Chapter One
The faded yellow sign still warned traffic that there was a school ahead, but Steve Garnet knew better. After all, this was his latest acquisition. His tender for the Upper Forks Road School buildings and ten acres of land had been accepted and he was now the proud owner of this strip of countryside, a two-hour drive from the city. The last forty-five minutes of his journey, however, was along a narrow gravel road, which zigzagged up a hillside, down the other side and into an amazingly fertile valley of rolling farmland.
After his Jeep Wrangler turned into the slightly widened pull off area, Steve climbed out and walked up the concrete drive. There it was, the two-classroom school, wooden, seventy years old but still solid and in a good state of repair. The grass around was short and, by the droppings dotted everywhere, had been kept that way by grazing sheep. To his left was a collection of three wooden outbuildings: a toilet block, play shed and woodshed still half filled with firewood.
He walked to the door, reached for the bunch of keys the land agent had given him and inserted the largest one in the lock. It turned with ease and the door swung open without a sound. Oiled floors and slightly musty smell of a closed interior hit his nostrils but the long corridor with pegs along the interior side looked clean and fresh. There was even a child's raincoat dangling on a peg next to the yellow classroom door. Under the outside windows a row of white porcelain sinks sat ready for use.
The place seemed lonely and empty but in others ways, felt ready to receive children to come running in. It was like a school on Sunday afternoon waiting for the youthful crowds to arrive on Monday morning. Yet Steve knew the children had gone now; the school had been closed for at least five years and had been sold as redundant government property. The cheeky tender he had put in, sight unseen had been accepted so all of this was now his.
He smiled to himself, walked into the closest classroom and gave a grunt of satisfaction. The afternoon sun bathed the room in light. This was typical of these old schools, all built the wrong way so they were shady in the morning and hot in the afternoon. A group of children's wooden desks were still there and even faded artwork and notices were pinned to the wall. An old square chip heater sat in a corner with its steel chimney towering up to the roof. Steve could imagine the children gathered around it on a frosty morning with red hands and faces getting warm. Back in his own school days at a small school, not too different from the one he was now in, they used to toast their sandwiches on the heater at lunchtime. The smell of burning wood and scorched bread still tickled his memory as a warm fuzzy feeling of security and peace.
Bye Old School. Merry Xmas, the yellow and red chalk writing on the blackboard could still be read. With this was a conglomeration of children's names sprawled across the board and half a dozen children's sketches, some smudged out but others still quite clear.
Steve walked out and along the corridor to the second classroom. This one looked dusty and deserted with only a few pieces of debris lying around. It seemed that before its closure only one room of the school was in use. Another door at the end led into a tiny staff room, still equipped with a sink, small stove, zip water heater, small table and a wooden couch with a mattress on it. Once again, the room appeared clean and tidy. He turned on a tap and after initial discoloring, clean water ran out.
A polite cough made him glance up. A woman with short dark hair stood in the corridor. She had a faint, almost shy, smile on her face. His first impression was that she was attractive, of average height, well built without being chubby, and appeared to be in her early thirties. She was wearing casual jeans and a light blue jersey.
"So you're the one who outbid us in the tender for our school," she said in a pleasant educated voice and gave a wee laugh. "It serves us right. We thought nobody would bother to tender so put in a price way too low."
"Yes, actually I am," Steve replied and introduced himself.
"Lavina Ryland, " the woman said. "We farm the adjacent property and those are our sheep grazing the school football field. I'll move them out for you."
"No, leave them," Steve said. "I have no animals to keep the grass down so, if you don't mind, they can stay there."
"I see." Lavina glanced at him with hazel eyes. "Can I be rude enough to ask why you bothered to buy the property?"
"Sure," Steve said. "I'm a computer consultant in the city but like the outdoors." He shrugged. "I guess I bought it on impulse with a vague idea of converting it into a hideaway-cum-dormitory. There are numerous bush walks around and this could become a place to stay for my friends or myself."
"So you aren't just interested in moving the building out," Lavina said. "That's what happened to the school house. One day a truck moved in and it was gone in a matter of hours."
"No, my first thoughts are to keep it as it is. I only took it over this week."
"I'm glad," Lavina said with a whimsical, almost sad expression. "I guess this is the last link to what was once quite a thriving little community." She smiled again. "I taught here, married Grant, a local farmer, and fourteen years later I'm still here." She walked into the first classroom and waited while Steve followed. "I came back and taught the last term before the school closed. It was down to twelve children. There were forty when I first came."
"So all this was done by you?" Steve smiled and nodded at the blackboard.
"Yes," Lavina said grinning. "I guess I should have cleaned it off years ago. I've been the defacto caretaker as we leased the land from the government. I've kept the building clean. The locals used it for an occasional meeting but there aren't even many of those now. Everyone drives down to the hall on Lower Forks Road. I think this was last used as a polling booth for the election a few months back. We must have had one of the smallest number of voters in the country. I was polling officer." She stopped and bit on her lower lip. "Oh here I go reminiscing again. Please forgive me."
"Sure, that's fine. I thought I was completely alone. It's good to meet a local."
"One of the few," Lavina said. "There are only half a dozen families left in the valley now. Even the farms have amalgamated. The dairy factory shut down before my time and the local shop closed when I first started teaching at the school. We even had a hall once but it burned down ten years back." She gazed around the room and sighed. "The school was the last thing to go. They don't even run a school bus up here any more. My daughter was on correspondence."
"And now?" Steve asked.
"Cathy goes to boarding school." Lavina once again sounded sad. "She's only twelve but we thought it was the best thing for her."
She chatted away for a few more moments before saying she must be off and excused herself. Steve escorted her to the gate and watched as the pleasant young woman climbed in an ancient Land Rover.
"I live just around the corner," she called out the window. "Feel free to visit any time you're here. The kettle is always warm."
"Thanks," Steve replied. "I might just do that."
He watched as the old farm vehicle drove away, then turned and went back to lock up. The early spring shadows were already crossing the playground and a chill was in the air, a reflection of the higher altitude of the area.
Steve returned to his jeep and sat deep in thought for a few moments before he started up and headed back to town. He was glad he'd bought the old school. It had distinct possibilities. In his mind's eye he pictured a dormitory in the second room, the main classroom as a living area and somehow the vision of his visitor came back to complement the picture.
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