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.

Introduction

Hi everyone, this is a first for me actually, cutting my teeth on a blog, so many apologies for any gaffes and errors along the way.

As some folks will already know, I am the site manager of a Sims Forum called CosyCornerSims2 (blatant plug) and we have a story section there, where our site members can upload their own particular brands of stories.

I was also responsible for the story Raven, which was removed from the public, pending a rewrite.
But don't worry folks, she's keen to get her story told to you all.

But for now, I'll be giving you (possibly, depending on work schedules etc.) a whole new story to read.

It's very loosely (and I mean, VERY loosely based) on the Royal Kingdom Challenge.
But without the restrictions of social class.

I hope you enjoy reading it, as much as I'll enjoy writing it.

Sonia