Section I, Next Section

Dedicated to my sister
Isabella Augusta Skapski
1953-1958
Struck down by a drunk driver, her life barely begun.
She left a hole in our lives that could never be filled. With love - always.

Chapter One

Posted on Wednesday, 19 February 2003, at 4:07 p.m.

The monotonous roar of the Greyhound's engines could not drown out Bella's thoughts. It wasn't the first time she was wondering if she had made a big mistake, but the town she had left behind held nothing for her, and she knew it. It was dying. Ever since the pulp mill had closed four years ago and her father had lost his job. He had insisted that she go to college, but he hadn't been able to find other work. How was she to know he had re-mortgaged the house to pay for her courses at Camosun College? Who could have foreseen that a logging truck would come out from nowhere and total the little Sunbird, killing both her parents, and leaving her and Layla alone in the world? Cut loose. Adrift. Why did people insist on blaming her father for the accident, even though he wasn't even driving? No one mentioned it to her directly, but she heard what was said behind her back. She knew the feeling of entering a noisy room to find it become deathly quiet. And for the talk to start up again as soon as she left. Small towns could be harsh.

There was no will. The house was lost. Bella and Layla were left to the compassion of their Aunt Phillips. Bella's second year of college was aborted, one month before the end of term. She was in a numb state of limbo that could not cope with class schedules or project deadlines. At that time she couldn't even paint, let alone write essays or open her art history text. It had been a year since the accident, and now she could paint, she could write, she could read her textbooks, but Aunt Phillips said those things were unimportant, unnecessary, and it was high time she found herself a job. A job in a town where most of the adults were out of work, UI payments run out, and on welfare. And she was a lousy waitress. She'd been told that last week when she'd been let go after less than a month on the job.

"You're doing me a favour, Bob," she said when he gave her notice, "so I'll do you one. I won't finish the week. I'll leave right now." And she had taken her apron off and walked out without looking back.

Then there was Layla. She was only 18, but when she'd run off with that trailer trash, George Wicks, in his rusted out 68 Camaro convertible, their aunt hadn't lifted a finger to stop her.

"At least she's taken some initiative to support herself," Aunt Phillips had said.

"She's going to be living on welfare!"

"George has money."

"Aunt! He runs a grow op! What happens when he gets busted?"

"He's too smart for the cops," said her aunt confidently.

George Wicks, with his tattoos, cut off jean-jacket, and his black cowboy boots had her aunt under his spell too. The man had charm - if you liked the trailer trash variety. Bella had to admit that when she was in grade ten and had first seen him walking down the halls of her high school, she had developed a crush on him. He wasn't tall, but he was wiry and muscular, and he had a way of looking at you that weakened the knees. But one date with him had been enough to cure her. He was posturing constantly; all image and no substance. And his grammar was terrible. She remembered the other girls laughing at her when she said she wouldn't go out with him again because of his bad grammar.

"I don't care what he talks like, the guy is hot!" said Ashley Varcek. She dated him for three weeks until he dumped her. And nine months later when the baby was born most people did say there was a resemblance.

Bella's aunt hadn't left her alone.

"Look, you been moping round this house for a year, and you get fired from the only job you ever got. I can't support you. The money we got when the house was sold is gone. You need to get a job, go on welfare, or take up with a guy like Layla's done. Even Frank says so."

Uncle Frank. He was always following Bella with his eyes. He was on a disability pension and barely left the house. Aunt Phillips worked at the hair stylists, crimping and bluing old ladies' hair, spiking and dying the young girls' pink, and hiding the middle-aged women's grey roots. Bella spent more and more time away from the house as the weather was getting a little warmer. March on the beach was windy and cold, but it was better than having those watery eyes constantly trailing you.

"With your hoity-toity college education, why can't you find a job?" Uncle Frank's voice was a nasal whine.

"I studied art, and I didn't even get a degree!"

"What your father was thinking letting you waste his good money on that useless education, I'll never know!" said her aunt. It was one of her favourite litanies. Bella knew what was coming next, so she left the room. She would not listen to a word against her father. He was the best man she had ever known. He had encouraged her to follow her dreams and not get stuck in a go nowhere job like he had. There was nothing he had regretted more than dropping out of university. But he had a wife and child to support, and everyone said millwork was secure. He never regretted his daughters, especially Bella who shared his interests in reading and art.

Bella had gone to her room, pulled down her backpack and stuffed books and clothing into it at random. And her art supplies; she could never leave those. She grabbed a towel and shampoo from the bathroom, shrugged into her jacket and walked past her aunt and uncle and out the front door. She turned and gave them one last look.

"Don't expect to see me again," she said and then she slammed the door behind her. She felt such a swelling of liberation, and for the first time in one year thought that maybe there was a future for her. She checked her watch. There was fifteen minutes till the bank closed. She could make it if she ran. Half an hour later she was back on the road. Her one remaining term deposit was cashed out. She had $1235.43 in her pocket. The bus to Vancouver was leaving in an hour. Bella ran to the gas station on the corner and waited for the pay phone. She couldn't leave without calling Layla.

"Jeez Bella, me'n George are goin' to Vancouver soon. Maybe we'll come by 'n see ya."

"Layla, come with me. Please! George is a loser. He'll only dump you," Bella pleaded into the phone.

"You're always sayin' that. You don't know George! Just 'cause he dumped you, don't mean he'll dump me. He loves me!" came her screech over the line.

"Look Layla, I'll keep in touch. I'll let you know where I'll be living, and if you ever need me I'll be there for you, okay hon?" No sense in saying I dumped him. No sense in trying to reason with her.

"See ya later then, Bell."

"I love you," said Bella and hung up the phone. She wiped at the crazy tears that were rolling down her cheeks and got out a Kleenex to blow her nose. Hefting her backpack, she walked the two blocks to Subway, bought a six-inch veggie sub, the cheapest thing on the menu, and ate it on her way to the bus stop. The Greyhound was already parked out in the street. She opened the door of the office and the girl on the phone motioned to her that she could buy her ticket on the bus.

"How much to Vancouver?" she asked the fatherly looking driver.

"Students are Twenty-five bucks."

"I'm not a student."

"You look like one to me. And I'm sure you've got a good use for the ten I'm saving you!"

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Don't worry about your bag; this bus is never full. You can just throw it on the seat beside you."

That had been a few hours ago. She had slept through Pender Harbour, gotten out and walked on the Horseshoe Bay ferry, and now the bus was coming into the Main Street station. Though the station was lit up brightly, it was very late, and dark, and she was downtown in a big strange city.

"Is someone meeting you, miss?" asked the driver as she was getting off.

"No. To tell you the truth, I don't know anybody in the city. I don't know where to go." She said it matter-of-factly, without a hint of self-pity or regret.

"If you take my advice, you'll stay in the station all night. Say you're catching the six am to Edmonton; that'll keep security off your back. This part of town is no place for you. You sure you'll be okay? If I were you, I'd think real hard of somebody that you might know out there. In the morning, look them up. If you really don't know anybody, try a church." He looked at the expression on her face and continued, "Any church will help you whether you belong to it or not." He dug out his wallet and pulled out a card. Bella let out a sigh of relief. She had been afraid he was going to offer her money for a hotel or something. "Here. This is my church. Give them a call and tell them I sent you." He turned the card over and wrote his name on it. "I have to go now. I've got another route to drive. Take care!"

"Thank you!" Bella called after him. She looked at the card and then stuffed it into the small pouch in the front of her pack. 'In case I get desperate,' she thought. She wasn't desperate yet. Her escape had just begun. She was going to make this work.

Bella spent her night sleeping fitfully on the bench, or reading, but she had a hard time keeping her mind on her book. The security guard bought her story, in fact he woke her up at 5:30 to tell her that her bus was loading. She dazedly walked out onto the platform and sat at the far end where she hoped she was out of sight. When the Edmonton bus left at six, she wandered along the edge of the cement and watched a train come in to the other platform. The morning was chilly and she knew she would not last out there for much longer, so she picked up her pack and re-entered the station, hoping the security guard would not kick her out. When he saw her he groaned.

"Murray told ya to do that, didn't he?"

"Pardon me?"

"The bus driver, Murray Bowen. I should've guessed."

"I'm sorry - do I need to leave now?" asked Bella, preparing to go out into the street.

"Naw. You get some more rest. I'm sorry I woke you."

Surprisingly, Bella managed to sleep until eight, when the bustle of passengers arriving and buying tickets became so much a part of her dream that she thought she was about to miss her bus and woke up startled by her surroundings. She went into the washroom to freshen up; one look at herself in the mirror made her wonder why the security guard hadn't tossed her right out on the street. Somehow she managed to wash and rinse her hair in the little sink, and as she twisted an elastic around her damp ponytail she felt much better. She went back into the waiting room and tried to read for another hour until she realised that she was only putting off the inevitable. She could not live in the bus station. Vancouver was waiting for her.

She recalled the trip her family had made to the city years ago. They had stayed in a hotel not far from the beaches. They had walked along brightly lit streets full of eclectic little shops and ethnic restaurants. Every day they had eaten different kinds of food, Greek, Moroccan, Italian. They had walked all along the beaches and through Stanley Park to the Lions Gate Bridge. They had gone to Prospect Point and looked out over the water, watched the huge freighters. They had visited the Zoo and the Aquarium. Another day they had gone to the Planetarium, and another, China Town. She walked out through the front entrance of the station, across a plot of grass and trees and stood on the sidewalk of Main Street. Where was that beautiful city she remembered?

To her left were run-down buildings, to her right very seedy looking hotels. Across the road to the west she could see the Sky Train station and beyond that the dome of the Science Centre, the only thing she recognised. She had to make some kind of choice. It was after 9:30 and she needed breakfast - desperately. She'd eaten nothing since the veggie sub the day before. She turned to her right and started walking, if only because she had to go somewhere.

She had been walking past cheerless buildings for some time when she noticed signs in Chinese ahead of her. China Town. This was somewhere she remembered. Her step quickened and soon she was peering into dingy windows of apothecary shops looking at trays of strange wizened roots and assorted dried oddities. The greengrocers were setting out their vegetables and she was about to buy some fruit when a familiar smell assailed her nostrils. Wonton soup! She made her way into the small wonton house and sat at the nearest table. Almost instantly her order of a large Wonton and noodles was placed before her. She had not realised how very hungry she was. She sprinkled the surface with hot chili oil and took up her chopsticks. Her father had taught her how to use them on that trip, and since then she always ate Chinese food with them. She savoured the noodles, the dumplings with their pork and shrimp filling and the broth. She'd tried the wonton soup at the China Can, the only Chinese restaurant in her hometown, and the soup had tasted of dishwater, the dumplings like soggy ravioli. This was heaven.

Feeling much better, she went out on the street again and continued on to her right. China Town was nothing like she remembered. It was bleak and drab, and the people on the street were all dressed in dark clothing. She walked another two blocks and stood on the corner to take stock of her surroundings. The street signs said Hastings and Main. The buildings were all old, shoddy, and grimy. Across the street from her was a large stone building. It could not have been more than eleven o'clock, but the steps were littered with street people. Druggies, pushers, prostitutes. She saw a deal going down before her eyes, and when she was approached, for she knew not what, she turned in the direction she had come and ran, not caring who she bumped into. She had to get out of this place! She saw tall buildings to the west. Skyscrapers. Possibly there she would find the Vancouver she had known as a child, but she didn't care any more. She had been foolish to come. She had to stop and wait for walk signals, her only chance to catch her breath. The bus driver had been right. This place was not for her. Her pack bounced against her back as she ran, the straps cut into her shoulders. Her throat burned. But she kept on as if her life depended on it. Finally the bus station came into view. She slowed to a walk and tried to ease her side-ache. As she neared it she realised she had a decision to make. She couldn't stay here. She wouldn't go back. She had to find some destination. Somewhere to go that she could make her own.

Inside the station the focal point was a big arrivals and departures sign. Directly beyond it was the gate for the trains. To her right were the ticket sales and the doors to the bus platform. She looked back at the sign and then at her watch. There was a bus leaving in half an hour for Prince George. She didn't want to go there, it was too far north, and the trip would be expensive, but maybe she could find somewhere good along the way. She went up to the ticket counter and asked for a schedule, then shut her eyes, circled her finger over the index, and stabbed. Her finger had landed on three names. Pembroke. Pemberton, Pember Lake. She turned to the page for Prince George, and swiftly ran her finger down the list of destinations on the way to see if any of her three choices were there. Her finger stopped. Pember Lake. Now, why did that sound familiar? She handed back the schedule and asked for a ticket before she could change her mind.

The trip out of the city and through the valley was monotonous, and she read until the terrain became more mountainous. The bus pulled into Hope for a half-hour break. She got out to stretch her legs and buy an overpriced sandwich at the cafeteria, which she ate ravenously. She bought herself a bottle of water and returned to the bus. She had been on the road for two hours already and there were still a few hours to go. It was almost 3:00; the sun shone brightly as they entered the Fraser Canyon. Great cliffs careened down from the road to the river. Tunnels were disorienting, taking her from bright light, to deep shade, to a seemingly increased brightness. A hint of a memory kept tugging at the surface of her consciousness. Just when she thought she had captured it, it would dissipate, only to start niggling at her brain again. Suddenly it came back to her with a bang  a big chunk of memory flooding back into her mind  and she wondered how she could ever have forgotten someone so important in her life.

June. It wasn't as though she'd really forgotten June. How could she? June had been like a sister to her for almost three years. But she had forgotten that letter she had received a few months prior to her parents' accident. The summer before she started grade eleven the girls had said goodbye. June was two years older and had gone to study teaching at UBC. In her letter, June had been ecstatic. After six months of subbing she had just landed a teaching job. She had put in for a full-time position anywhere in the province and had gone for a number of interviews. She had been accepted at Lakeside Elementary, a fine arts school in the rural community of Pember Lake. She had issued an open invitation to Bella to visit anytime she liked. Bella had never responded; after the accident, her life in shambles, she hadn't paid much attention to anything or anybody. But somehow this bus, like a chariot of the gods, was bringing her to the one person in this world that she felt truly cared about her.

At six o'clock the bus rolled into Cache Creek, leaving the Fraser Canyon behind. She ate a bowl of soup at the cafeteria. It tasted like canned minestrone, but it was hot and Bella was hungry. She crumbled two packages of crackers in to give it ballast and then ate it absently, her mind far ahead of her, rolling down the miles that separated her from her destination.

Would June have changed or would she be the same caring friend that took everything in her stride and didn't have a bad word for anybody? She had befriended her quickly in high school when Bella's counsellor had okayed the transfer from grade eight art to grade ten. Two weeks after the beginning of term she had walked into the classroom; it was already in session and all the students had turned and stared at her. A tall pretty blonde had patted the stool next to her and invited Bella to join her, and she had walked the gauntlet of those unfriendly looks to sit beside the softly smiling girl. "I'm June. Don't worry everybody here is really cool." It had only taken a week for Bella to gain the respect of her other classmates with her artistic talent and her sly wit, but she never bonded with anyone else like she bonded with June.

As the sky slowly darkened the bus took Bella through dry barren hills, trees were sparsely sprinkled across the landscape  long needled pines and budding alder. The further north they went, the thicker the trees grew, and as the bus pulled off the highway and drove the seven miles of country road to Pember Lake, the roadside was thickly forested in the shadows of dusk.

There was no station, just a stop outside a grocery store. Bella heaved her pack to her shoulder and alighted, apprehensive but eager. The phone booth had no directory  did they ever?  so she went into the store and asked the bored teenager behind the counter if there was a phone book she could borrow. A swift scan of the slim volume found her Benes, J., and she copied the number down on a scrap of paper she'd pulled from her pocket. Her heart in her throat, she went out to the pay phone again and made the call. It rang, two, three, four times. Her stomach was twisting madly and there was a tight feeling in her chest. The fifth ring was interrupted, and a well-known voice came over the wire.

"Hello."

It was a simple word; the two syllables that one would naturally expect to hear, but it sounded better to Belle than anything she had heard all day. "June!" She could say no more. Relief flooded her, blotting out all her other senses.

There was a pause on the other end of the line and then suddenly, unexpectedly, she heard her own name.

"Bella? Is that you honey?"

"Yes, June, it's really me," she managed to say. She felt like laughing and crying at the same time. Tears were rolling down her cheeks.

"Where are you? Don't tell me you're in town."

"Then I won't, but how will you be able to pick me up?"

June laughed. "Did the bus just drop you off?"

"Yes, it did. I'm outside the grocery store, and I'm so tired!"

"I'll be there in five, Bella! Don't go anywhere."

Bella hung up the phone and walked over to the curb. Don't go anywhere! As if! She had no idea which direction June was coming from, so she stood there, looking both ways, tracking the headlights of every car that sped along the road. Five minutes had never seemed like such a long time.

Chapter Two

Posted on Wednesday, 26 February 2003, at 9:55 a.m.

Opaque light filtered through the white gauze curtains, suffusing the room in an ethereal half tone, which blended well with the feeling of just waking up, between dream and reality. The room was almost as small as the near cupboard Bella had lived in at Aunt Philips' but it had an airy spacious feel to it. The white of the walls, the cobalt and cream hand-woven throw on the pine bed and the bare boards of the floor all combined in a simplicity that greatly contrasted the crowded furniture, stacked boxes, and laden shelves of her old room which had doubled as a storage area. Bella slipped from her bed and stared through the filmy window covering at a world of muted green. Young pine and fir crowded close to the little cabin June lived in, soft and shadowy.

Though Bella was bone tired, she and June had stayed up for hours talking over old times and new. June was shocked by the news of Bella's parents' death, and they had both ended the evening emotionally exhausted. Today, Bella was determined to put that all behind her. To live for the present and to look forward to the future. To hold onto the memories of the past that were pleasing and to let the others go, carried away on gusting winds that would deposit them on some lonely shore where they would disturb her no more. She pulled the curtains back. Edges sharpened. The trees were brought into detail. She could almost count the three-needled whorls of the pine, delineate every green spike on the branches of fir. It was this type of clarity she hoped to apply to her life from now on.

The first thing Bella wanted was a shower. Last night she had barely managed to drag the covers over herself, not caring about anything but sleep. Now she needed to wash away the dirt of travel, and not only that, the dingy film of her last few months, a skin that needed to be shed. She wrapped herself in her towel and went in search of the little bathroom she had cleaned her teeth in the night before. There was no shower, but a huge old-fashioned tub held up by little clawed feet. She turned the taps and water gushed. The room was soon clouded with billows of steam, the mirror misted over. She tipped herbal bath salts under the tap and breathed in the fresh, biting scent. The water was hot and she lay submerged in it letting her mind drift away, the warmth overpowering and numbing her.

Bella wrapped her steamy pink body in her towel and borrowed one of June's for her hair. She opened the door and released a billow of hot, moist air to the tiny hall. June had just come from her bedroom and smiled warmly in greeting.

"I hope you don't mind," said Bella. "I borrowed your towel and used your bath salts and soap."

"I'm glad you found everything you needed," said June. "What do you want for breakfast?"

"I'll get myself something when I'm dressed," said Bella. "I don't want you to go to any trouble . . ."

"None of that talk!" June cut in. "I want to. Now what will it be?"

"Surprise me!" Bella smiled her thanks and ran for her room. The warmth of her bath was beginning to wear off. She emptied her pack and shook out her clothes, hoping she had brought something decent to wear.

She entered the kitchen in jeans and a t-shirt, her wet hair in a braid down her back. "French toast! You remembered!"

"How could I forget?" asked June, flipping the toast with a quick jerk of the pan.

"I could never do that."

"I know," said June placidly. "You should put something on your feet. It's cold in here before the stove gets going."

"Would you believe it? I didn't bring any socks."

"Watch the pan," said June. "I'll get you some."

After the meal, they sat around the table brainstorming.

"You should spend your time painting," said June. "There are a couple of well respected galleries in town. Summer visitors buy a lot of art. The resort on the lake has a pretty wealthy clientele."

"I only have a little over a thousand dollars. I need to find a job and a place to live."

"You have a place to live," said June in a determined voice. They had gone over this the night before. Bella felt that dropping on June from out of the blue was an imposition. June saw it as a blessing. She didn't relish living alone, nor did she want to share her home with just anybody. Her friend who had left three months ago, not being able to take the isolation of small town life, had not yet been replaced. Bella was an answer to a prayer.

"But even if I live with you, I need to pay my share of the rent. I need to eat. Eleven hundred dollars won't last very long. I can't rely on the possibility of art sales. You know it is a very precarious way to make a living." Bella took a sip of lemon zinger.

"You can do the cooking and keep this place clean, so your part of the rent can be less." June put her hand on Bella's arm. "Really Bella, I don't mind. There're no jobs here. You said yourself you're a lousy waitress."

"It wasn't me who said it; it was Diner Bob!"

"Was he wrong?"

Bella laughed. "He was right. And anyway, I hate waiting tables."

"Well, I don't know . . . wait a minute. I do know about a job. It's not much, but it'll pay the rent with a little left over. I'll call Mr. Bing right now!" June reached for the phone.

"Wait!" cried Bella. "What are you doing?"

"I'm calling the principal. There's a job at the school."

"I don't have teaching qualifications!"

"It's nothing like that! We need a lunch supervisor. Mary ran off to Prince George with a mechanic from the garage and left us in the lurch. I don't think Mr. Bing has filled the position yet, after all, it's spring break." June looked at Bella pleadingly. "It's only an hour a day. You'll have lots of time to paint, and you can even look for an evening job too."

"Okay, but, he's not going to be at the school during the holidays is he?" asked Bella.

"I have his home number," said June, dialling.

"Hello, Mr. Bing? It's June Benes, you know, from school."

"June, I know your voice. What did I tell you about calling me that? I'm not talking to you until you say my name."

"Um, okay, Chance." June glanced over at Bella who was laughing soundlessly.

"That's better. So, what's up? Want to grab some lunch?"

"Um, is that lunch supervisor job still open?"

"Don't remind me. I haven't even started looking; I got so bogged down in paper work. I guess I'll have to supervise again on Monday."

"I have someone here who'd be perfect for the job. Well, really, she's way too good for the job, so we're lucky she's considering it." June winked at Bella who was still laughing.

"June, you're an angel! Why don't the two of you meet me at The Lakehouse for lunch, and I'll hire her."

"How can you say that when you haven't even met her yet?" asked June, smiling.

"Anyone you recommend has got to be good. See you both at 1:00?"
"That's perfect! Bye."

"I'll be waiting for you, June."

June hung up the phone and turned to Bella. "What was all that laughing about?"

"You just happen to have the principal's home number! Do all the teachers have it memorised, Miss Benes?" Bella started laughing even harder.

"Well, it's an easy number," said June defensively. "Anyway, we're joining him for lunch so he can meet you!"

"Is that the way he hires all his staff?" asked Bella, still laughing.

"You may laugh, girl, but I've got you a job." June was so pleased to see Bella happy and laughing that she didn't mind being the brunt of the joke. "Now what do you have to wear?"

"What you see is what you get. You'll never believe the motley assortment of stuff I crammed into my bag!"

"Try me," said June as she started clearing away the breakfast things.

The rest of the morning was spent organising Bella's scant belongings. June found two big rocks for bookends, and Bella's books were set up on top of the chest of drawers. Far From the Madding Crowd, Pride and Prejudice, The Day of The Triffids, The Moonspinners, Who Has Seen The Wind, and The Book of Atrix Wolf, as well as a few art books on the Impressionists, The Group of Seven, and Emily Carr. Her art supplies were placed in the bottom drawer and all the clothes besides the ones she was wearing, and her backpack, were thrown in the wash. Bella thought they would have to make a trip to a Laundromat and was pleasantly surprised when June took her to the hall by the back door and opened what looked to be a cupboard to reveal a washer and dryer, one atop the other.

"I told you this cabin has everything," said June smugly.

Bella loaded the washer and watched with satisfaction as all the lingering dirt and odour of her past life was washed away. The smell that had been Aunt Phillips's house, which had permeated every fibre of the fabric, was being replaced by the clean fragrance of good old-fashioned soap.

Bella longed to run out and explore the yard, the town, the lake, but she knew it was more important to get organised and get the business of finding a job over and done with. June lent her a sea-green sweater, and she let her now-dry hair out of its braid to flow in wavy abundance to well below her shoulders.

"You look great," said June, who had obviously taken some pains with her appearance as well.

"But not as good as you," teased Bella. "You go all out for lunch with the principal, don't you?"

"You haven't met the principal," June shot back.

They drove along a narrow winding road that soon brought them into the town. June parked outside a large rustic looking log building, but Bella only had eyes for the lake. It was a large, flat, sparkling expanse that diverged into numerous arms. Green slopes rode down to the water, layer upon layer. The translucent surface seemed to stretch endlessly till the hills that rose from the farthest shore showed blue instead of green. As she looked at it, Bella was filled with an intangible longing that swept through her like a maelstrom and left her breathless and hungry. Not a hunger for food, but a nebulous hunger that reached out to the water and the trees as if it could absorb them into her life-stream.

"C'mon," said June. "He's waiting for us."

Bella turned reluctantly and followed June into the building. The room was large, with huge ceiling beams high above them, and a wall of windows looking out upon the lake. The lower level held tables and chairs, the upper level a gift shop with inviting displays. June led her through the tables to one by the windows where a lone man was seated. Principal Bing was not what Bella had been expecting, but seeing him instantly explained all of June's interesting behaviour that morning. He was young, much younger than any principal Bella had ever known. He couldn't be more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight, but he looked even younger. He had blonde, wavy hair and an amiable smile upon his face. When Bella was close enough to see his eyes she saw that they were a deep blue. And they twinkled. He rose and held his hand out to her, smiling warmly. A real charmer, in the best sense of the word. Both words. He appeared as real and down to earth as anyone could get.

After the introductions, they ordered sandwiches and then Chance Bing got down to business.

"There're only a hundred and twelve students in the school, so we only get funding for one supervisor. For the most part, they are good kids and we have never had a problem with having only one adult out on the playground. Have you ever done this kind of thing before?"

"Not really, but I'm sure I could handle it. I've taught summer art classes to kids, and I was a camp counsellor three years running. We both were," she said, indicating June.

"She was always really good with the kids," said June. "She could get right down to their level, and they loved her."

"I see you have a highly reliable character reference," said Chance, as he smiled at June.

"The best of the best," agreed Bella.

They then discussed how she would handle certain situations, should they arise, and Chance appeared pleased with Bella's responses. "You'll be getting $15.30 an hour," he said, "The only drawback is that there is only one hour a day, but still you'll clear an average of $300.00 a month. So what do you think? Do you want the job?"

"I need the job, Mr. Bing."

"Call me Chance  that way June may remember to!" He reached over and shook Bella's hand. "See you at the school on Monday."

Bella smiled and finished her sandwich as she looked out over the water. She let June and Chance's conversation drift over her as she allowed herself to be mesmerised by the view. She was suddenly brought back when she realised she was being addressed.

"I have to drive down to Clinton this afternoon to pick up some school supplies that were delivered there by mistake. Would you two like to come for the ride?"

"What a dedicated principal, working on his holidays!" said Bella.

"Hey I didn't just get this job because of who I know in the school board," laughed Chance, "although it did help."

"Don't listen to him," said June. "He's an amazing principal and he really deserves the job." She blushed and looked down at her hands. Chance seemed to be very pleased with her support of him.

"You two go by yourselves," said Bella. "I was in a bus all day yesterday, the last thing I want to do is head out on that highway again today."

"I hadn't thought about that," said June. "Do you want me to stay with you and show you around?"

"I would love to explore on my own. I'll be fine, really," added Bella at the look of concern on June's face.

"Do you want the keys? You can drive my car back to the cabin when you're done," said June, digging in her pocket. "Do you remember the way?"

"I would imagine it'd be hard to get lost here. Don't worry about me. Go and have some fun."

They went out and Bella watched the two of them get into an older model Jeep Cherokee. She waved as they drove off and then turned towards the lake. She wandered on the shoreline for some time, just gazing at the water, letting her mind drift. After a while she found a trail leading from the parking lot, and decided to explore it. Just as she was about to enter the shadowy coolness of the path, a Dalmatian bounded out and then a man came running after, almost barrelling right into her. She stopped in surprise.

"Pardon me!" She looked up at the man. He was tall and dark, and rather harried looking.

"So sorry. It was all my fault," he said brusquely. "Excuse me, I have to get my dog before she runs out on the road."

She watched as he ran across the parking lot and called to his dog, who obediently came running, tail wagging. He opened the door of a dark green Jaguar that looked to be a model from the sixties. It showed wear, but it was beautiful. The dog jumped in and settled itself on the leather of the front seat, and the man got in after. The engine started with a low purr, and he drove off, oblivious of her continued attention.

Bella sighed. She could forget a guy with a car like that. He would never look at her. Turning, she entered the path, and soon the stranger was erased from her mind. She was engrossed in discovering vistas of the lake from between sweeping branches of fir. As she took in the world around her, she translated it with the eyes of an artist. Colours were defined by her palate  what she would mix to achieve exactly that shade and tone. Objects were broken down into form and shape. Bella immersed herself in texture; studied negative space. Past, present and future no longer mattered. All that existed was this elaborate composition of reflected light.

Chapter Three

Posted on Friday, 7 March 2003, at 1:52 p.m.

The school was about four kilometres down the road, and as Bella enjoyed walking she saw no irony in spending more time getting to and from work than the hour that her workday comprised. When she walked she absorbed scenes, was caught by the play of shape upon shape, mesmerised by colour and form, and when the outside world was not burgeoning her senses, her inside world was formatting words and phrases, delicately balancing and blending them, or running away with some plot line that bore no relationship to the trees that rose up beside her.

She and June had visited the school that weekend, so that she would know where she was going and what to expect. The smaller building stood close to the road, behind chain link and surrounded by gravel. It was built in the twenties and had been the original school for the district with its two upstairs classrooms. June explained that the recess rooms downstairs were now used as a pottery workshop and a music room.

The building behind was newer, dating from the fifties, with a gym added to it in the sixties and an additional two classrooms in the seventies. Two years ago a new school had been built on the other side of town where most of the development was taking place, and this school had been slated for demolition. The community had risen up to save the school, which had a history dating back a hundred years if one considered the little one room shack that had originally stood on the site.

"There is a painting of it in the office," said June, "with all the barefooted students standing out front, and the teenaged teacher who can barely be distinguished from the students. She's the only one wearing shoes!"

"So how did the school get saved?" asked Bella as she stared up at the ugly grey building.

"For one thing it so structurally sound it will probably outlast the new school. There were two groups lobbying, one for a traditional school, the other for fine arts. The only way to keep the school open was to bring in an alternate program, that way students from other catchment areas would provide the enrolment that was needed. Luckily, fine arts won out or I wouldn't be here today; I didn't apply to teach in any traditional schools. C'mon, I'll show you the playground," said June, grabbing Bella's hand and dragging her to the back of the property.

A large playing field stretched far out to the trees, circumferenced by chain link. Close to the school building was a pod of six picnic tables, and off to one side a playground. Behind that was an outdoor basketball court.

"Swings!" cried Bella as she ran onto the pea gravel. "I haven't been on one since our summer camp days!"

Giggling and laughing, both girls were soon soaring through the air.

"We're going steady," said June as they swung in unison.

"Not for long!" cried Bella, pumping madly to go higher and faster than her friend.

"Do you believe this is the first time I've been on these swings?" asked June. "Teachers don't usually do this."

"Then I'm glad I'm not a teacher," said Bella. "Dare me to jump off?"

"You wouldn't! You're going way too high!"

"That's when it's the best!" cried Bella, hurling herself from the swing to come up almost upon the logs that surrounded the play area. "Beat that!"

"I wouldn't even try!" said June, slowing her swing by dragging her feet in the gravel. "Actually the kids aren't allowed to do that."

"Good, then none of them are going to beat my mark," laughed Bella. "Don't worry, I'll behave when I'm at work. No spinney contests on the tire swing, no chicken fights on the monkey bars."

"So what do you think?"

"I'm going to like it, June. Thanks for everything," said Bella, sobering up a bit. If it wasn't for June she didn't know what she would have done, where she would have been by now. It didn't bear thinking about. "We'd better get back home so I can finish knitting my sweater if I want to wear clothes of my own to school on Monday." She looked down ruefully at the sea-green sweater she was still borrowing. June had arrived home from her trip to Clinton with a big smile on her face and a bag of wool and knitting needles. Bella knew the smile wasn't only due to the contents of the bag. June had obviously had a good time. The fact that it was 10:30 in the evening was another sure sign.

"I hope you can still knit," she had said. "There was a sale on, so I bought you a present."

The wool was a dull russet, rich and soft, and quite fine. There was a pattern for a raglan pullover, and some very skinny looking needles. "Am I making it for Christmas?" Bella had joked, faltering at the amount of stitches the pattern called for, but it had all come back to her and in the few evenings she had available, she had managed to get a lot accomplished. She was now on the last sleeve.

Bella timed her walk so that she arrived at the school at 11:50, giving herself ten minutes of orientation before she started her shift. As she went past the cars in the front lot, she noticed a dark green Jag with collectors' plates. There could be no mistaking it; a community of this size could not have two distinctive Jags. What would a guy like him be doing at an elementary school? She didn't give it more than just a momentary thought before she went round to the back building where June had said she would find the office.

"You must be Bella," said an amiable looking lady who was sitting at the desk. She stood up and held out her hand. "I'm Carla, secretary, office manager, Joe girl . . ."

"And the brains behind the school administration. Without her we'd be floundering about, up a stream without a paddle," said Chance as he came out of the adjacent office. "Hi Bella, it's nice to see you again. Carla will get you oriented. I've got a small problem to deal with."

Bella greeted him and he apologetically returned to his office. Carla cast him an evaluating look and than turned her attention back to Bella. "Don't listen to him. He's the real brains behind this operation. I'm just the hands and feet. Here's the list of playground rules. If you think anything is out of line, Mr. Bing's pretty open to discussion, and here're the class rosters so you can familiarise yourself with the kids' names. You should go around to all the classrooms and introduce yourself. They have to stay inside until quarter after and then they are all yours. The bell goes about ten to one. You can use the last ten minutes to ensure the kids are all in, the equipment is put away, and discuss any problems with the principal or individual teachers. We've got five classes. The K-1 and the 2-3 are down the hall on the left, and the 6-7 is on the right. The 3-4 and the 5-6 are upstairs in the other building. Any questions?"

"Not yet," laughed Bella. "I'll probably have a ton when I'm done. I'd better memorise these rules before I get out there."

"It's mostly just common sense," said Carla, "and I'm sure you've got plenty of that. Have fun!"

Bella read the list and realised Carla was right. She folded it, slipped it in her back pocket, and headed for the K-1 room. The teacher was still there and explained that the ten kindergarteners would be arriving during the lunch hour and one or two parents would probably supervise them until the bell. The twelve little grade ones all smiled very sweetly, and a few insisted on telling her jokes. She found the grade two's and three's just as cute. As she crossed the hall to the 6-7 classroom, the man she had seen by the lake came out and walked right past her, totally oblivious to her presence. Slightly startled she entered the classroom to introduce herself to the twenty-one twelve and thirteen year olds who were chatting and eating their lunch.

"So, should we call you Miss Gardiner, or can we use your first name?" asked one of the girls.

"It's okay to call me Bella," she answered. She didn't know how the school would feel about it, but she felt comfortable with it, so why not?

"So, are you gonna be nicer than Miss Smythe?" asked a boy. "She was a real crab."

"That's because you always got DT's!" said another girl. "And you deserved every one of them."

"I have no idea if I'll be nicer than your last supervisor," said Bella, "but I'll be fair, okay?"

By the time Bella had made the rounds of all the classrooms, it was time to go out. There was no bell, but most of the kids were pretty good about watching the clock, and waiting until it was time. Out on the playground, Bella found herself surrounded by groups of little girls and boys who would walk with her for a while, pelting her with questions, and then run off to play. She spent most of her time trying to put names to faces, and wondering why so many parents had felt the urge to name their boys Kyle, or Tyler, or Jordan, and their girls Caitlin, or Ashley, or Katie. They obviously didn't do it for the teachers' benefit. When the bell rang, she urged the stragglers in, pointed out balls on the field to the equipment monitors, and sent a couple of helpful grade threes scurrying to pick up all the jackets and sweatshirts that had been left lying around. Back at the office, Carla greeted her with a warm smile.

"So I see you survived."

"Just barely," answered Bella, "but it'll take me a while to get all the names straight."

"Any problems?"

"There was a bunch of girls complaining about a boy in grade five named Adam who was chasing them. Apparently he was calling them sheep and said he was going to shag them. I tracked him down and asked him about it and he gave me the most innocent look and said, 'Shag means shear, doesn't it?' I told him that he knew very well what it meant, and that the next time he said it he would be sitting in the hall."

"Sounds like Adam! He's a rascal. By the way, I'll show you your box, and if you don't mind waiting a minute, Mr. Bing would like to see you about something." She took Bella into a small anteroom filled with shelves of files and other odds and ends. In one corner was a wall of cubby-holes with the teachers' names over them. "There you go," Carla said with a flourish as she taped Bella's name above one of them.

"My own box! How official."

"It's for timesheets, paystubs and memos and such. And I've got a bit of paperwork for you to fill out, but that can wait until you see the boss."

Five minutes later, Bella was in the office facing a harried looking Chance.

"Here's the thing," he said, brushing his hair back with his hand. "We have a bit of a problem, and I'm hoping you can help us."

Bella looked at him blankly, wondering how she could be of any help. "Shoot."

"Our TA for the art department just had a multiple fracture roller-blading this morning, and she's had to go to Kamloops to see a specialist. I've been on the phone all morning, and it looks like she'll be out on compo for the rest of the school year. Her one and only substitute is giving birth as we speak, and I'm going to have to hire a temp. I hear you've got art training."

"I've got almost two years. I didn't get the fourth semester finished because my parents . . ."

"June told me about that. I'm so sorry," said Chance, reaching out to give her shoulder a comforting squeeze.

Bella was impressed that he could have so much empathy for her sorrows when he was sitting here faced with a crisis of his own. "I've taught summer art classes too," she said. "Through Community Rec."

"Do you have your transcripts?"

"I think they're with my art stuff."

"Can you bring them in tomorrow? I almost forgot to ask, would you like the job?"

"But what about the supervision?"

"That's the beauty of it. You could do both. The TA job goes from one to three, and it pays $20.14 an hour. The way the fine arts program here works is that we do all our academics in the morning, and then we have our music, theatre, and art programs in the afternoon. Our school day runs about half an hour longer than regular school, and then after three we offer clubs and sports, but that is all volunteer time. What do you think?" Chance leaned back in his chair and eyed her expectantly.

"You would really hire me?" asked Bella, a little stunned at the unexpected offer.

"It'll probably only be until the end of June, but I don't see why not."

"But I don't have a degree."

"I'm sure you'll be wonderful. I've got June's word on it! So, shall I take you to meet Maddy?" Chance appeared to be more excited about the prospect than Bella. She was still in a state of shock, but his buoyant enthusiasm was infectious, and she eagerly walked down the hall with him.

"Maddy?" she asked as she hurried to keep up with him.

"The art teacher. She's probably going crazy by now without an assistant."

At three o'clock Bella was putting away the last of the art supplies with two of the older girls when Maddy came up to her.

"Did I tell you how grateful I am for you to take this job on such short notice? I know we're going to be a great team. Now you run down to the office, I think there's some paperwork Carla needs. I'll finish up here with Cindy and Alyson."

Bella smiled, and thanked her and then hurried along to the office. She couldn't have been happier. Helping in the art class had been such fun, and Maddy was an incredibly warm person with seemingly boundless energy and creativity. The kids had all been friendly and cheerful, and the few teachers she had met were welcoming. She felt like this was going to be an important place for her, somewhere she would feel comfortable and accepted. Like a part of a big extended family. She entered Carla's office, but she wasn't there, so Bella sat in a chair in the corner of the room to wait for her. Chance's office door was slightly ajar. She suddenly became aware of a raised voice coming from the room.

"What do you mean you hired her?"

"Well, I needed someone right away."

"You always act on the spur of the moment! You could have got a regular sub for a few days while you searched out someone with the proper credentials."

"She has credentials."

"Chance, June telling you that she is amazing is not what I mean by credentials. I mean some kind of university degree related to education, with a visual art major, at least a college degree in special ed, letters of reference from employers - you know!"

"She said she has transcripts."

"Chance, who is she for gosh sakes? She just came into town on a bus from who knows where. A girl you have the hots for used to go to high school with her, and hasn't seen her in years. She's only a lunch supervisor because you hired her. Has she ever held down a steady job? Dammit, she's a college dropout!"

"June vouches for her, that's good enough for me. I am the principal here."

"Nepotism runs rife in this school, but you are taking it a bit too far!"

"I do the hiring around here, Fitz, you only teach. Remember that."

Bella was frozen where she sat. She wished she could get up and walk out, but it would mean crossing in front of the door which was now gaping wider than before. Suddenly whoever had been doing all the talking came bursting out of the room. It was him. The guy with the Jag. She'd seen him in the hall earlier but couldn't believe that he really was a teacher here. But he was. On his way out of the office he turned, and she could see that his face was livid. What gave him cause to be so mad? To put her down so vehemently when he didn't even know her? She stared at him as the blood drained from her face. There was no doubt that he saw her too, but he just strode off down the hall without a backward glance.

Bella felt her initial embarrassment at being discovered ebb away to be replaced with the anger that had been building as she had listened to his scathing comments. How dared he refer to June as 'a girl you have the hots for'? How could he question her employment record? But the thing that hurt the most was when he called her a college dropout. He knew nothing about it. She swiped at the hot tears that began to trickle down her cheeks. Why did she always have to cry when she got really mad? She took some deep breaths. She had to get back in control before Carla returned.

Chapter 4

Posted on Thursday, 13 March 2003, at 7:30 p.m.

"You look like you got run over by a truck!" said Carla as she returned to her office, followed closely by June. Bella's face turned to her, white with shock, and she started shaking. "Did I say something out of line?"

"Yes," said June as she rushed over to Bella's side, "but there's no way you could have known." She took Bella in her arms and stroked her hair. "What happened, honey?"

Carla stood over them helplessly for a few moments and then went out of the room. Five minutes later she was back with a cup of tea which she handed to Bella, who was still looking desolate but appeared a bit more composed.

"Thanks Carla," she said. "I'm sorry, I need to grow a much thicker skin. I thought I had, but I was just thrown for a loop before you came back, and your comment did me in."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't . . ."

"It's not your fault. It was something that arrogant jerk said, and then . . . well, I think you need an explanation." Bella brushed her hair back from her face and took a sip of the tea. She leaned back in her chair and sighed.

"I think we all need an explanation," said June. "Who is an arrogant jerk? Not Chance?"

"Chance is a prince among men," said Bella, smiling at June. "You know I could never say that about him. When I think of everything he's done for me . . . anyway, I'm talking about that tall guy - the one who drives the Jag."

"Mr Fitzwilliam?" asked Carla. "What did he do to upset you?"

"What didn't he do? He practically told Chance he was a gullible fool for hiring me. He questioned my reliability and my credentials. He called me a college dropout. Isn't that enough?"

"But Bella, he had no idea of the circumstances," said June.

Bella looked at Carla. "This all makes me sound like a whiney kid. I'll give you some background, so that you can understand. A year ago, one month before my second year of college finished, my parents were both killed in an accident with a logging truck. I was so lost that it was all I could do to get up in the mornings. School was out of the question. You don't know how much it hurts to be called a college dropout. It brings all the pain of their deaths right back to me."

Carla's hand flew to her mouth. "And then I said . . . oh! How awful for you. I could kick myself!" She went over to Bella and put her arm around her shoulders. "I'm so sorry about your parents."

"Thanks," said Bella. "I can deal with it now, really. But I'm so mad at that creep!"

"He shouldn't have said what he said about you," said June, "but he is a good teacher, even if he is a little proud and reserved."

"Arrogant and conceited!"

"You'd do well to get over it," said Carla. "He has a lot of pull in this school."

"Isn't he just a teacher?"

"Yeah," said Carla. "But he's more than that. He's Mr. Bing's best friend and he's the head teacher, so he's acting principal when Mr. Bing isn't around. And this school is his baby. We wouldn't have new band equipment, or a kiln, or a computer lab without the money he's donated."

"So he's rich and he thinks he can just buy his way everywhere? What about treating people with respect?" asked Bella scornfully.

"I understand why you're angry, Bella," said Carla, "but just think about what I'm saying. It's better to be on his good side."

"I'm certain his opinion of you will change when he sees how well you do your job," said June.

"Oh June," said Bella hugging her. "You just can't see the bad in anyone, can you? I know he hates me, but that's okay because I can live with it."

"So does that mean you are ready to fill out all this paperwork and sell your soul to Pember Elementary?" asked Carla, picking up a sheaf of papers from her desk.

Bella laughed and reached for the papers. While she was writing, Carla went off to tidy the staff room and Chance came out of his office looking exhausted but smiling happily when he saw June. "Don't tell him about it," whispered Bella. "I don't want him to know I was listening." June nodded and went over to talk with him.

"What a day!" he said stretching his arms above his head. "Bella has been a Godsend."

A half-hour later everything was complete and Bella was ready to leave with June who had waited for her in the principal's office.

"Is your detention over already, June?" teased Bella, as she said goodbye to Chance and thanked him again for everything.

"She can go now," said Chance, "but I think she's got a half hour after school for the rest of the week!"

As they walked out to the parking lot, they passed Mr Fitzwilliam who was just getting into his car. He gave Bella a long, hard stare which she did her best to ignore. She opened the passenger door of June's car and slid in as he slowly drove past, his engine humming smoothly. She did not look up.

"That is one nice car," said June appreciatively.

"Too bad you I can't say the same for the driver," said Bella. "Did you ever notice how you see a really hot vintage sports car parked somewhere, and the driver always turns out to be a dumpy platinum blonde housewife or a balding guy in his sixties with a big gut?"

"I think this breaks your rule, then. Have you ever actually looked at Mr Fitz, Bella? He's just the kind of guy you would picture driving a car like that, tall, lean, handsome . . ."

"Handsome? He's always scowling. I prefer a guy to be friendly looking. Hey, I was wondering about something else that creep said." Bella looked over at June who was waiting for a car to pass so she could turn into the road. "He said there was too much nepotism in this school already. What did he mean by that?"

"Well, for one thing, Carla's dad, Mr Leukes is on the school board, and her sister Marla is the grade 2-3 teacher."

"Carla and Marla! What were their parents thinking?" laughed Bella.

"When you meet their mother, you'll understand," said June. "Chance has three close family friends on the board, old business associates of his dad, and Mr Fitz' aunt, Katrina Berg, is the chairperson. Then there's the school janitor, Phil Collins. He is Mrs. Berg's lackey. Really, it's true," she said as Bella started to snicker. "Wait till you meet him. And Chance's cousin Cassandra caters all the hot lunches."

"Caters hot lunches? In elementary school? Are these gourmet meals or something?"

"Not really, but they are a big step up from hot dog day. Chance likes to make sure the kids get a really nutritious lunch every week, and his cousin likes coming by the school. I think she uses it as advertising for her catering service, and to tell you the truth, I don't think she gives the school a cut rate. I think the lunches are subsidised."

"So what is the big attraction of the school for Cassandra? Is she interested in the arts?"

"I think she likes one of the teachers," said June with a sly grin.

"How many male teachers are there? I only saw Mr. Jag."

"There's a band teacher too; besides him, Chance, and Mr. Fitz, the only other male at the school is Phil Collins, and Cassandra is not after him. No one is after him! Oh! I shouldn't be gossiping. Pretend I never said it."
"June! You are not gossiping. You are giving me important information about my co-workers so that I fit in at my new job and understand all the in-jokes. Anyway, I can guess. She likes money. There, am I right?"

"The moment you saw the band teacher tomorrow it would have been obvious - he's a portly middle-aged man with a happy home life, not Cassandra's type at all. But he is a great guy, and he has a wicked sense of humour. You'll like him. How did you like my kids, by the way?"

"The grade 3's and 4's? They look like a good bunch. Most of the boys were playing soccer, and the girls were organising rides on the tire swings. How about your afternoon class?"

"Primary music and acting is so much fun! And I'm volunteering for a sports club after school. I think we are doing badminton next, so I'm going to have to learn all the rules quickly. Have you thought about doing an afternoon club?"

"June! Give me time! I still have to get my bearings."

They stopped for groceries on the way home, and Bella picked up more yarn in the craft store next door. She couldn't wear the same sweater everyday. She found a cone of nubbly textured natural brown raw silk for an amazingly low price. Her week was full with her morning chores, new expanded three-hour workday, and sweater project. By Friday she was wondering if she was ever going to find the time to paint. She had a canvas ready, and shapes and colours dancing behind her eyes, but she wanted a big space of time where she could actually go out and paint in situ, something that she had rarely done but felt increasingly called to do.

It was the end of the school day and she had her head in a cupboard, putting away squeeze bottles of paint and thinking about her weekend. She pulled her head out of the cupboard and was surprised to find Mr. Fitzwilliam staring fixedly at her. She matched him glare for glare until he said, "Have you seen Maddy? I was looking for her." His voice was austere and distant; his eyes never left her face.

"I think she's in the paper room," said Bella finally, hoping he would stop looking at her and go away.

"Thanks." He stood there for a moment longer as if he was about to say something else, and then he turned and left.

Other than the few words they had exchanged when they had bumped into each other at the lake the week before, that was the first time they had spoken. She had noticed his eyes on her a few times during the week and she supposed he was watching her closely, hoping to catch her making a mistake. Well she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. It surprised her that the kids in his class all liked and respected him, and did their best to please him. Maybe is was something to do with the fact that he taught guitar, bass and drums in a popular group combo class in the afternoons that was an integral part of the music program. They probably saw him as some sort of rock star and could forgive him his reticence. She had no plans to forgive him, no matter how many good reports she heard about him. He might have bought the rest of the school, but she did not come that easy.

"Bella!"

Hearing her name called knocked her out of her reverie. Alyson and Cindy were standing in the doorway, just where Mr. Jag had stood a few minutes earlier.

"We have a huge favour to ask you," said Alyson. "Can we come in?"

"How can I help you?"

"We were wondering," said Cindy, almost shyly, "if you would sponsor an after school club for a bunch of us?"

"Me?"

"Oh, please! Say you will! We will be your slaves forever," they both begged.

Bella laughed. "I don't need slaves, but sometimes I like to have assistants. What kind of club is it?"

"A creative writing group! Can you, pleeeaase???" said Cindy, flashing her sweetest smile.

"It's not just us, there's a whole bunch of girls, like Rita and Alicia and Sarah and Heather," said Alyson.

"And you all want to do creative writing? Do you mean like poetry and stuff?"

"To tell you the truth," said Alyson coming closer and lowering her voice to a hush, "no. That's the kind we had last year, and Miss Smedley had us do dumb things like write poems where the first letter of each line was from our names, or a spring theme or if I was queen of the world, as if we were still in grade three. And then when we complained about it she asked us to write about preteen angst!"

"Well, what kind of things do you want to write?" asked Bella, intrigued.

Cindy looked over her shoulder and then said in a stage whisper, "Fanfic."

Bella looked at them both. "I'm a little confused. Is that like writing for some pop star's fan club? I thought you said creative writing?"

"Don't you know about fanfic?" asked Alyson in surprise.

"Never heard of it. You'll have to fill me in before I can agree. It's not something that would be banned is it? I don't want any of us to get into any trouble. It would have to be okay with Mr. Bing and your parents."

"There's nothing bad about it, at least not at the site we go to. It's all ages so they have PG restrictions. Anyway, fanfic is when you write stories that are like a famous book or movie or something, but you put your own spin on it. Did you ever read Pride and Prejudice, or see the videos?" explained Alyson.

"I think I know what you're talking about now. So you want to write your own stories of Pride and Prejudice?"

"And we want to post them at the site," said Cindy. "So we want to get them really good so no one will know we're kids."

"I'm not sure about pretending . . ."

"Come on Bella, please. If they knew we were in elementary school they probably wouldn't want to read our stories," said Cindy, smiling that special smile again. Bella looked over at Alyson and she put on the smile too.

"I'll tell you what. You give me the address of the site, I'll go on the net and check it out, and then I'll think about it over the weekend. If I think it'll be okay, I'll talk to Mr. Bing about it on Monday."

"You are the best!" "Thank you!" The two girls smothered Bella with hugs and thanks and then ran off to tell their friends. Bella hoped that she had done the right thing. The girls wanted to write, and that was wonderful, and it was Jane Austen, so what harm could there be in it? Their eagerness was heart-warming and inspiring, and if they were really trying to write seriously, developing style and vocabulary, she was all for it. It could prove to be quite a challenge.

She wandered down the hall, looking for June. She had said to meet her in the music department. She opened a door and saw band equipment, so she went further into the room. Music was coming from a small room in the back, intricate and delicate guitar soloing. She was drawn to it. The door was closed, but there was a window in the wall, and through the window she saw him, sitting on a stool. Mr. Jag, intent on his music. The fingers of his left hand ran up and down the strings, sometimes softly pulling them. The pick in his right hand danced upon the wires. His head was bent over his instrument, his face concentrated, lost in the music. She had never noticed the planes of his face, the symmetry of his features. The flashing auburn lights in his dark hair. He looked up, and his green eyes caught her own. Electric. The music stumbled momentarily, and then continued, as evocative as before. Bella almost thought he smiled. She felt her own cheeks burning at being caught watching him, and she ran from the room. Later she found June downstairs in the older school building, in the little primary music room. She was unsure why, but she was completely out of breath.

Chapter Five

Posted on Friday, 21 March 2003, at 3:53 p.m.

"Bella, are you sure you don't want to come?" asked June for about the fifth time. "Lots of the teachers will be there and you could get to know them better."

"Will Chance be there?" teased Bella.

June stuck her tongue out and said, "You know he will. Stop bugging me about him - we're just friends."

"Right. That's why you've tried on three different outfits. That's why you've been going crazy because your hair's not doing what you want it to do. Don't worry. He'd be happy to see you if you were just wearing a burlap sack."

June blushed and put a few more pins in her hair. "So what are you going to do tonight?"

"I promised some of the girls that I'd check out a web site they want to write stories for. They asked if I would sponsor their writing group."

"Do you mean the girls from Mr. Fitz's class?"

"Yeah. Alyson and Cindy asked me. They seemed pretty excited about it. They call it fanfic, and they say it's all about writing alternate versions of Pride and Prejudice."

"There's a bunch of really smart girls in that class. All the grade 6's in that class are top students too. That's why they are in Mr. Fitz's class. He really challenges them." She gave Bella a pointed look.

"I'll accept that he's a good teacher," said Bella with resignation, "but that doesn't make him a nice guy."

"I wish you'd come," said June, "but if you insist on staying home, the internet ties up the phone line, so don't forget to check for messages in case I call you."

"Okay mom!"

"Don't be so sassy," said June with a smile as she grabbed her jacket and headed for the door.

"Say hi to Chance and give him a big kiss for me!" Bella called after her.

"If you want to kiss him, you'll have to do it yourself!" was June's parting shot as she slammed the door.

Bella made herself a big salad and then got comfortable in front of the computer. She connected to the internet and typed in the address that Cindy had given her. She found herself at a page with a number of titles posted, rows of responses under each. She read a few chapters and responses, and soon was navigating her way through the archives to read some of the stories from the beginning. Suddenly she was startled by the sound of the door opening.

"Did you even once check for messages?" It was June's voice, but what was she doing back already? Bella looked at the time in the bottom right corner of the screen and thought there must be some mistake. It was after midnight.

"I called you three times," said June, coming up behind her.

Bella rubbed her eyes. "I only thought it was an hour or so . . ."

"You've been on there the whole time?"

"Some of these stories are amazing. I think I'm hooked." She looked around and noticed her uneaten salad beside her. "I am hooked. I didn't even eat. Did you have a nice time?"

June's smile told her everything. "We went over to the Lodge, and afterwards we walked down by the lake. The resort has the best beach."

"We, hey?" asked Bella with a smirk. "And just who is we?"

June threw herself on the couch and lay back with a smile. "The first we was Cassandra, Chance, Fitz and me, and the second we was just Chance and me."

"So, did you kiss him for me?"

June picked up a pillow and threw it at Bella, almost knocking her salad off the desk. "Nobody kissed anybody!"

"So Cassandra didn't get lucky either?"

June giggled. "Poor Cassandra. When we got back from our walk we found her sitting on the porch by herself, and she was not in a good mood. Apparently about fifteen minutes after Chance and I had gone down to the beach, Fitz had said goodnight to her and turned in. He lives at the Lodge. She had to wait for us because Chance was driving her home."

"If Mr. Fitzwilliam was out with her, why didn't he take her home? He really is a winner." Bella threw the pillow back at June. "I really don't know why you keep supporting the rat."

"He wasn't out with her - she just tagged along. When we left The Lakehouse, Cassandra suddenly jumped in the back seat. Anyway, I'm bushed. Are you going to get off that computer and go to bed too?"

"In a minute. I'm in the middle of Obstacles to Overcome and I need to finish it."

"Get to bed! It'll still be there in the morning."

"In the morning I'm going out painting. I won't be a minute, really."

"Well goodnight then," said June, dragging herself up from the couch.

"G'night," said Bella, her eyes glued to the computer screen once more.

It was 4am when her head finally hit her pillow, and her mind was madly formulating a story of her own. It involved an elven Lord who had stopped at a lowly tavern and scorned the serving wench who was really a nobleman's daughter on a quest to find her lost father. He had turned his disdainful glare on her and his green eyes had seared through her while music started to filter through the crowded room, drowning out the boisterous babble with clear sweet tones that seemed to be plucked from the very air . . . sleep came with those hauntingly familiar notes, and shadowy dreams that flitted elusive and intangible behind her closed lids. In the morning she awoke, sleepily wondering at the image of green eyes that was all her dreams had left her. She couldn't follow any of the tenuous tendrils of thought that remained, so she gave up with a sigh.

Bella washed with cold water. It erased that muzzy feeling in her head with its sharp bite. Gave her cheeks the tingle of a slap. She pulled a brush through her tangled hair and re-wove the braid that had come loose as she slept. After a toasted bagel and a long draught of milk, she shouldered her pack, hitched a canvas under her arm and left June deep in papers at the kitchen table.

Late March could be surprisingly summer-like. Even though it was only 10:00, the sky was bright and the air was warm and mellow. The scrubby spirea at the roadside was showing green, and the pussy willows were all looking loose and shaggy. If this weather kept up, the swelling buds on the trees would soon be bursting to reveal their soft delicate leaves, like butterflies emerging from cocoons. Bella's step was fast and light, and she felt like singing as she followed the road that took a shortcut to the lake, bypassing the town.

When the dream came I held my breath with my eyes closed
I went insane like a smoke-ringed day when the wind blows
Now I won't be back till later on, if I do come back at all
But you know me, and I miss you now

Buffalo Springfield, Last Time Around. One of her father's favourite albums. It belonged to her Aunt Phillips now, but she wasn't going to let that get her down. She'd buy her own CD. She didn't have a record player anyway. By the time she arrived at the lake she had progressed to I Am a Child. She knew the words to every song on that album.

Bella looked at the lake and a wave of nostalgia hit her full force. It was not the ocean she had grown up beside, but it was a huge expanse of water, and a light breeze was sending little wavelets splashing against the gravelled shoreline like the flow of the tide lapping against the pebbled beaches of her childhood. It was in part due to the song she had been singing, and she had to lean against the rough bark of a pine to steady herself. She took a deep breath, and drew in pitchy resin instead of salt sea air. She reached up and pulled off a whorl of pine needles, crushed them in her fingers and breathed them in, so different from the hemlock and cedar back home. Smell can really evoke a place, and she was brought back quickly to the lake edged by rock and surrounded by evergreen ridges.

She entered the shadowy underworld of the spruce, fir and pine, buoyed by a soft carpet of needles. She wandered, looking at this new world for the edges of shapes as they layered and overlapped, until caught by a slope of mossy rock that fell down into the water. A dwarf juniper snaked from one of the deeper cracks, and at the crest grew mahonia with its spiky ilex leaves. Sun warmed the planes of rock, deepened the contrasting shadows. Caught up in the vision, Bella put down her canvas and shrugged off her pack. She set up her easel, and squeezed out paint upon her palette. Ochre, Indian red, Phthalo blue, Crimson, Cadmium yellow, and white. Water she got from the lake itself, scrabbling down the rough bank. She settled herself on a convenient stone and began mixing, blending, and applying her colours to the open canvas that called out to be filled. She entered a different space and time where there existed only colour and shape, light and stone.

A lingering presence finally made itself known to her. She heard nothing but suddenly, like a cape flung over the sun, she felt a heaviness descend. The feeling of being watched. Bella never usually painted out of doors because of a dread of onlookers. People coming to stand behind her shoulder and offer comments. She always was afraid to put the brush to the surface lest she make a mistake under someone's eyes. This was exactly how she felt now. Her mood was lost and she fell back into the real world with a sinking sensation in her gut. She turned.

He was standing three yards away, still as a tree and just as soundless. And he was staring straight at her. Mr. Jag. D Fitzwilliam. The guy who thought she was incompetent.

"How long have you been there?" she asked in a shaky voice, completely unnerved.

"I'm not sure. Maybe five minutes." It sounded short and stiff.

"I don't like it when people creep up from behind and watch me."

"I didn't creep."

"But you were watching, and you didn't let me know you were here."

"I didn't want to disturb you."

"Well I don't like it." The conversation was getting away from Bella. She didn't know how to deal with it. She wanted him to go, but he just kept standing there, his look intent, his voice distant. Just when she thought he was immovable, he took a few steps closer and sat down on an adjacent rock.

"If you are going to paint outdoors, in public, you'll have to get used to it. Especially in the summer when there are more tourists about."

"Thanks for telling me; next time I'll take a picture instead." The sarcasm hung in the air between them. Bella turned back to her painting, thinking that he must soon go away. But still he sat there. She couldn't pick up her brush and continue as long as he was there. Her paints were beginning to dry. She dipped the brush in her water, sprinkled it over her palette, and waited.

"I like the way you've caught the light on the rock. I can almost feel the sun's warmth on it."

Bella turned and looked at him, amazed. The last thing she had been expecting was a positive comment. And one that really hit to the bone of what she had been striving for.

"Your use of colour is intriguing." He leaned forward a little and almost smiled.

"Th - thank you," Bella stammered.

Out from the trees burst a whirlwind of white with black spots. It ran up to Mr. Fitz and licked his hand and then twirled around Bella, sending dry needles and leaf mould flying. She hurriedly covered her palette and attempted to shield her painting.

"Do something about your crazy dog!" she shouted.

"Daisy, down! Heel girl!" he called sternly, and the dog immediately returned to him and sat at his feet, quivering in anticipation.

Bella sat down in shock and then burst out laughing. "I don't believe it! That is just too much! Daisy!" She put down her palate and wiped her eyes, shaking with laughter. The dog whined and looked to her master for permission to go to the lady who had just said her name.

Mr. Fitz put his hand on Daisy's back and gave her a firm, reassuring pat. "Just what is so funny?" he asked.

"Your dog is named Daisy!" Bella said between giggles. "I just never pictured a guy like you calling his dog Daisy. I thought she would be called something more refined and classical like Juliette or Desdimona."

"Desdimona? You must be joking."

"Okay, maybe not Desdimona - but Daisy?" She started laughing again.

"I think you should stop laughing. You just might hurt her feelings," he said coldly. "And what, precisely, did you mean by 'a guy like you'?"

"Well, you know," said Bella, suddenly feeling very awkward. Mr. Jag wasn't taking it quite the same way she did. "Serious, exacting, fastidious, posh."

"Posh?" He looked at her in some surprise.

"Look at the car you drive." For gosh sakes he must realise everyone didn't drive a classic Jag.

"So, that's what you think I'm like?" His voice was austere, devoid of feeling.

"That's the way you come across."

"Do I? You might need to adjust your analysis of me. I do, after all, have a dog named Daisy. I think I'd better be going," he said as he got up from his rock. "I've disturbed your painting for too long. You must want to get back to it." He stood and walked away, looking back only to call Daisy to heel as she made another attempt to befriend Bella.

She was left with the distinct feeling that she had hurt his feelings. 'He probably hates me even more than he did before,' she thought. Bella shrugged it off and turned to her painting. Could she possibly get back into that space she had been in? Had the light changed too much to continue? She picked up her palette. The paint was dry. Unusable. She scraped it off into a plastic bag. Drat that man! She stared at the rock, and then at her painting, and then at the rock again. She let all her animosity ebb out of her. Flow out of her pores and float away on the gentle breeze. The rock again became her object. She narrowed her eyes, caused her vision to blur and then refocus - concentrated on pure shapes. Tone. Image. Colour. She reached for her paint tubes, squeezed pigment out once more. Immersed again, she mixed, looked, and mixed again. Took a tentative stroke. And then another. Soon she was seeing and feeling the rock, the little plants that clung to it for support, the water that pulled it to its surface. She continued on while the intricacies of a delicate tune played inside her head; the type of music that is pulled and teased from the steel strings of a guitar to resonate clearly through the sweet living air.

Continued in the next section