Wind Over Marshdale Read Online Free Page A

happen anytime soon. She scowled. Thankfully, they arrived at Mrs. Beatry’s house.
    â€œI’ll bring your bag in for you,” Steve offered.
    â€œThat won’t be necessary,” Rachel replied, jerking the bag from Steve’s hands before he could say anything else. “I can manage it quite well, now, thank you.” She turned and practically ran up the walk before he had a chance to reply. She’d had quite enough of Steve Friest for one day. The fact that she actually had to work in the same building with him was enough to make her want to cry.
    After she took several headache pills, Rachel headed straight for the bathroom and a relaxing hot bath. She refilled the tub several times, allowing the warm bubbles to leech away the tension. She had just emerged from the tub, wrinkled but feeling considerably better, when there was a light tapping on the door of her apartment. Rachel froze for a moment, thinking it might be Steve back with more torment.
    â€œHello, dear. Are you in there?” a melodic elderly woman’s voice called. Mrs. Beatry. She should have guessed.
    Apparently, for several generations now, Mrs. Beatry had been letting out her basement suite to the “new” teacher. If she had known Mrs. Beatry was also the town’s biggest gossip, she might have upset the apple cart and gone elsewhere. As it was, she’d been happy to accept the furnished suite, found by the school board, without any questions asked. Live and learn.
    Rachel wrapped her robe more firmly around her body and crossed to answer the door. “Hello, Mrs. Beatry. How are you this evening?”
    The woman on the other side of the door was tiny, even in comparison to Rachel. But she stood straight and poised, and there was a perceptive gleam in her eyes from behind her wire-rimmed glasses. She nodded her blue-white head. “Oh, I’m just fine thank you. I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
    â€œNo, of course not. Won’t you come in?” Rachel offered.
    â€œThank you dear,” Mrs. Beatry said, surveying the room as she entered. “My, what a lovely picture!” she exclaimed, stopping in front of the one painting that Rachel had managed to squeeze into the back of her car. It was an abstract done by Rachel’s sister Tiffany; a swirl of effervescent color and light. Her sister had a great talent, despite her other faults.
    â€œThank you. My sister painted it.”
    â€œMy, my,” the older woman clucked. “Very lovely, indeed, but…what is it supposed to be?”
    â€œWell, I’m not really sure,” Rachel hesitated. “I don’t think it’s supposed to be anything in particular.”
    â€œHmm. Modern art. Never did understand it,” Mrs. Beatry mused.
    â€œI was just about to have some tea. Would you like some?” Rachel offered.
    â€œHow lovely!” exclaimed Mrs. Beatry. “I love a good cup of tea.”
    â€œWould you like herbal or regular?” Rachel asked.
    â€œOh, regular for me, please, deary. I’m not much for that herbal stuff. It’s not real tea, now is it? We Brits like our real tea, we do. There’s nothing like a good strong cuppa, I always say. I’m from the UK, you know. Followed my dear husband here, I did. He’s dead now, of course.”
    Rachel busied herself getting the tea ready while Mrs. Beatry prattled on. “Now, I don’t normally pop in on my tenants uninvited.”
    Yeah, right. Rachel just smiled.
    â€œAnd of course, I’m still teaching a few wee ones on the piano, so I hope that won’t be a bother to you,” Mrs. Beatry continued. “I’m not taking as many pupils as I used to. I find it hard to keep up. I’m the only ‘certified’ piano instructor in town, you know. Chances are I’ve taught at least one person from every family over the years. I can fill you in on anything you need to know.”
    I’ll