Jess Loren unlocked the gates to Balsam High School and by rote, completed the security and maintenance checks he had performed for twenty-eight years. He wanted to buff the main lobby again before the new principal arrived. Meticulous in his custodian duties, he was a proud man who refused to acknowledge the disease that was ravaging his body. "...a touch of flu," he had told his wife. "Just let me nap a little before supper...." The flu symptoms had lingered, however, now for over two months. "You're going to the doctor this week, " his wife declared. "This has gone on too long."
"Come read to me and I'll feel better," he asked. "There's 'posed to be an article on the new principal in the paper." Jess Loren could neither read nor write. His wife and later his children had tried to teach him, to no avail. Armed only with a scrawl of signature, he had survived by memorizing the arrangement and form of letters, numbers and symbols that his wife had methodically described for him.
The taunts of classmates and indifference of teachers had driven him from school after the fifth grade. Disappearing with his family into the West Woods beyond Balsam, he was free to learn the way of the wilderness, to hunt and trap, collect herbs and run moonshine through the back-hills. He had joined the Army on his eighteenth birthday. Forty-nine months later, he returned to Balsam Valley -- a war hero with numerous commendations, medals, and a full medical discharge. During his fourth tour with recon operations in South Vietnam, PFC Jess Loren had been severely wounded while single-handedly killing eight Viet Cong interrogators who attempted to force him to sign his name to a document.
Jess had invested his savings in a stallion, three brood mares and received a VA loan on a small farm in the western edge of the valley. As the conduit for his family's moonshine business, Jess Loren also became Balsam's unofficially sanctioned provider of quality healing liniments and spirits for both equine and equestrians. War heroes in Balsam Valley, regardless of their educational level, were afforded the same "legal variance" as the young men who garnered football and baseball trophies for the high school. The federal government, however, did not afford that variance for filing and paying taxes.
Doc Wesley, prominent horseman and the first physician to establish a practice in the Valley, had suggested that local officials hire Jess to provide him a verifiable income. Within days, Jess Lorne joined the custodial staff at the high school, working a split shift from 5:30-8:30 A.M. and 7-10 P.M., with a ten-hour "flex" schedule for weekend supervision and maintenance emergencies. It was understood that Jess would not transport or sell liniment on school property, but would make deliveries to local consumers before his evening work schedule.
Jess had met Lina Crowe at a wake for his uncle. She had shared his love for horses and was studying veterinary science at the community college. The black hair, olive skin and deep eyes of her Indian heritage had reminded him of the women he had known in Vietnam. It had not mattered that she was his third cousin. They courted for one month, consummated their love in the stable loft and were married by a justice of the peace two months later. It was an omen of good fortune that their first-born was male. William Crowe Loren would be taught the traditions of his mother's heritage and his father's knowledge of the wilderness. It was his parents' hope that he would also share their love of horses.
Will Loren and his two younger sisters, Jessica and Caroline, met every aspiration set by their parents. Jess' greatest fear for his children was averted -- each had learned to read and write before entering public school. Will earned a degree in animal husbandry; Jessica was employed by the Forest Service; Caroline was completing her veterinary science degree at the state university. Although the children were aware of the liniment trade that flourished in the back of the feed shed, none were ever involved in it. Only Will and Jessie had succumbed to youthful curiosity and opened a jar of that clear, beaded libation.
Years later, maintaining the Loren tradition of family-talk around the kitchen table, Will and Jessica would entertain their beloved parents and growing families by recounting the "pukin" and "whuppin" they had experienced, each event either witnessed or delivered by the firm but gentle hand of their father ......
••••
He heard Lucinda Switzer yelling at him long before he turned off the buffer. "You talkin' to me, Miz Switzer?" A large, thick-bodied woman bearing the characteristic "Combs clan" elongated face stood at the end of the hall with her hands on her hips. "No, I was not talking to you, Mr. Loren. I was screaming at you. Are you deaf, too?" Lucie-Moosie...
Lucinda Switzer had not shared her brother Cleve's acceptance of their nickname. Cleve assumed it referred to his athletic prowess and not his physical appearance. No one had dared call "Moose" Combs' younger sister "Lucie-Moosie" to her face since the third grade -- when she chased Jacob Collier into the boys' bathroom and whipped him senseless.
"Sorry, Miz Switzer. Can't hear good with this machine runnin'." Jess knew it annoyed her when people did not "snap to" at the sound of her voice.
The media director and self-appointed head of Student Services at Balsam High School was chairman of the local teacher organization, historian for the regional DAR, the Superintendent's sister, and was the wife of J. Earl Switzer, an outsider who owned the only hardware store in the Valley. Other than the parents and community leaders who had attended her late night meetings in the media center, only Jess Loren knew of the horrific power and control she wielded.
"I need to get into the cafeteria kitchen."
"You know I can't unlock the kitchen. That's federal property in there." She did not know that only the storage room was a restricted area.
"I'm here to prepare breakfast for the Leadership Team's meeting, Mr. Loren. I have to get into the kitchen." He pushed the buffer toward her, silently wishing it was the scrubber. He would have deliberately sprayed soap on her patent leather wedge-heel shoes.
Several years ago she had humiliated him in front of students."I left you a note explaining that the material in the red garbage can was to be shredded. Can't you read, Mr. Loren?" The long handle of the machine brushed against Lucinda Switzer's skirt. "I ain't openin' that kitchen." His voice was a low growl.
Recoiling from the tone of his voice and the coldness in his eyes, she turned and clumped briskly down the hall, shouting to the custodian behind her, "I will remember this, Mr. Loren. At least find me a cart to move the food from my car."
"There's one in your closet, Miz Switzer." A sharp pain in his side jolted him from the images of torture he envisioned for her.
••••
Lucinda Switzer unlocked the door to the closet adjacent to the media center and lifted the paper shredder from the cart. Scuffing her shoe at rust marks left by filing cabinets which had stood in the corner, she surveyed the small room again for evidence of her work. She had burned the last bag of shredded paper, destroying what she thought to be the only copies of the transcripts and reports she had prepared.
Closing the door behind her, she was wheeling the cart into the hallway as she heard voices from the lobby. She had not been the first to greet Luke Allen.
••••
"Welcome, Dr. Allen. I'm Lucinda Switzer, your librarian. My friends call me Luci."
"Good to meet you, Mrs. Switzer. As I was telling Mrs. Workman and Mr. Loren, I am anxious to meet the staff and get to work."
"Breakfast will be served at seven. Faculty members not on the Leadership Team will be assisting me. I'll bring you coffee before the meeting."
"Thanks, but Mr. Loren already has a pot brewing in the office."
"Very well. Do you think Mr. Loren could possibly open the kitchen for me?"
Luke nodded approvingly toward the man with the loop of keys dangling from his belt. "I'm sure he will."
Stepping back to avoid the buffer handle that brushed her skirt, Lucinda Switzer's face contorted into forced pleasantry. "Coming to help us set up, MayEllen?"
"Later, Lucinda. I need to assist Dr. Allen first."
••••
The breakfast meeting progressed smoothly. Members of the Leadership Team made brief introductions, then responded to Luke's request to identify three strengths and three weaknesses within the departments they represented. "A good approach," Lucinda Switzer noted. She had planned to serve the Team, then, she and her servers would eat at a back table within earshot of the discussions.
Lucinda observed Luke Allen closely. His recommendations had been impeccable. The search committee had interviewed over ninety current and former colleagues. There was absolutely nothing in his background to disqualified him from consideration. He had been described as bright and creative, a consummate educator who aspired only to work as a principal. Having found his niche in local school administration, he had declined innumerable promotions to more prestigious positions. A touch of gray in his thick brown hair and the beginnings of "love handles" around the waist did not detract from the charm and appeal of the man with the laughing blue eyes. She would continue to study this man, to assess his demeanor and leadership techniques in the event she had any need to disable him....
Luke distributed a packet of bulletins, briefs and a draft of the faculty handbook, suggesting that instead of reading through the material in this meeting, Team members should field impromptu questions to assess his approach, his philosophy and his ideas for school improvement. To a person, the Team was amazed and enthralled by the skills and insight of the man who was to be their new leader. He remembered to thank and praise Lucinda Switzer and the volunteers who had prepared breakfast.
By mid-morning, Valley telephones were abuzz with two topics: the arrival of the new high school principal and the suicide-death of an elementary school science teacher.
Following a late morning press conference with the Superintendent and a sandwich with two students he met at the local drive-in, Luke Allen spent the afternoon with his three assistants and MayEllen Workman, mapping a schedule for the 4-week period before classes began: a watermelon party for student leaders, a cookout for fall athletes, meetings with the athletic director and coaches, completing student and faculty class schedules, maintenance and cleaning schedules, textbook distribution, small group and combined meetings with booster clubs and parent organizations, budget processes, filling two vacancies, updates to the faculty and student handbooks and an open house for the staff and their families.
Ginny called. The movers were gone and she was preparing dinner. Luke Allen left for home, not stopping to read his messages or the cards attached to the flowers that filled the receptionist's office.
••••
She and Rusty were standing on the porch as he pulled into the drive. Rusty bolted toward him and jumped to Luke's chest. "Down, boy," Luke commanded and knelt to tousle the dog's ears. Rusty bounced and barked with pleasure as Luke stood to embrace the woman he loved more than anything in this world. "Missed you," he said. "Next time we'll travel together."
"That bad?"
"No, I just missed you," he muttered in her hair. They had vowed to grow old together, and to never lose the spark that had been so critical to their relationship. It had been more than her wit or the flashing green eyes. She was a pretty woman whose beauty radiated from within. It was her feistiness, her gentleness. He led her to the porch, lifted her into his arms and carried her inside the cabin.
Ginny had described their lovemaking as methodically passionate. "It is because we focus on each other and love so deeply," she had reasoned. Scarcely inside the door and with Rusty whimpering to enter, he lowered her from his arms. They began to undress each other, exchanging wanton kisses, gently touching the secret pleasure zones only they knew. Lost in the familiarity of each other's body, they swayed against the smooth, hand-hewn logs and slid to the rug below.
••••
"So much for methodical," Ginny sighed, lying on his arm. "Hope the Welcome Wagon does not deliver after six."
" Remind me to get extra padding for this rug." Luke groaned in mock discomfort and nuzzled a sensitive zone on the back of her neck.
"Old men should not start something they can't finish." She squirmed teasingly against him, then allowed the sensation from the back of her neck to flow through her body.
"Come take a bath with me," she whispered.
"What about our clothes?" He pulled a shirt and bra from under his back.
"The cleaning lady will get them."
"Luke, take your other shoe and sock off."
He chuckled at his own image, a middle-aged nude man hobbling on one bare foot, struggling to remove the shoe and sock from the other. Visions of someone standing at the door with a fruit basket -- witnessing their scattered clothes and passion flashed through his mind.... He knew she was smiling at him, with him. He wanted to tell her that he didn't care who saw them, that he would hobble after her anywhere, that his love for her had grown stronger with time ..... that after twenty-four years of marriage, she still made each moment seem like the first ..... that every time he looked at her or thought of her, his heart raced.... He would tell her later....
They slipped into the warm bath she had prepared. He reached for a candle. "No," she said. "Just silence." Lying against his shoulder, she listened as his breathing relaxed, then slowed to the soft hiss of sleep. She gently kissed his neck, his face, his eyes, allowing her body to float above his as her caresses awakened him.
Later they lay in bed and talked quietly. He told her about the Board meeting, the Superintendent's anger, his meeting with the Leadership Team and the planning session with his assistants. It's too early yet, he had told her, but he sensed that the seething monsters he had been hired to tame were about to rear their heads.... His words became cryptic slurs as he drifted to sleep in her arms. Anger... law suits.... Celia Norman..... drunks... claymores... counselors... coaches .... funding..... valley... transcript....
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