Luke Allen's jeep shifted into overdrive as the ascent to Balsam Peak steepened. Wrapped in a gray mist of light rain and fog, the Peak towered above the winding highway. "We'll see better days, m'lady," he promised, laughing aloud at his reference to the peak as female. "It must have something to do with conquest," he mused to himself. "Or the association with Mother Earth." And a vision of Ginny flashed through his mind. "Ginny would know the answer," he concluded. He made a mental note to ask her.
The six-hour drive had been uneventful. Traffic had been light; there had been time to reflect on his career move, what he knew about the school he would be leading, what he and Ginny anticipated in their new community. Rusty-dog had made two requests to stop. Ginny called it S & S -- stretch and sustenance. He often wondered if she created those phrases spontaneously or if she retrieved them from some secret anthology. "Her mind," he reflected. Thirty years ago, he had fallen in love with a voice from the back of the classroom. Falling in love with the rest of her had been easy. He wanted her with him now as he approached their new home. He would sleep restlessly tonight, awaiting her arrival with the moving van tomorrow.
Rusty-dog stirred fitfully in the back, disturbed by the subtle change in elevation and the rays of sunlight that flashed through breaking fog . "We'll stop here," Luke assured him, pulling into the overlook. An emerald valley of pastures and farmland lay below, a respite beneath towering, craggy peaks. He closed his eyes to savor the image, wondering how this terrain could possibly harbor the dissension he had been hired to dispel.
He remembered another Valley.... He saw again the empty eyes and sensed again the delusion that such beauty could manifest the terror they lived night after night after night .... The rockets and mortars that pierced the darkness .... The silent shadows that stalked their mountain fortress, crawling through the claymores to sacrifice themselves in the name of what? If he could think rationally about that era of agony, cleansing it of all political wrappings, he knew the answer.... Regardless of the ideological trappings, it was their home. What claim had we made to it? In whose name had he and thousands been sacrificed and at what price? Rusty's tug at the leash pulled him back to reality....
••••
The rustic, split-log cabin lay nestled in a wooded cove on the eastern slope beneath Balsam Peak. It had been their only choice -- secluded, yet only ten-minutes from town. Ginny had wanted space for flowers and a small garden. He had wanted acreage for horses. The open loft above the living quarters would become a study... An open deck, situated to capture the fleeting spectrum of sunlight against craggy peaks, would be added to the back.....
"Home," Luke proclaimed as Rusty-dog bounded from the jeep. The damp, sweet aroma of green firewood filled his nostrils. Luke stepped to the porch, caressing the weathered logs that supported the shed roof, absorbing the panorama of green earth framed in gray stone and glistening clouds. He watched as Rusty scampered helter-skelter among patches of shrubs, sniffing for intruders and performing the instinctive ritual of marking his new domain.
From the beginning of their intimacy, Ginny had theorized that the historic battle-of-the-raised-toilet-seat evolved from a domestication of the male ritual to mark his territory. Whether or not her theory had merit, she had long ago conditioned him to lower the seat.... She never asked him to do it; rather, she impressed upon him the image of the male dog, lifting his leg .... "Even a dog puts his leg down when he finishes," she had said.
Luke chuckled aloud, stepped to the edge of the porch and exercised his own ritual on the land.
Inside the cabin, new lodge pole furniture stood stiffly in the living room and bedroom. A basket of fruit sat on the kitchen counter; a crock pot simmered on the stove. In a handwritten note, Realtor Dawn Murphy apologized for the plastic utensils and dishes. He and Ginny had liked her, agreeing that she would be one of their first dinner guests. He called Ginny. She recognized his loneliness. "Hon," she reminded him, "I will be there tomorrow afternoon." "Hurry safely," he responded. "The furniture needs to be arranged."
••••
Members of the Board rose from a conference table to greet him. "Dr. Allen, welcome." Board Chairman Dell Groce, owner of the local granary, extended a firm, calloused hand. Luke had admired the chairman's skill in conducting his preliminary interview. " Welcome to the Valley."
"Great to be here," Luke responded. The refrain from an Ahe Shon Valley epitaph flickered through his mind."...I shall fear no evil, for I am the meanest...."
Luke Allen exchanged pleasantries with each Board member. He and Ginny had met them informally in breakfast, lunch and dinner meetings two weeks ago. "I arranged a schedule," the Superintendent had informed him. "No more than two Board members can meet at one time," he explained. "We're sticklers for doing things right." Tonight was Luke's second official meeting with the full Board. The philosophical discourse had been concluded two weeks earlier when he had signed a contract as principal of the largest high school in the district.
Leonard Vernon, a middle-aged "local" who had never left the valley, was loan officer at the community bank. Bob Lyles, former investment broker and self-described "tree hugger," had returned to the valley to convert his family's farmhouse into an inn. Emily West, vice-chairman of the Board, was a housewife and mother of three young children. Her husband was director of extension services for the regional community college. Elsie Mooney introduced herself for the third time as a widow and retired teacher who had loved children all her life.
Social pleasantries continued until the arrival of Superintendent Cleveland Combs. He apologized, citing a resignation at the elementary school which he had to handle. "But no problem," he assured the Board. "We have three prime applicants, one I know personally. We can discuss it later."
"Let's get started." Dell Groce assumed his role as Board Chairman with confidence. "This is a planning session to discuss issues and expectations. We need to be on the same page, Dr. Allen, so that you know where we stand and what we expect. Simply stated, you have the credentials and the reputation for solving problems. We have problems for you to solve."
"I am not a miracle worker, but I'm a hard worker," Luke Allen acknowledged. "Thank you for your confidence."
"But if I can pull the school together," Luke had rationalized with Ginny, "we can retire there. We both love the mountains...." Although she had reservations about this job, she was tired of the violence in the inner-city schools where he had worked for twenty-eight years. "We need a break, Sweets," he pleaded. "Kids who go to Sunday School don't make pipe bombs." She had conceded. The cabin and leather lodge pole furniture had been his concession.
"We need to bridge some troubled waters." The Superintendent stared out a window behind Luke as he spoke. His eyes drifted slowly to Luke's. "There are folks here who are angry and hurt. There is a small group who will try to deepen the rifts we have. You will have to work carefully with these folks. You're described as a 'people person.' We expect you to use that skill. You bring us fresh blood, fresh ideas and new beginnings. That is why you were chosen by this Board."
There was something in the Superintendent's voice, something about his mannerisms that Luke had not previously noted. Was he angry with me? With the Board?
Ginny's assessment of Cleve Combs flashed through Luke's mind: "...He reminds me of an amoeba," she assessed. From his elongated face, small lashless eyes protruded above his bulbous nose, his mouth too small and his recessive chin. "Unsavory, unkempt," she added. Luke had chided his wife. "Not to worry, Sweets. I promise never to leave you alone with him... " Their discussion of Cleve Combs had then digressed to assumptions about "mountain mentality" and the new lifestyle they were about to experience.....
"Will you enlighten me about these groups?" Luke asked, anticipating a description of traditional conflicts between academics and athletics, soccer parents versus football parents, departmental budgets, fundraising, traditional programming versus innovations, and of course, the law suit being resolved out of court.
"You'll recognize them, in time." There was an edge of curtness in the Superintendent's voice. "I want you to find out for yourself." Luke was aware of shuffling papers and nervous coughs.
"Can we discuss my staff? Are there pending personnel actions?" All eyes turned to Cleve Combs.
Combs hesitated, staring again out the window behind Luke. "Your staff is pretty good. You may have to weed some of them out. The troublemakers, that is. I'll tell you about them as you go along. Your guidance department needs help. Your coaching staff is solid. You have one assistant who applied for your job, you know. All your assistants are young and have made some mistakes with kids and parents and such, but you can bring them along."
Luke's attention was drawn to Combs' hands. His left hand intermittently clinched into a fist while the fingers of his right hand drum-rolled on the table. Cleve Combs was an angry man, impatient and accustomed to being in control......
"I want to talk about the children," Elsie Mooney interjected. She had been appointed to the Board after the death of a former member. "They are important to me. Our achievement scores have dropped, our dropout rate is up, and I am concerned about the vandalism." Mr. Lyles, Mrs. West and Mr. Vernon nodded in agreement.
"Those are also my primary concerns, Mrs. Mooney," he reassured her. "I have suggestions that I will present for your consideration--"
"There are boundaries we need to discuss, Dr. Allen. I don't want you to get involved in the other law suits." The Superintendent's face reddened.. "Stay away from those issues, no matter what you hear."
"Other law suits?" Luke knew of only one law suit involving the removal of a coach. He had been assured that it was being resolved out of court.
"The public knows about one law suit, Dr. Allen. The Board's directed me to resolve the others before they become public." Cleveland Combs' mounting rage caught Luke off-guard.
It was the Chairman of the Board who softened the anger that had filled the air."You'll have our full support in bringing the school and the community together, Dr. Allen. Our full support. You have my word on that." For the first time in his administrative career, Luke Allen was unable to assess the emotional scenario he was witnessing.
Dell Groce's eyes narrowed as he turned to his Superintendent. "Can we return to our agenda?" It was not a request.
The Superintendent nodded abruptly, rocked back in his chair and began to scratch at a spot on the back of his head. The muscles in his jaws flexed, as if chewing unspoken words. His demeanor did not change as each Board member summarized sections of a prepared report. One hour and twenty-three minutes later, Combs addressed Luke Allen without eye contact.
"Dr. Allen, I'll meet with you to discuss any questions you may have. If the Board has nothing else, I'll see you at the press conference in the morning." Luke left the room, relieved that he had a written report to peruse.
Behind him, walls and doors could not contain the shouts of angry men and the hysterical voice of a former elementary teacher who loved children.
"Kids who go to Sunday School don't make pipe bombs....."
Luke Allen felt as if he had been handed a pipe bomb.
••••
Luke folded his tie and jacket on the seat of the jeep and turned toward the din of voices behind the fence. "Dr. Allen? Hi." A woman had stepped from behind the garage, holding a soda in one hand and a beer in the other. "Take one and I'll give you a welcoming hand." He took the soda from her right hand. "Luke Allen," he offered. Her hand, though firm and steady, had retained the coolness of the can. "I'm Celia Norman. Welcome to Balsam Valley." Luke followed her through a gated path to the pool behind her home.
Fortunately, a soft breeze dissipated Celia Norman's heavy cologne. Luke sniffed to hold back a sneeze. "Summer cold?" she asked. "Must be something in the air." Only Ginny knew of his allergies to all things Avon.
"Breeze is blowing through the north pass. That means rain this time of year. It won't take you long to learn to read the winds." She turned to walk backwards as she shared this tidbit of lore. He watched the shimmer of light off her copper brown hair. (She's a bottle brunette, Ginny would clarify.) Luke sneezed. Celia stopped suddenly, stooped to gently pull a leaf off a plant beside the walkway and handed it to Luke. "Break this and sniff it." He did as he was instructed. His sinuses cleared immediately. "Phew -- what is it?" She smiled. "Just a medicinal herb. I'll give you a cutting later." She had moved closer to him. He stepped back to sniff the leaf again. "My wife's the gardener, best that you give it to her when she arrives."
The Principal and Assistant Principal Association met monthly at locations hosted alternately by administrators in the six Balsam Valley schools. Meetings normally focused on current problems, funding and team-building. It was the Association president's responsibility to submit concerns and reports to the Superintendent. Conduct and decorum varied with the location of meetings. The meeting that Luke Allen entered was a private, informal gathering of local school administrators, half of whom were noticeably drunk.
"Folks, meet Dr. Luke Allen." Her shrill voice silenced the guffaws of joke-tellers and the mutterings of a small group that huddled around a table. A muscular young man in his mid-thirties hoisted himself from the pool. "We've heard a lot about you, Dr. Allen. I'm Ken Holmes, one of your assistants."
The evening passed quickly and congenially. As each administrator introduced himself, Luke registered a mental association. Celia Norman was the only female. Ken Holmes, former baseball coach and had been recently appointed assistant principal. His third assistant, Darrell Thorton, rose unsteadily from a lounge by the pool and introduced himself as the curriculum director at the high school. "Pardon my impediment," he slurred. "My tongue becomes disabled when I drink."
Only one principal was under the age of fifty and each was a native of Balsam Valley. "You are the first outsider in four years," noted Layell Moses, principal of the smallest elementary school in the Valley. "Who was the other?" Luke asked. "Your predecessor. He left for the Bahamas last month." Luke made a mental note to contact him.
"Steaks are ready!" Celia Norman announced. They ate at clustered tables, discussing the budget freeze that the Board had imposed, subject to receipt of state allocations. "Is that a normal practice?" Luke asked. "It is for this district," he was advised. "Seems as if we have a habit of overspending to ensure that we lose nothing," contributed Manny Billings, the middle school principal. "Smaller school districts have to be resourceful," he added.
Luke was tired and wanted to talk with Ginny. "Early morning for me, folks," using the colloquial expression he had heard others use. "Let's have lunch soon," Stan Logan, the PAPA president suggested. "Sure," Luke responded. Celia Norman rose to escort him to his car. "Not necessary," he told her. "I remember the way. Good night to everyone. Celia, Darrell and Ken --- see you in the morning."
••••
Rusty was standing in the drive as the jeep approached. "Missed me, huh." Rusty jumped to Luke's chest and delivered sloppy dog-kisses to his face. "I missed you, too." Luke embraced the dog. "Let's call our best friend. You need to tell her you miss her."
Ginny answered on the first ring. "So how's it going?" she asked.
"Would you accept a collect obscene telephone call, ma'am?"
"No, but my husband will. Just a minute."
"Stop it. I'm too tired to laugh."
"So who's laughing?"
"It was a long day. I need you with me."
"I'll be there tomorrow afternoon, Hon."
"Not soon enough. You're missing the first rain on our new roof."
"There'll be others to share. Get that bottle of wine from the cooler in back of the jeep. You may have two glasses after you take a hot shower."
"Thanks. I'll chill the wine until you're here."
"Tomorrow afternoon, Hon. I'll call you as soon as I arrive."
"I love you."
"Ditto."
••••
Although she was no longer a member of the School Leadership Team, media director Lucinda Switzer was determined to attend the breakfast meeting with the new principal. To wit, she had suggested that faculty members provide and serve breakfast in the school cafeteria. As self-appointed breakfast coordinator, she planned to arrive early. "You have only one chance for a first impression," she had reminded herself. She wanted to be the first to greet Luke Allen. It was Lucinda Switzer's nature to be first -- first to know, first to protest, first to complain, first to criticize, first to alibi. Failure to be reelected to the Leadership Team had been a first for her, as well. Those who engineered her defeat would pay, she had vowed to herself. They would pay as dearly as had the former principal who challenged her.
••••
After meeting with the Superintendent to submit his resignation, Clay Wellington had spent the rest of the night packing. He had buckled, he knew. He wanted to fight the allegations, but the Superintendent had convinced him that, win or lose, his career would be finished. "No one will hire you with this in your background," Combs had suggested. "Resign and put this behind you. I'll help you find another job. If you stay, they'll either drag you to court or word will get out and you'll be ruined."
He had written his resignation by hand. He was tired of meeting with Combs, having to recount again and again his denials. "Resign," Combs had offered, "and I'll do everything in my power to convince her parents to drop their threat to sue."
In the early morning hours, Clay Wellington, former science teacher at Balsam Valley Elementary School, sat down to compose a letter to his parents and sister. He wrote of his love for them and stated his solemn dying oath that, no matter what they may ever hear about him, he had never harmed or taken advantage of a child. Clay Wellington then removed a .357 handgun from his backpack and placed its barrel in his mouth.
••••
School secretary MayEllen Workman awakened twelve minutes before the alarm clock was to have sounded. Hearing no other sounds in the house, she moved quietly from her bed to a locked cupboard across the room. She did not want to waken her mother who slept down the hall. She removed a key from the chain around her neck and unlocked the cupboard.
In the faint dawn of morning, she carried her talisman, candles and potions to the window that faced the rising sun. This was her private altar before the Goddess. She cast her circle, banishing from it all negatives, allowing only love to remain within. She called the Quarters, began her ritual, and focused on the poppet in her hand.
She had fashioned the poppet in his likeness, made of cloth and cotton, attaching herbs for wisdom and guidance, including a handwritten note he had left in her office. She called upon her personal deities to give him strength in restoring peace and harmony to the school. Finishing her ritual and closing the circle, she left the poppet on the altar next to the burning candle.
Calmly energized, MayEllen Workman left her Sacred Space to prepare for the new day. Eighteen miles away, Luke Allen awakened, refreshed and eager to begin his first day as Principal of Balsam High School.
Somewhere out there, someone will be keeping score -- 