it, see?” he laughed, but somehow the merriment didn't quite reach his eyes.

“Oh. Well…” She felt embarrassed now. Maybe she had been out of line.

“No hard feelings,” he continued. “I'm glad to see teachers looking out for the students. You can't be too careful these days.” He had escorted her to the gymnasium door.

Rachel made a hasty retreat to the staff room and then out the doors of the school. She noticed Vanessa's parents waiting in the parking lot. If they knew about their daughter's private practice session, then there was no problem, right? Her heightened awareness of the male species was probably transferring onto everything else. She'd have to watch out for that.

****

Okay. So he'd gone for a pastoral visit. It was the least he could do—after all, they did attend the church. It was too bad about the condition of the housing they were in, though. He was sure there had been other options available just before they moved to town. But it seemed the run down trailer beside Mirna Hyde was the only thing open once they'd actually come looking.

Who was he trying to kid? He knew the way people thought around here. Nobody wanted to rent to “those” kind. The place might get trashed and people had a right to look after their own interests. He grimaced. Whatever happened to “love thy neighbor?” Maybe he'd preach on that next Sunday. Maybe there was still hope.

No. Hope had died, along with any real emotion. Except for fear, maybe. Fear of discovery. It was always there, lurking, taunting him at every turn. It had him by the neck—a noose of his own design.

Carol would be calling soon, asking him to come home to dinner. His children would want his attention. Want him to be the perfect daddy. He wasn't sure he could do it anymore. Face another evening of lies.

As if guided by the hands of an automaton, he opened his laptop. With a few deft clicks the images flooded the screen and his senses. He ogled for a moment and then slammed the lid shut. With an oath no pastor should utter he took the offending device and threw it with all his might against the bookcase. The computer landed relatively unscathed on the floor, dislodging a few books in the process.

With a heart wrenching sigh, Pastor Todd laid his head on his desk and wept.

 

“Excuse me, my dear,” the high pitched British voice on the other side of the door called.

“Mrs. Beatry,” Rachel greeted. Her smile was mechanical as she opened the door to her landlady.

“Oh, please do excuse me,” Mrs. Beatry said bustling past, leaving Rachel with no alternative but to close the door and follow her to the table.

“Um, I'm not sure I have time for tea,” Rachel said. “I'm going out very shortly.”

“No problem. You don't make a very good cup of tea anyway,” Mrs. Beatry prattled. “I just wanted to pop by and see if you heard the latest news.”

“Well, there has been quite a bit of excitement these days. Why don't you tell me?” Rachel said.

“Well,” Mrs. Beatry began, leaning in, barely containing her delight. “It seems Halloween night was even busier than we originally knew. Of course you heard about the young Henry boy getting hurt at Benwick's. But there were some other happenings that went unnoticed until this afternoon.”

“Yes, I heard,” Rachel nodded. “It's just terrible. I hope it wasn't racially motivated.”

“Pardon me?” Mrs. Beatry asked, blinking.

“The vandals that threw a rock at the Lone Wolf's?” Rachel supplied. “It broke a window…?”

“Oh, that!” Mrs. Beatry dismissed it with a slight wave. “No, no. I mean the other shenanigans.”

Rachel frowned. “What other shenanigans?”

“Well, someone broke into the Senior's Corner.” Mrs. Beatry leaned back in her chair with satisfaction as if she'd just revealed the scoop of the century.

“Really? And no one noticed until this afternoon?”

“Why, whoever did it was very cagey about it, indeed. Someone picked the lock and let themselves in as nice as you please! Stole the money out of the quilt raffle fund, which is such a shame because that quilt was being raffled to help buy a new set of snooker balls for the boys. The old ones they play with now are so old.” She shook her head before continuing. “And they also took the money from the coffee jar. Not that that amounted to much, I don't suppose. But every little bit helps. As well, there were several boxes of cookies taken from the back room, and a box of sugar cubes, and some hard candies. Mrs. McDonald likes those so much. What a shame!”

Sugar cubes and hard candies hardly compared to a broken window. “When did they notice that these items were missing?” Rachel asked.

“Frank Thompson found out this afternoon when he went to open up for the rummy players. It seems nobody noticed this morning, because it wasn't one of the regulars that made the coffee. We have a few members of our Seniors Club that don't come out much, you know. Only when it's their turn to make the coffee. But Frank is a real regular. He knew something was amiss straight away! He's the one who noticed that the lock had been tampered with. And then he noticed the missing cookies! He asked Mrs. Murphy if she had given the cookies away for Halloween. Naturally, she said no and then—”

There was a knock at the door.

“Aren't you going to get the door, dear?” Mrs. Beatry asked.

“Of course,” Rachel replied, scurrying to the door.

This time, Con wasn't wearing the usual cowboy hat and she felt her heart flutter at the sight of him. She liked the way his hair looked clean and wavy and how it curled around his collar. She almost forgot to greet him, and then blushed furiously as she said, “Hello.”

Con entered the small apartment. “How are you, Mrs. Beatry?” he asked politely upon seeing the older woman at the table.

“Why, just fine, thank you, Conrad,” Mrs. Beatry replied, rising. “My, my! Aren't you a sight! More and more like your grandfather every day!” She looked meaningfully over at Rachel.

“So I've heard,” Con said with a smile.

“Such a handsome man, even in his later years, was your grandfather. You're very much like him,” Mrs. Beatry clucked. “Now if I was a few years younger, I might be looking your way myself. What do you say, Miss Bosworth? Is Conrad not a dashing young gentleman? You be careful of this one, Miss Bosworth. You've had fair warning, to be sure. Even as a youngster he had a bit o' the devil in him! One of my best pupils. I swear it! Do you still play?”

“A bit.” Con shrugged.

“That is good to hear,” Mrs. Beatry said. “Such a waste of talent if you don't use it. You should come up and play for me sometime. For old times sake.”

“I'll do that,” Con promised. “But tonight I have a previous engagement.” He winked at Mrs. Beatry.

“You young people have a good time,” she called as she ascended the stairs.

“Don't tell me. Mrs. Beatry taught you piano?” Rachel laughed.

“Of course. Who else?”

“No wonder she's been warning me about you! You probably never practiced!”

“I didn't have to,” Con said with a gleam in his eye. “I was her star pupil. You almost ready?”

“Almost. I'll just get my coat.”

Before she could turn away he grabbed her hand and bent for a kiss. “I was waiting for that all day,” he said.