Chapter Nine - Troubled Times

An ear-piercing shriek rang through the house, followed by an even higher, more childlike voice frantically protesting.

"Muuuuummmm!!!!"

Sammi, stretched out on the lawn, could only smirk to herself.

Letting out that wormrat was a master stroke, she mused to herself. It was payback indeed.
She never did like that landlady at all, and found the old woman stuck-up and snobby.

The front door burst open and a white-faced woman charged down the steps, her face contorted with rage.

Following in hot pursuit, clutching something furry in his hands, was a red-haired little boy, his face almost as red as his hair.

"But, Mrs C," he protested anxiously, "she's not that bad at all! Really!"

His comments fell on deaf ears as the old woman ran blindly towards the old willow tree in the forecourt.



She stopped to catch her breath, glaring nastily towards the approaching little boy.

"Keep .... that..... away..... from.....me," she rasped, clutching her heart.

"But.... but....," Ewan's eyes began to fill with tears, "Rosie is safe, honest."

Finally, Mrs Cartwright gained her breath and her posture.

Towering over him, she glared down at the trembling little boy in front of her.

"I told your mother," she said, folding her arms and frowning, "no pets are allowed."

"But...but..... Rosie's no trouble at all."

Sammi lay listening to the conversation, grinning to herself.
It was just what that old biddy deserved. Especially the way she spoke to everyone. Always complaining about the noise, even when they tiptoed around the poky little apartment. And picking on poor shy little Ewan.

Sammi listened carefully hoping this time that her little brother would have the courage to stand up to this horrid, mean old woman.

Sadly, that wasn't to be.
Sitting up stiffly, she could see that she was getting the better of her kid brother after all.

Ewan drooped his head shamefully, tears rolled down his cheeks. Mrs Cartwright folded her arms, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

That grin vanished when she witnessed Ewan gently kissing the squirming wormrat between his short stubby fingers.



"Eugh!" she exclaimed, "that's disgusting."

Ewan glanced up at Mrs C, hot, angry tears flowed down his cheeks.

"No it's not!!" he squeaked.


Suddenly, without warning, a thin bony hand flashed across his cheek, sending Ewan reeling.
He let go of the wormrat which squealed with fright vanishing off into the bushes.

"That's for answering me back, you nasty little boy," Mrs C hissed.

Sammi leapt up and charged across to the old woman, her blood seething with rage.

"DON'T YOU DARE HIT MY BROTHER!!!" she screamed with fury.

Just then, Tess, their mother, appeared around the corner, her shoulders sagging from yet another failed job interview.


She could only look on in horror as she saw the scene before her.
Her son, scrabbling around the dirt and debris, her daughter having a stand up fight with their landlady.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON??" she bellowed, rushing to pry Sammi from the old woman.

Sammi was sobbing, her face bright red.

"She slapped Ewan!" Sammi protested.

Tess turned to Mrs C.

"Is this true?" she breathed, her fists clenching.

Mrs Cartwright pulled herself up, regaining her stiff composure and mechanically dusting her hands. Indeed, she was a formidable woman.

She looked haughtily down her nose at Tess, her thin lips twisted into a wry smile.

"He was cheeky to me," she replied, "and your daughter attacked me."

Sammi stepped forward to launch herself again, but Tess pinned her arms to her sides in a tight bear hug.

"I was protecting my brother," Sammi spat, pure hatred in her eyes.


"Sammi!" Tess murmured in her daughter's ear, "you're not making this any easier for us all. Cool it will you."

Sammi struggled against her mother's strength.

"Not until SHE apologises."

Mrs Cartwright stiffened, a cruel sneer played upon her thin, haggard face.

"I'm afraid this isn't working out for all of us" she intoned, "I'm afraid you'll all have to leave."

"WHAT????"

Tess loosened her grip on her daughter as the force of the old woman's statement hit her fully.


"You can't do that!!" she exclaimed breathlessly, "we have nowhere else to live."

The old woman sniffed.

"That's your problem, not mine," she replied, turning away, "besides, you'll find that I CAN do that. You broke several house rules. Up until now, I have been extremely lenient. Besides, I run a tight ship around here and you're kind are not welcome. I'll expect you all to vacate the premises as soon as possible."

The front door clicked shut.

Both mother and daughter looked at each other in stunned silence. The only other sound was that of Ewan, mewling softly.....

"Rosie! Rosie!"

Tess turned to her daughter, and Sammi's shoulders stiffened. She knew what was coming.


"What the hell just happened here?" her mother demanded, "and why aren't the two of you at school?"

Sammi felt herself tensing up. All her rage was boiling into a tight nucleus.

"For your information!" she screamed, "it was a study day. And lucky for me it was. Ewan was sent home sick."

"Don't you speak to me like that young lady!" Tess screamed back, "you know where I was. I was trying to find a job so that I can put food on the table."

By now, Ewan had given up his fruitless search for Rosie and was watching with growing distress over this fight between his mum and big sister.

Fresh tears coursed down his face as he witnessed the two of them tearing into each other.

Chapter Eight - New Surroundings

The sun shone brightly through the windows, as Alec arose.
Even though it was Sunday, he still got up early to get things organised.

At first, he was confused with the unfamiliar surroundings. But soon acclimatised himself to his new home.

Glancing out of the window, his breath caught in his throat.



The view was spectacular indeed, even with the low lying mist that seemed to envelop the lower grounds.

He still couldn't believe that he'd actually managed to acquire this farmhouse.
Expecting to be up all night, Alex had been pleasantly surprised at how quickly he'd fallen asleep.

Mind you, that was simply because he'd spent a good majority of the day, busying himself with unpacking everything he'd brought along with him.

Yawning widely, Alec got dressed and wandered into the bathroom.


Grimacing, he glanced in the mirror at his reflection.
No matter how he tried, his hair always seemed to stick up all over the place.

Hastily brushing his fingers through his thick, dry hair, he heard a whistling sound from outside.

Peering out of the window, he saw a young girl carrying a heavy sack on her shoulders, busying herself with delivering newspapers.

He hadn't realised that this area was part of the 'rounds', due to it's remoteness, but he smiled to himself.

At least someone else was up, just as early as himself.

Fixing himself a cup of coffee and a croissant (you just can't take the 'city' out of the boy), he settled down in front of the computer to check on his progress.


So far, he'd only managed to acquire properties to rent out.
There was one other property in this vicinity.
A small cottage, just over the hill.

That he'd successfully rented out to a colleague of his.

Brooke Isaac.

Although they worked together, theirs was a purely platonic relationship.
Besides, she was already in a relationship with another man.
Alec had well and truly missed the boat with this woman, and he knew it.

Buying and selling properties had always been his speciality and he managed to raise a substantial amount of money from it all.

But his latest project, was to be the biggest headache of all.

Since buying the farmhouse, he'd been buying up land by the mass, in the surrounding countryside.

His plans were to build up a small housing estate from the surrounding wastelands.

Ambitious?

Yes.

Especially when one plot of land totally eluded him.
And already, squatters had begun to park their trailers there.


Satisfied that his accounts were up to date, and all deliveries and deadlines had been met, Alex settled down to a quiet bit of reading, when the door bell rang.

Wondering who would be up and about at this hour, he cautiously answered the door.....

.... to a pretty young lady with long brown hair and huge brown eyes.



"Hello Alex," she said, coolly, "I see you've managed to settle in okay then."

"Hi Brooke," he replied, smiling.


But she never returned the smile at all. She was here on serious business.

"As you're currently unavailable by telephone," she remarked sarcastically, "I thought I'd come by in person."

Alec blushed, as he always did in her presence.
There was something about her that did that to him.

"I was taking a shower this morning," she pressed on, meeting his stare with one of her own, "when there was a bang, followed by gushing water. Can you take a look at it?"

"Oh."

Alec was startled momentarily.

"I'll..... I'll.... get one of my contractors to take a look at it."

"Taking a look at it, won't fix it you know!" she replied harshly, her hands on her hips, "I've got my dad living with me, and he's not the best man to get along with."

"Oh, I'm sorry,"

"Sorry doesn't cut it either. He'll not let this rest, along with a few other things that are going on in my life at present. So I suggest you get it fixed now!"


"Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?" Alec suggested.

He could see that Brooke was getting severely stressed out and thought that she needed something to calm her down.

"I'd rather not, thank you," she replied tersely.

"It'll take a few minutes to contact Nigel," he replied, hitting the hot key on his cell phone, "besides, it's fresh."

Brooke eyed him skeptically.

Out of the office, he was a totally different man.
But that still didn't make him any more approachable or appealing.

In fact.

Apart from his unruly hair, there's was nothing remotely interesting about Alec Thompson that would appeal to Brooke at all.

He dressed in dull clothing and he was always over polite.

Now Deano......

...... that was another matter.

Chapter Seven

A Gypsy's Prophecy

Jerome had always been regarded as an 'odd' fellow.
Even his family thought he was slightly weird, taking great care in scrutinizing every minute little detail.

As a child, he was thoughtful and extremely shy.
He'd sit for hours, just watching a bee, buzzing lazily along on it's merry way.


Even after his older brothers were drafted into the army, Jerry, as he preferred to be called, would be found, pinning dead butterflies to boards, chatting on line to folks and generally keeping himself to himself.

Even at college, a time of great upheaval and change, he still maintained his quiet, dignified air about him.

So it was no surprise, when he graduated, that he'd already picked out a prime area of land, here in CloverDale.

It was situated on a one way street, overlooking the lake and stark mountains, nestled in a dell.

Once his humble home had been built (no thanks to a few 'donations' from the family funds), Jerry decided to settle down.


He still had a passion of butterflies, however. And he would be seen, throughout the summer and early autumn, trying to catch a few of them, unsuccessfully.

It was during one long, hot spell, that much to his chagrin, he spotted a gypsy woman approaching.

It would have deemed rude of him not to greet her, but his upbringing taught him to be polite at all times.

Groaning loudly, he dragged his heels through the house, just to say hello.
Otherwise she could have been there all day, just hanging around his front garden.

Smiling widely, her crooked teeth showing, the gypsy woman gazed at Jerry intently.
It made Jerry feel particularly uncomfortable and he wished he'd chased her away.

But coming from a family steeped in superstitious beliefs, he thought it wise to hear what she had to say.


"I see you have a kind face," she whispered, her voice sounded like dry autumn leaves.

He groaned inwardly.

Yep, that old familiar first line.
It never failed.

He smiled.

She held out her hand, it was thin and bony, the skin almost transparent.

"Cross my palm with silver," she continued, "and I shall tell you your future."

Reluctantly, Jerry fished in his pockets and came up with a handful of coins.

"I'm sorry," he said apologetically, "that's all I have until I get myself a job."

She eyed him warily, feeling the weight of the coins in her hand.
Then she nodded, casting her eyes around at the small, yet humble house he'd built, it's red tin roof rapidly drying from the morning dew.

"Very well," she said heavily, "I shall make allowances only this once."


With that, she pulled a large glass orb from the carpet bag she'd been carrying, and polished it vigorously.

Peering intently into the crystal ball, she looked up at Jerry, her eyes wide with interest.
Then she smiled again. This time a lot more widely. Those crooked teeth making Jerry's stomach churn violently.

"Hmm, that interesting."

By now, all Jerry wanted to do, was to get rid of her.

But being the polite gentleman that he was, he couldn't bring himself to do it, fearing the dreadful curses the gypsy woman might cast upon him and his house.

"I see a tall dark-haired woman, coming into your life."

He groaned inwardly.
The typical 'you will meet and fall in love' scenario.

She looked back into the ball, her face darkened slightly.

"She comes from afar," she continued, her eyes narrowing slightly, "but beware. She's a mystery to you and if you're not careful, she'll break your heart."

It took all of Jerry's restraint not to roll his eyes at her.

By now, the sun had crossed the sky and was passing behind the clouds.
A slight breeze sprang up and caused Jerry to yawn involuntarily.

"I'm so sorry," he said, apologising vehemently, "I didn't mean to appear rude.... it's just the fret from the lake. I kinda does that to me."

She nodded, understanding.

"I suppose I did overstay my welcome a little bit," she admitted, "I guess I'd better be on my way."

She cast a knowing look around her at the house and surrounding area.

"Hmm," she said, partly to herself, "who would have guessed that this was here?"

She turned back to Jerry, her light watery eyes twinkling.

"Maybe it was destiny that caused me to wander down this street?" she grinned, slipping her crystal ball back into her bag, "Or was it sheer curiosity?"

She shrugged her thin shoulders.

"Who knows?"

She winked mischievously, before waving goodbye and vanishing back down the same way she's arrived.

Jerry watched as the top of her head vanished over the ridge of the hill.
His stomach grumbled loudly and he glanced at his watch.

"Goodness!" he thought, "look at the time! No wonder I'm hungry!"

He sauntered into the kitchen, raiding the cupboards for something quick and easy.
Not feeling brave enough to try his hand at the oven, and it being too hot a day to cook a meal, he opted for a lunch meat sandwich.


But as he spread the mustard thinly over the slice of meat, he began to think about the gypsy woman's words.

A dark-haired woman.

A dark-haired woman.

Chapter Six - Father Thomas' New Assignment

Father Thomas sat outside the Bishop's office, shuffling his feet nervously.
It felt like school again.

Waiting for the headmaster to administer punishment.

But surely His Grace wouldn't be THAT cruel to him?

The prospects of going back into the city, fill Father Thomas with dread and fear.

While he waited, he dreamed back to the very first night he spent at the mission.
It was well past midnight and everybody had retired to bed.

Unfortunately, because of the time difference, Father Thomas couldn't sleep.


So he found himself sitting on the beach, gazing out in awe at the magnificent ocean before him.

The way the waves crashed against the sand bank and rocks. The white froth illuminating against the moonlight. It was startlingly beautiful.

It was here that Father Thomas had discovered his own inner peace.
And it was here that ritually, every night, for a whole year, once he'd finished administering to his flock, he'd sit cross-legged, quietly contemplating.

Thankful for the rich beauty and simplicity that surrounded him.

The door creaked open, breaking Thomas out of his reverie. Bishop Nathan Bartholomew stepped out, his sharp grey eyes travelling critically over this young man, seated before him.
Thomas looked up at him expectantly.

But all he received, was a curt nod of the head.
Thomas felt his heart sink.



"Would you like to come into my office?" asked Nathan, stepping to one side to let Thomas pass.

The door clicked shut and Nathan turned to face Thomas.

"I'll come straight to the point," he said, hardly giving Thomas the time to sit down, "you've been languishing in that tropical paradise for far too long, hiding behind your cassock. It's about time you came back to earth with a heavy bump."


All Thomas could do was to nod his head in agreement.

"Yes, Your Grace," he said humbly.

This was it.
The moment he'd been dreading all through the long journey home.

"Considering your past history," Nathan continued, "I have come to the conclusion that you're not suitable for city work after all."

Thomas' head snapped up.
Was he hearing things correctly?
Was His Grace giving him a reprieve after all?

"However, I feel that you should be given an assignment that would truly test your mettle and faith once and for all."

Nathan smiled warmly, and patted Thomas on the shoulder.

"Don't look so worried," he assured him, "I have good faith in you."

Thomas' mind was in a whirl.
What could His Grace possibly have up his sleeve for him?

Nathan sighed, picking up a sheaf of papers.
Adjusting his spectacles, he read quickly through the first sheet and looked up at Thomas, who was waiting expectantly.



"Due to the rising crime rate in the city," he said, handing the papers to Thomas, "it has been agreed that something has got to be done about the youth of today."

He paused, taking off his spectacles and wiping them with a cloth.

"We have decided to found a boarding school for wayward teenage boys."


Thomas wondered how and why that had something to do with him, but he kept his mouth shut and continued to listen.

"We scoured far and wide for the perfect location," Nathan continued, "however, the farmhouse we deemed suitable, had already been taken. So we had to use another location."

He handed Thomas the papers.

"Here's the address, you're expected there as soon as possible."

Thomas' jaw dropped open.

His assignment was a boarding school for teenage boys?

That was truly unexpected.
It was literally a world away from the mission he'd been working at not 48 hours ago.

And he wondered what trials and tribulations lay ahead for him.

Chapter Five - Father Comes to Stay

The sun shone brightly, bringing out the vibrant colours in the garden.
Brooke stood up, stretching her strained back and looked proudly upon all her hard work.


She felt the sun, prickling on the back of her neck and was thankful that she'd remembered to thicken on the sun cream.


"There," she thought, wiping the soil from her hands, "that looks a lot better."

The garden was her pride and joy, and everybody who passed by, made comments of approval at Brooke's green thumb.

The only one she really needed to please....

.... was her elderly father.

She looked at her watch and her heart sank.
He'd be here, any time soon.

Brooke kicked off the gardening shoes at the kitchen doorway and sprinted indoors to freshen herself up.

She changed from her usual 'slobs' as she called them, into a pretty outfit, brushing her hair out.

She never put make up on.
It was lost on her father, who disapproved of everything Brooke did.

From as far back as she could remember, he would ritually direct comments of disapproval at her.

"What are you wearing THAT for? It makes you look too fat!"

"You're putting far too much lipstick on. That colour looks as though you've got a gash instead of a mouth."

More recently, it turned into ....

"I can't see how you're ever going to get married if you work all those hours."


"You're working yourself too hard. look how skinny you've become, you'll waste away to nothing if you're not careful."

And his particular favourite....



"I don't know what you see in that Deano Gray, he's trouble I tell you. And what sort of name is Deano, for goodness sake? Why don't you go out with someone nice.... like that Alec Thompson. He's rich, has his own house and is single."

It always ended up with Frank pointing out the obvious.

But Brooke regarded Alec as 'boring' and 'dull as dishwater.'

Brooke fussed around the house, checking to see if everything was just right.

She grimaced at the old, worn chair that had arrived last week, but she knew that it was going to be a permanent fixture from now on.

After his wife's death, three years ago, Frank had struggled to cope on his own.
Sadly, one cold Winter's day, he fell down the stairs and broke his hip.

The house that Brooke lived in, was more than substantial. So, reluctantly, she agreed to let her father move in.

What used to be her 'crafts room', was now converted into a bedroom. Some of her father's treasures and furniture, had been brought in. The rest was either donated to charities, thrown out or the most valuable items sold.

The profits made from the sale of the family home, boosted up his bank account substantially, but still, he insisted on wearing the same, shabby clothing day in day out.

Brooke peered out of the window, just in time to see the taxi pull up.
Even before he opened the door, she heard his loud protestations and complaints.

Brooke groaned inwardly.

Her father was in a bad mood and she knew he'd be like that all day.

What was she letting herself in for?

Meanwhile, Frank sat complaining about the costly taxi fare.


He was dreading this.

He knew that Brooke didn't want him there at all.
She made that quite clear, the moment she picked up her bags and moved out of the family home, all those years ago.

But circumstances, and a fractured hip, soon put paid to his own freedom.

Still, he couldn't help marvelling at the beautiful countryside, as the taxi zipped past.

He remembered how this was all farmland, as far as the eye could see.
It was a shame that this land had now given itself up for developers.

His own daughter had been one of the first people to snap up the first houses built, and he was prepared to hate it with a passion.

But he was taken by surprise, when he saw the pretty little garden at the front of the property.
It wasn't quite as wild as Frannie's, his late wife's garden, but it was stunning all the same.

At least Brooke had inherited something from them anyway.

If only she'd get her head out of the clouds and see for herself, what her future could be like.

She didn't go to University just to become a waitress.

That business degree was gathering dust, as she plodded on.

And that no good Deano guy.

He had Brooke wrapped around his little finger, and Brooke was so blinded that she couldn't see it at all.

Brooke stepped out of the front door to greet him, her jet black hair long and loose.
For a moment there, he was taken back a few years.

She looked just like her mother, standing there in the bright sunlight.


But he STILL couldn't resist a typical moan and groan.

"Why haven't you fenced this all in?" he complained, crossing his arms, "you know how strays are. They'll come in here, dig it all up, urinate all over and generally ruin everything."

Brooke shook her head.


Nothing had ever changed.

Chapter Four - Reminiscing

Father Thomas grasped his seat as the car leapt over pot holes and ruts in the road.

"Whoa there! Steady on!" he shouted, his head nearly hitting the roof of the car, "are you trying to kill us both? What were you in a past life, a stunt driver?"

Father Simon slowed down, grinning widely.

"Close enough," he replied, "a rally driver."

"It figures."

Thomas turned to Simon.

"I never asked how you found God."

"That was easy." came the reply, "I was involved in a headlong collision."

Thomas gasped.

"Oh no no, not on the track. Oh no! It was a gang of joyriders, out for kicks."

He shook his head sorrowfully.

"They were barely of legal age, yet they managed to steal a car and go for a drive."

Thomas scrutinising his face. The scars were there, although they'd faded to a silver colour now.

"It was touch and go for a while," Simon continued, "I lost a lot of blood, and my legs had been shattered."

"Shocking!"

Simon laughed then, causing Thomas to look at him quizzically.

"I guess you're wondering how I can find something so amusing from such a tragedy."

"I am actually."

"It's my sense of humour. I never lost that at all. And also the fact that I always have trouble when passing through security gates."

Thomas, not quite understanding, smiled nonetheless.
Simon chuckled.

"I've got metal pins in my legs," he explained, "for a while, I couldn't walk, but my determination pulled through. It's really hilarious going through those alarmed security gates though. I often crack a few jokes with the security staff whenever the alarms go off! It's quite funny, really."

Thomas marvelled at Simon's bravery and good humour.
How he wished he'd been like that, facing adversity with a broad grin instead of running and hiding.

The vegetation cleared and the airport came into view.
It was a stark contrast to the relatively untouched villages he'd visited.

The concrete and steel building stuck out like a sore thumb, hideous in it's structure, but suitable nonetheless in it's practicality.

A couple of planes screamed overhead and the rhythmic thwock thwock of a helicopter buzzed past.

Apart from that, it was fairly quiet.

Simon pulled into the car park and they both got out.
As Simon took out the suitcase, Thomas glanced around.

A slight breeze rustled at the palm trees making a hissing noise.

Boy, he was really going to miss this place.

They stood at the front entrance, slightly uncomfortable in each other's presence.


"Take care of little Muhana," Thomas said, eventually, "she may look cute, but boy, is she a handful. She has a habit of playing amongst the cacti if you don't watch her."

He sighed wistfully.

"She takes after her father....speaking of which, that young boy needs a little guidance. He's got a roving eye, even though he's married. He just needs to be steered in the right direction."

"Don't worry Father Thomas," soothed Simon, "they're all going to be alright. You'll see."

Thomas nodded, unsure, a worried look on his face.

"Don't worry," he assured him, "as soon as Jumbahan learns how to read and write, I'll make sure she sends you a goodwill letter."

Thomas' eyes opened wide.

"How did.....?"

"She told me herself."

Thomas chuckled.

"She's a sneaky one," he said, "I always caught her following me on several occasions and trying her hardest to conceal herself behind one of the banana trees."

"Ah yes, she asked me how you knew she was there. She thought you were the eyes and ears of God himself and he'd whispered in your ear."

Thomas leaned in close.

"Let her believe that," he whispered, "but between you and me, it was her footprints in the sand that was the giveaway."

"Oh, you wicked man!" sniggered Simon.

Thomas glanced at his watch and patted his pocket.

"Oh well," he said, sighing deeply, "I guess it's time to go."

They embraced, albeit a little awkwardly, tears glistening in Father Thomas' eyes.

"Safe journey dear brother," said Simon, his grin faltering slightly, "may God be with you."

"May God be with you too, brother," came the heavy reply, "take care of everybody and tell them I'll be thinking of them."

"I will."



Simon stood and watched as Thomas carried his suitcase into the airport and checked in.

It was better this way.

He couldn't abide long, sad goodbyes.

Besides, he had a flock of villagers awaiting for his words of wisdom.
Easing himself into the battered old car, he pulled out of the car park and drove off, back into the dense vegetation. Back to the village.

Meanwhile, for Father Thomas, time seemed to rush along at an alarming speed.

Before he knew it, he was boarding the plane and getting settled into his seat.
He glanced out of the window, he felt low and sorrowful.


He wasn't alone on the flight, however. There was a smattering of people travelling along with him. Some, on business trips, were using this airport to transfer flights, others were simply family, coming back home from their visits.

During the long flight, they chatted to each other.
It was all basically small talk, but still, it was soothing to Father Thomas' ear, and it kept his mind occupied.



But sooner or later, that plane would be hitting tarmac and he'd be stepping out into yet another new life.

He was afraid, nervous, apprehensive.

But curious all the same.

Chapter Three - Father Thomas is Sent Home

Father Thomas Maguire sat, cross-legged on the beach, deep in thought.
It was on one of those rarest of moments, when he preferred his own solitude, as he watched the waves crashing up onto the shore.

'Has it really been a whole year?' he wondered.

The year had flown by quite quickly, in his own mind's eye, as he pondered the future.

Everything had been going well.


He'd helped to establish the mission, and the villagers loved him so much.
He'd help out with the births of a few babies, and nursed many sick people back to health.

But suddenly, out of the blue, he received a letter from Bishop Nathan Bartholomew, demanding his return home, and requesting an audience.

Father Thomas was distraught at the very thoughts of returning home.

He knew what was waiting for him there.
Crime, prostitution, drugs, gang wars.

It was those very things that almost drove him to despair. His faith had been well and truly tested.

But here, he found peace and solitude among these people.
People who'd accepted him into their world without question.
Who'd hung onto every word he said, their faces alight with wonder at his preachings.

Sadly, for Father Thomas, he'd had no choice in the matter.
Already a replacement had been sent.


Father Simon wandered down to the beach, in search of Father Thomas and saw him sitting, in a world of his own.

"You know," he said softly, "you can dream your whole life away here."

Thomas closed his eyes, trying to ignore Simon, desperate to commit these images into his own memories.

"I hate to rush you," Simon continued, but your flight leaves pretty soon and you still haven't packed.

Thomas stood up and brushed away the sand from his cassock.
For once in his life, he felt angry.

He was being taken away from all of this.
This beautiful paradise.

And for what?
What possible task did the Bishop have for him this time?

Was he being stationed in the big city again?


That thought filled him with dread as he strode angrily up to Simon.

"Can't a man have a moment's peace?" he shouted, "that's all I ask. Just a single moment's peace."

Simon stood silently, a tight smile on his lips.

"As you wish," he said simply, "just let me know when you're ready."

He headed towards the mission, a simple wooden structure embedded deep amongst the vegetation.


In the meantime, Thomas went back to the beach and sat back down.
The sea breezes brushed lightly at his face as he sat awhile, still contemplating his own future.

Admittedly, he had run away from his problems, back in the city.
And he used this village as a means of escape from the harsh realities of life.

He realised that he had to return eventually.
He just wasn't too sure if he was ready or not.

Groaning heavily, he arose and headed back towards the mission.


There he saw Father Simon, playing with one of the children.
Little Muhana.

She was his first baptised child, and he recalled how she'd squirmed in his arms as he performed the solemn ceremony.
How her parents looked on happily, proud of their little daughter.

It was then that Father Thomas knew.

They were all in safe hands. His work was done. It was time to move on.

He coughed discreetly and Simon turned to look at him.

"I'm ready," he said, dragging the battered old suitcase into the boot of the car.

Simon smiled knowingly.

They both got into the car.


"I'll drive you to the airport," he offered.

"But you hardly know the way!" spluttered Thomas, "you haven't been here long enough.!"

Simon laughed heartily.

"I'm a fast learner," he quipped, dragging the decrepit old banger into first gear.

There was a long pause. Thomas turned to Simon.

"I'd like to apologise."

"Whatever for?"

"For my angry outburst just then. I really shouldn't have done that to you."

"It's fine. Besides, you've become attached to these people. I'd feel exactly the same way, if I was in your shoes."

The car jerked forward, spluttered once or twice, coughing out a plume of black carbon.

Some of those still remaining in the village, ran out to wave their goodbyes, as the car vanished through the dense vegetation.

Father Thomas' heart felt heavy at the prospects of returning home.
But it was going to be a whole new adventure.
That's for sure.

Chapter Two - A Chance Discovery

Many years had passed and the beautiful farmlands had vanished. The silos had long since rusted away to nothing. The barn collapsed into a pile of rotted timber.

Yet the CloverDale Farmhouse still remained.
A monument of happier times.

It had yet gone unsold, because of the high risks of flooding.
And the estate agent was getting frantic.

Such a prime piece of property, such as this wonderful, lovingly built farmhouse, should indeed be sold to the perfect client.

But none came to pass and it stood, through wind and rain, harsh winters and bleaching sunshine.
Until it's paint began to peel and fade in places.

Even a reduction in price failed to snag any buyers.

Until one bright sunny day.

Alec Thompson, desperate for a break, decided to go for a drive.

It was by good luck and good fortune that he made a wrong turn and ended up driving through some of the most beautiful countryside unimaginable.

The scenery that opened up before him was breathtaking, to say the least.
Mountains rising up towards the sky, a deep dark lake at their base and, smack bang, right in the middle of the rolling countryside.....

... a single, solitary farmhouse.

Magnificent in it's structure.

Pulling up outside, Alec gave a gasp.


Even though the paint was faded and peeling from the harsh elements, to him, it was the most beautiful piece of property he'd ever laid his eyes on.

Taking careful note of the For Sale sign hammered haphazardly into the ground outside, Alec promised to find out more about this farmhouse.

He was even charmed by the hand carved sign that read CloverDale.

This was his dream home.

Admittedly, he realised it was a fixer-upper, but that wasn't going to stop him at all.

He hadn't reckoned on finding a house. His apartment was more than adequate.
But there was something about this place that intrigued him.

He checked his cell phone, hoping to make that call right now.

Sadly, because of the high mountains, he was well out of range for his phone network.
"Oh well," he thought, slipping his cell phone back in his pocket, "that can soon be remedied."

He wandered briefly around the farmhouse, checking out it's structure and marvelled at the many terraces that jutted out all over this three-story structure.

Hopping back into his car, he took off, heading back towards work, a slight pang of regret as he peered into his rear view mirror and saw CloverDene farmhouse disappearing from view.

He hoped and prayed that it had not yet been sold.
Judging by the faded For Sale sign, it hadn't....
...yet.

But he couldn't be certain.
He really needed to know.

Chronicles of Clover Dale - Prologue

Chapter One - CloverDale Farm

George Dale and his wife Elspeth loved their farm, CloverDale.
Surrounded by mountains in every direction, and a deep, dark blue lake to the West of their farmhouse, they couldn't have wished for anything more beautiful.


Set on a slight incline, they had a bird's eye view of everything around them, the perfectly ploughed fields and the thick, lush woodlands that spread wildly around the rising hills.


Their farm was aptly named, because of the field of brightly coloured clover that Elspeth saw, whenever she opened her bedroom window every morning.


It was a prosperous farm, that had been in the family for generations, providing organic supplements to the neighbouring towns.
Root vegetables and grains, were George's speciality.

He knew and understood the agrarian rules of farming. Always rotate your crops, make sure at least one field remains fallow, to allow nutrients to flourish in the rich soil.

Dutifully, he did that, year in year out.


Theirs was a truly magnificent farmhouse.
Crops were in such an abundance, that George was forced to build more silos to keep up with demand.

It was a happy place, where everyday, George would plough the fields and Elspeth would bake.
The only sadness was the fact that Elspeth couldn't bear children.

This didn't become a problem until after the great disaster.

As explained earlier, George stuck rigidly to the rules of agriculture, rotating his crops every year.

What he didn't prepare for, was a very bad summer.
Heavy rain cascaded down the mountains, causing the lake to flood, waterlogging all of George's ploughed fields.

It lasted for days, and by the time it was over, many crops were ruined, beyond repair.
And just when he thought it was all over, a terrible blight wiped out the rest of his crops.

No matter how he tried from then on, he couldn't regain his former glory, struggling to make ends meet.

It didn't help matters when Elspeth was diagnosed with the early stages of dementia.
He often found her, wandering around the barn, clad only in a thin nightie.
She needed round the clock care and that cost money.
In the end, he was forced to sell all of his lands, including the farmhouse, to cater for her needs.

The farmhouse was left alone, as it's structure was pretty sound.
But the rest of the land was snapped up by developers.

And so, CloverDale village was born.