Marshdale. Just a small farming community where nothing special happens. A perfect place to start over… or get lost. Once a sacred meeting place of aboriginal tribes, some say the land is cursed. But its history goes even farther back than indigenous oral history can trace and there is still a direct descendant who has been handed the truth, like it or not. Exactly what ties does the land have to the medicine of the ancients? Is it cursed, or is it all superstition?
WIND OVER MARSHDALE is the story of the struggles within a small prairie town when hidden evil and ancient medicine resurface. Caught in the crossfire, new teacher Rachel Bosworth finds herself in love with two men at once. First, there is Thomas Lone Wolf, a Cree man whose blood lines run back to the days of ancient medicine but who has chosen to live as a Christian and faces prejudice from every side. Then there is Con McKinley, local farmer who has to face some demons of his own. Add to the mix a wayward minister seeking anonymity in the obscurity of the town; eccentric twin sisters – one heavily involved in the occult and the other a fundamentalist zealot; and a host of other ‘characters’ whose lives weave together unexpectedly for the final climax. This suspenseful story is one of human frailty - prejudice, cowardice, jealousy, and greed – magnified by powerful spiritual forces that have remained hidden for centuries, only to be broken in triumph by grace.
Thomas shot up in bed, panting. The T-shirt he wore clung to his body with sweat. It was not the first time the dream had come to wake him.
He took a deep breath, disentangled himself from the sheets, and rose to get a drink of water. No point going back to bed now. He wouldn’t sleep anyway. He padded down the narrow hallway,passing the half closed doorways that sheltered his sleeping children. Ducking to avoid hitting his head as he entered the tiny kitchen, he paused for a moment to look at the expanse of landscape beyond the window. Mostly flat, with a rise of gently rolling hills in the distance, it was clothed with a carpet of rippling grass except for the odd patch of dry fallow. Just like in the dream.
The early morning sunrise was just beginning to filter in, reaching to shed some light in the shadowed corners of the room. Thomas had managed to rent a house near the outskirts of town. Correction. It wasn’t exactly a house. The realtor called it a “double wide.” Okay, it was a trailer, but it was the only property for rent in Marshdale at the moment. At least, that was what the realtor had said. It wasn’t the nicest place—rather dingy if truth be told—and it was farther from school than Thomas would have liked, but it was still within walking distance. Better than the overcrowded and dilapidated homes he’d been used to as a child.
But that was another time. Another life.
He was here now, for better or for worse, and the people of Marshdale would just have to accept it. He was Thomas Lone Wolf, proud of his Cree ancestry, and determined to do something about it. As a community liaison, he’d worked with dozens of indigenous groups all over the western provinces trying to set up business propositions. This time was different, though. It was personal.
With practiced fingers he undid his night-time braid and shook out his hair, which fell well past his shoulders. Even at forty, there was no sign of greying or hair loss. It was straight, coarse and black,just like his ancestors’ - the perfect picture of a Cree warrior.
Now that he was awake, he allowed himself to replay the dream in his mind - at least the parts that he could remember. Like most dreams, the initial clarity soon faded after just a few waking moments. There were buffalo - always buffalo. And they seemed bent on suicide, careening to their deaths before he could stop them somehow.
He was going to start writing it down. The theme was too familiar; the mixture of fear and power too real. Some people said you dreamt in black and white. Thomas wasn’t sure about that. He knew there was blood in his dream - and lots of it. The redness of it stood out in stark contrast to the muted prairie landscape. And the stench. That unmistakable metallic scent filled his nostrils to such a degree that he could almost swear he still smelled it. Almost. But that was ridiculous and he pushed the memory of the coagulating stains out of his mind.
With a sigh he turned back to the cupboards and started readying the coffee. It would soon be time to wake the children and get ready for work himself. Another gruelling day of lobbying for something that should be rightfully his to begin with. Reality didn’t stop for dreams.
There is plenty of intrigue and mystery to keep any reader's attention, but for lovers of romance, this one will make your heart pound. ~ Michelle Sutton, reviewer and author of more than a dozen inspirational novels
Tracy Krauss typifies all that is good in modern Christian authorship. She is consistently there for her readers and elevates her every effort. ~ Joyce Godwin Grubbs, Author From the Grassroots
Tracy’s characters are raw and real; her plots edgy and electric. ~ Lisa Lickel, award winning author of Meander Scar, A Summer in Oakville, The Map Quilt and other inspirational novels
Tracy Krauss has a deep talent. I am looking forward to more from her. ~ Tom Blubaugh, Author of Night of the Cossack
Why Did Tracy Write WIND OVER MARSHDALE?
The setting for the book is based on the small town of Mossbank where I grew up. The landscape and scenery are ‘straight up’ and even some of the history is loosely based on local legend. I am a ‘people’ watcher and in my years living in various small towns I’ve come to recognize certain ‘characters’ that seem to reside everywhere. As well, I have an interest in many of the cultural and spiritual aspects of Canada’s First Nations, especially as it relates to Christianity and faith. All of these factors came together in the writing of this tale. Ultimately, I hope it points toward the restorative power of Christ.
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