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"This is Deanna Fowler, Teacher's Aid at Junction Road School speaking. We've had a bit of an emergency. I know school has just about started and I wouldn't call but I can think of nobody else to ring at this late hour." The words all rushed into Kylena's ear.
She glanced at her watch. It was ten to nine, commencement time. "Tell me what you need, Deanna," she replied in a soft voice that appeared to calm the woman on the line down a little.
"It's Bruce. He's had an accident at home," Deanna said. "I'm not sure of the details but Janice is rushing him into the doctor. I'm left with the whole school to look after. One parent is coming in to help but we need a teacher."
"Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can," Kylena replied. "Now don't worry. Just tell the children to do project work or read until I arrive."
"Thanks Kylena. I know you're on maternity leave but, as I said..."
"I'll see you soon," Kylena replied and hung up.
"Who was that?" Fiona asked.
"Bruce Cheever, the principal at Junction Road School had an accident and Janice, his wife is rushing him into town. Deanna Fowler is at her wits end, I'd say. I could hear kids screaming in the background as she spoke. I'm going over."
Fiona frowned. "But..."
"It's an emergency. I'll be fine."
"Don't overdo it," Fiona warned.
"Okay. I'll leave a note for John," Kylena replied and rushed through to the bedroom to change into a maternity smock. She hated the things but couldn't very well wear shorts and blouse in front of a class of strange children.
*
The noise met Kylena as she walked down the path and in the senior room door. No adults were around and the place was a shambles. On red-faced senior girl was standing at the front trying to control the twenty or so children, paper darts were flying around and a tall boy at the rear was banging his desk top up and down to add to the mayhem.
"That will do!" Kylena's voice cut the room like a knife. "All sit down, please."
All eyes turned her way and the noise subsided as she walked to the front of the room. However, as she walked by a group of four senior boys one sniggered, "The fat lady arrives."
Kylena stopped and turned so her eyes bore into the youth. "And what did you say, Mr. Newson?" she asked. She didn't know the boy's first name but knew he was one of the Newsons who lived on Long Valley Road.
"Nothing," the boy muttered but gave his companions a grin.
"I see," the teacher replied. "Andrew Newson's son, I believe."
The murmur of noise that had begun to rise again, stopped.
"So!" the boy retorted.
Kylena knew the sort. He bred off his macho image and would thrive if she showed any weakness or anger.
"Your first name, please?" she asked in a voice that was ice cold but low in volume.
"Len," the boy replied and held her eyes as if he dared her to do anything. Kylena walked to the front of the room and saw what she was looking for. On the message board was a list of the families and telephone numbers. While the noise began to rise again, especially from the four senior boys who sensed victory, she noted a number, turned, walked back to Len Newson and stood beside him.
The noise dropped as the teacher pulled a mobile phone from her pocket. She punched in a number and in a voice everyone could hear, spoke to the person on the other end.
"Good morning. Is that Andrew Newson?... Good. This is Kylena Berg speaking. There is nothing to worry about but Bruce is absent and I have been asked to teach at the school for the day... No, none of your children are hurt, Mr. Newson. Your son, Len, though, has refused to co-operate. I'd like you to come down and take him home." She glowered at the boy. "Yes, Mr. Newson, I am afraid I cannot teach a child who calls me a fat lady and continues to think it is one big joke..." A loud voice could be heard coming through the instrument. "You'll be here in ten minutes. Thank you. Goodbye."
She turned to Len. "Your father is coming to get you, Len."
The boy swallowed and stared at her but Kylena ignored him. She walked to the scribble-strewn chalkboard and wiped it clean. Only when she was finished, did she turn and face the class. "Everyone here will find something in their desk to do for ten minutes. Read a book or continue any project work you have. You will not, though talk or get out of your desk." Her eyes hit the four boys, three subdued and Len looking pale. "If any of you think you can fool around, I would strongly advise against it."
She waited while the children found work or a book before she began to draw on the board. In a couple of moments she had a picture of a dragon drawn, a massive creature bellowing smoke from its nostrils. Kylena drew in a gigantic broken wing, some burnt tree stumps and a human crouched behind one stump.
Finally she wrote, Where? Who? Why? and How?" in large letters across the board, turned and smiled at the class. "I want a list of ideas to go with the picture," she said. "Year 7 and 8 will write at least twenty ideas, the younger children, ten or more. Nobody will talk and you have ten minutes. Go."
The children, except Len, gave a slight grin and began.
Five minutes later a very irate farmer appeared out the classroom windows.
"Len's dad," someone whispered. "God is he mad!"
There was a knock and Andrew Newson stood there. He looked a younger version of Kevin, all red in the face and holding his wide brimmed hat in his hand. He glared at his son and snapped as if he was talking to a dog.
"Get out here, boy." The boy shuffled to the door and received a rough shove on the shoulder as he walked past his father. "I apologize for his behaviour, Mrs. Berg," the man said but still looked annoyed. "He won't do it again."
Kylena almost felt sorry for the boy as she explained what had happened. The farmer nodded. "The other two okay?" he snapped and nodded at his two other offspring in the room.
"Yes, fine," Kylena said. "I don't know if I'll be back tomorrow but if I am, Len we will be welcome to return."
"Right, Mrs. Berg. Sorry again. I'll let you get on with it," He turned. "You," he snapped at his son. "Get in the truck."
Kylena turned and wandered around the classroom as the children wrote their notes in silence. Deanna appeared a few moments later, full of apologies and said she had been held up in the junior room. "Was that Andrew?" she asked.
"Yes," Kylena replied." I sent Len home."
Deanna rolled her eyes but made no comment. She gazed at the dragon picture and the children all working away. "How do you do it?" she whispered.
"They're good kids but just need a little motivation."
"But Bruce never has them this quiet."
"It's what I expect," The teacher answered, "See you at morning interval.”
She turned to the class. "Right, I want you to come and sit on the carpet. We'll see what ideas we have."
After morning interval she continued the lesson and within an hour the children were all producing their own project. Art paper was distributed for covers and time out from writing given for the children to draw a cover. Much of the work was poor compared with the standard she expected at Long Valley Road but infinitely better than the scruffy stuff she noticed in the children's exercise books. She sighed. Half the trouble was that the children were bored with the work they had been doing. No wonder the seniors were a behaviour problem.
During the lunch break, Kylena found a wide roll of newsprint and ran it out on the classroom floor so, throughout the afternoon; a massive painting of dragons was completed with everyone contributing. Senior pupils, budded up with younger ones, were allocated one section of the chart to paint together. This idea was new to the class but it worked well.
By three, Kylena was exhausted but the children proud of their work.
"Are you coming back tomorrow, Mrs. Berg?" Ken, one of the senior boys asked.
"I'm not sure. It depends whether Mr. Cheever returns or not."
"I hope so," the boy replied. "We had fun today."
"Why, thank you Ken," Kylena smiled. "I enjoyed the day too."
"Yeah, once we got rid of Len," one of the girls added.
"He'll be okay," the teacher said.
The senior girl, who had been trying to control the class when Kylena arrived, caught her eye and grinned. It seemed as if everyone was fed up with Len's antics.
*
"The place is a shambles," Kylena confided in John on the second evening. "Their books are so messy Len was quite subdued today and didn't do one thing wrong. When he sets his mind to it he can do quite good work."
"Well, one excellent teacher makes a difference but I hope you said you couldn't go back next week."
"I did. I'm exhausted by the end of the day.”
"Yes, Bruce Cheever cut himself up pretty badly."'
"What caused it?" Kylena replied.
"He smashed through the living room window. I heard he was having a row with Janice and she pushed him through it.”
"My God." Kylena laughed. "The hot gossip line is working overtime, isn't it?"
"Yeah," said John. "Fiona found most of it out. It seems the Cheevers have quite a few arguments."
"Oh John," Kylena replied. “Let’s forget about them, shall we? You know how the locals exaggerate everything."
"Okay." He laughed. "But make sure you don't wear yourself down. You are meant to be on maternity leave, you know."
"I know," replied Kylena and kissed her husband. "I'm just helping.”
As it turned out, she spent a week at the school and came home every night exhausted but pleased with her efforts. It rained every day, which didn't help the situation as the children were inside all the time and had to be given activities to do in their spare time, something else never done for them before.
Neither of the Bergs heard until later, but that week caused quite a stir in the district. Locals appreciated the effort she had put in and direct comparisons were made between the work produced by the children under her care and what they achieved with Bruce Cheever.
*
That week was also the last for Aggie's visit. On the Wednesday after breakfast, she crouched on the carpet in the tiny cottage living room, fascinated with her father's artwork.
"Oh Dad," she said "I feel honoured that you should think of me over the years, enough to make up a life for me. “She turned to the drawing of the family Harold had imagined she might have. "I must be a disappointment to you, no family or even a partner."
Harold squatted down and began to place the drawings back in the box they came from. "No," he replied in his slow voice. “Proud is the word I would use." He coughed and reached into an old desk he had in the corner of the room and extracted another sheet of paper. "Those old drawings can go now," he whispered and handed Aggie a new one.
Aggie glanced at it, looked again and gasped. " Dad. It's wonderful."
The drawing showed her waiting in the airport terminal on the day of her arrival beside himself, one of the few self-portraits he had drawn. The likeness was exact even down to the expression of wonder in her eyes.
"It's for you, Aggie," Harold muttered. "My first live drawing of you since you were twelve. I'll throw all those fantasy ones out."
"You will not," his daughter responded. "If you don't want them, I'll take them home with me."
"They're yours," Harold responded. “They helped me retain a memory of you but I don't need that now, do I?"
Aggie smiled and stood up. "I've something to show you Dad," she whispered and disappeared into her bedroom.
A moment later she returned with a large photograph album tucked under her arm, sat back down on the carpet and opened the first page. "These are photos I collected of myself. Some are just snapshots but there are a few professional ones, my graduation and so forth."
For more than an hour, the father and daughter went through the album. Included were a few of her mother and some of a young man with her when she was in her early twenties.
"Steven," she said with a touch of sadness. “We were partners for a few years before he drifted on." She chuckled. "I haven't been an old maid all my life, Dad."
"I'm pleased," her father responded. "People weren't made to be alone."
Aggie glanced up at his downcast eyes. "Yet, that is exactly what you were for years. Why Dad?"
"Circumstances, Aggie. I rejected humanity and it was only after John and Fiona came into my life that I realized I was wrong. Not all humans are self centred and covetous."
Doctor Angelina Bentley frowned. "Would you like to talk about it, Dad?" she said in a soft voice.
"Not now, Aggie," he replied. "Perhaps one day I will, but the past is the past. There is a future now." He smiled and stared at the rain hitting the windowpane. "With Fiona and now you..."
"You like her, don't you Dad and I believe the feelings are mutual?" she responded
"Fiona, you mean?"
"Who else?"
Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door and the person in question walked in. "Hi," she announced and placed a plastic bag on the bench. "I whipped up some doughnuts for morning coffee break."
*
The next morning, even though it was still raining, Harold and John took the Bedford up to the top plateau with a load of fence posts and invited Fiona and Aggie along. The visitor examined the tiny cottage in grim silence before turning to her father. "I'm glad you decided to move down to John's cottage," she said. "It's too isolated here."
"I had Sissy." Harold shrugged and patted the little dog's ears. "Anyhow, after I help John unload the posts I'll take you to see my tree daisies."
"You'll like them," Fiona added.
Both Aggie and John, who hadn't visited the gully either, were fascinated by the forested gully. Only large drips from the rain dripped through the foliage above and the cold breeze on the plateau was absent in this sheltered spot. After he pushed through the undergrowth, Harold pointed out the unspectacular tree daisies, now devoid of leaves but with new shoots beginning to poke through the bark.
"In a few weeks they'll be covered in flowers." He explained.
Aggie gazed around. "You did many of your drawings here, didn't you, Dad? I recognize the undergrowth."
"Yes, it was Sissy's and my favourite place," he answered. “Not so much in this weather but in the summer it was always cool down here, like another world."
"A place to hide?" his daughter queried and glanced at Fiona.
Harold shrugged. "I guess," he muttered.
Later that afternoon when they were alone, Aggie asked Fiona about her father's life on the plateau.
"I really know no more than you," Fiona replied. "He was quite ill when I first met him, we rushed him to hospital and, afterwards he was persuaded to shift into our cottage." She explained everything she knew about her companion's father.
"But what caused him to withdraw from society?" Aggie asked. "It wasn't my mother. Their separation happened years earlier."
"I'm not sure," Fiona replied. "Something happened at the university where he worked, I know that much. He worked on those topographical maps for a few months before he shifted into the cabin."
"Well, I'm going to find out," Aggie replied. "There must be records somewhere."
"I don't think he wants anyone to know," Fiona responded.
"True, but even if it's something incriminating I still need to know. "She frowned. "Personally, Dad is such a moral person, I can't believe he would have done anything illegal."
"But if he had?" Fiona asked.
"I will be discrete," Aggie added. "If there is anything the least suspicious, I'll withdraw. No way do I want to hurt Dad more than he already has been. Personally, I'd say it was something like research gone wrong or perhaps he discovered something dangerous he did not want to pursue." she frowned. "In my own research, results are, at times, completely different from what I anticipate."
"If I can help, tell me," Fiona added. "I'm getting quite good at searching the Internet. I found you, didn't I?"
"You did." the younger woman replied.
*
On Saturday, the family took Aggie down to Palmerston North airport for her flight back to Dunedin. It wasn't a sad occasion, though, but more of a temporary parting. Now father and daughter were reunited they knew they would keep in touch, Harold promised to visit Dunedin later in the year and Fiona pledged to keep an eye on him.
"Thanks Fiona. Bye, John, Kylena and you two girls. See you at Christmas." Aggie turned to her father. "And Dad, what can I say except I love you.”
She gave him a hug and was gone.
"I would say she was everything you'd wanted in a daughter," John said to Harold as they walked upstairs to watch the aircraft fly out.
"More than I'd hoped, John," Harold replied. "You don't know what it is like just to have her. My wife is dead, you know."
*
With Aggie gone, life returned to normal on the farm. October rolled into November and with it, spring growth and the busiest farm season. Lambs and calves were being born and it was a busy time for all. Across the boundary, the hillside where the pine plantation had been was now a slope of brown soil, smooth and peppered with green as the new grass sprouted. One steep cavity had been used to bury the stumps ripped from the hillside and one other small gully had been left in native trees that had never been replaced when the plantation was originally planted. The boundary fence was almost finished with only section to complete.
John stood on the edge of the plateau and gazed down at his neighbour's. "I must admit, Kelvin has got it looking good," he commented.
"Yes, but I wish he'd left more trees. Even with the grass established he could have slips." Harold glanced down at the soft mud beneath his gumboots. “We’ve had enough rain over the last month. Any more will be a hindrance."
John nodded, "At least its stopped today. If we can get the fence up, I can start using the paddock." He grinned. "I doubt if Kelvin will appreciate our cattle cutting up his hillside of new grass." He gazed across the edge. "Perhaps we should have used that fencing contractor he employed to do his half."
Harold, though, shook his head. "The guy did a good job but was too expensive. I reckon if Kelvin did a little more work himself he would be able to run his place at a profit. Those bulldozers he had pulling the stumps and preparing the hill for the plough must have cost him a fortune. I counted six there one day. Afterwards he used a contractor to plough and sow. He could have done that himself."
"True," John replied. "Anyhow, let's get going. The fence won't build itself."
Three hours later the two perspiring men glanced up to see the Land Rover approach. It almost slithered to a halt in the soft grass and Kylena poked her head out the driver's door.
"Lunch," she called and produced a basket with two massive thermos flasks and a plastic container of sandwiches.
"You shouldn't be driving up the track in your condition," John scolded as his wife wriggled out from behind the wheel and Fiona appeared from the passenger’s side.
"Why not? I'm pregnant, not crippled."
"Okay," John replied. He reached for the basket and kissed her lips.
"What a view," Fiona interrupted. "I can even see the school. The kids are outside."
They all turned and followed her gaze. The view below looked almost as if they were flying over in an aircraft. The brown hillside of Kelvin's ploughed land contrasted to the green of the other hills and darker colours of forested slopes. Long Valley Road twisted in from the left, along the small straight in front of the school before disappearing through the valley to their right. As they watched, a car drove along the road in front of a cloud of dust.
"I hear the district council are going to tarseal the road this season," Kylena said. “They should do the big saddle and up about a kilometre beyond the school.”
"Tarseal?" John raised his eyebrows.
"Oh my dear," Kylena said. "What do you call it? Bitumen, blacktop or what?"
"I know what you mean," John said. He stood behind her, tucked his arms around and ran his chin through her hair. "Better up here than teaching, isn't it?"
"Yes," sighed Kylena. "Especially Junction Road. The children were just coming right but I guess with Bruce back they'll just slip into their usual ways." She smiled up at her husband. "But our school seems to be going okay. Helen likes Vicky and Courtney is just continuing my programs in the senior room. I said I would go and help prepare for the school concert at the end of the year."
"I can't keep you away from the place, can I?" John chuckled.
"No." Kylena laughed. "Any more than I can keep you off the farm."
They turned and walked across to where Fiona had poured hot coffee into four tin mugs and Harold had seated himself on one of the posts lying on the grass. In the distance, the snow covered Mount Ruapehu stretched across the eastern horizon with just a few white clouds tucked around its summit. It was a perfect spring day.
*